“Your leg, right?”
He cast her a startled glance and then gave her a halfhearted grin. “The sponge bath. Right. Yes.”
Since he was being so chatty, she decided to go for broke. “Who’s Jerry?”
Alex inhaled sharply. “I was talking, huh? Jerry’s my partner. He died.”
There was more to the story than that, but she didn’t want to probe at what was obviously a very painful subject. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s not your fault.”
“Will you be able to go back to sleep?”
He stared at the ceiling. “Sure.”
She didn’t need to view his aura to know he was lying. The waves of sadness and grief he was giving off would have been visible to anyone with a shred of empathy. Since those were emotions she was extremely familiar with, she couldn’t leave him to stay awake all night. For one thing, it would undo her hard work, leave him vulnerable to becoming ill again.
Yeah, you’re a regular Mother Teresa.“Do you want me to sleep with you?”
“There’s no way I could ever say no to that question.” His tone was dry. “Unless you’re just doing it ’cause you pity me or something.”
“Do we have to psychoanalyze it? Can’t I just sleep here because it’s the practical thing to do?”
His grin was a hell of a lot stronger than before. “Sure. I love practicality, though probably not to the level you do.”
“Good. You’re sleeping under the covers. I’ll sleep on top.” She wished she had a shirt that would fit him. Hell, she wished she had full body armor to throw on him. Whatever kept him covered and out of temptation’s reach.
“No, I’ll sleep on top of the covers.”
“If you argue, I’ll go sleep on the couch.”
He smiled. “Fine. You sleep on top of the sheet. Stay under the blanket?”
“Fine then. Do you need to use the bedpan?”
His face flushed. “I hate to have to do that.”
“I’ve taken care of people when they’ve been sick. I don’t mind.”
“I do. I’m fine.”
Grateful she was wearing her thickest, largest granny gown, she scooted in under the covers. Trying to keep his flesh from touching hers was an exercise in futility. He was so there, long and hard and male. Thankfully, he was no longer steeped in that awful sadness, but he threw off testosterone tempered by a caution and control that was more than exciting.
They lay on their backs, rigid, for a while. The firelight danced over the ceiling. With a low sigh, he tried to turn over onto his injured side and bit off a curse. Instead, he reached out his hand and groped for hers. “Can you come a little closer? Please?”
Genevieve could have refused but didn’t bother, the plea in his tone her undoing. She scooted closer to his warmth until she was snuggled against his side. He wrapped his arm around her and tugged her even closer, so there was barely any room separating the two of them.
She’d almost rather he jumped her. Sex she could handle, but this needy cuddling was so sweet and gentle it made an ache open up in her chest.
Yeah, the idea of sex with him didn’t alarm her at all. In fact, she figured it was close to inevitable, if they were sleeping together like this. She closed her eyes and laid her head on his chest, listening as his breathing evened out and deepened.
6
Alex wokeup with an armful of soft woman. In her sleep, with her defenses down, Genevieve had wiggled even closer until she lay sprawled over his uninjured side. Somehow, he must have kicked aside the sheet separating them, and her thick nightgown had ridden up to her waist. Her arm was wrapped around his chest, her leg thrown over his body so her thigh lay right over his hard cock.
He froze. Yes, he was hard beneath his boxers, his penis engorged in his usual morning erection, no doubt intensified by the female flesh cushioning it. He tipped his head back and fought the urge to cry in happiness. At the very least, he was back to normal below the waist.
Genevieve murmured and shifted, rubbing the plump flesh across the sensitive head. His tears of happiness turned into tears of frustration. He counted to ten very slowly, tightening his buttocks to keep from grinding up against her.
