Gabriel blinked, apprehending that he’d missed a sentence, or perhaps even—judging by the snip in her voice—an entire paragraph to which he really,reallyought to have attended. Returning his gaze to her dutifully, he could not help but observe that she was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, all lush and cream-and-honey soft (scientifically speaking), and since he was soon going to die of discomfort within the world’s narrowest bed, at least his final experience had been of listening to her say…uh, something about the cerebral cortex? or counterpanes?…through those warm, velvety lips that were so incredibly sweet to kiss—
No. He did not want to kiss his wife. He wanted only to complete this assignment without further disaster. Thus he listened soberly as Elodie talked about respect, and staying on their own side of the bed, and bloody hell he loved her eyelashes. Loved them so much that he’d spent hours in the library researching human cilium and other ocular features (which was a scientist’s equivalent of mooning over poetry).
Not that he lovedher, please note. One might harbor an affection for certain eyelashes without extending it to the possessor of them, and Gabriel was, after all, a man who extended his emotions only under extreme duress.
Besides, Elodie hated him. And fair enough, he wasn’t allthat keen on himself either. As a result, he could admire things like her eyelashes (and eyes, and lips, and the near-translucent skin of her wrists) but he would not,must not, do anything that would overstep the firm boundary she maintained between them.
“Therefore, you should hug me,” she said—and Gabriel’s own eyelashes suddenly fluttered so much, he experienced an internal hurricane that sent all his thoughts scattering into shocked silence.
—
Elodie swallowed drylyas Gabriel stared at her dumbstruck. “I merely think that physical contact prior to entering the bed might desensitize us to any inadvertent bumping—er, I mean, you know.Touching.”
She winced as this clarification not only failed to lighten the general atmosphere but sizzled through it like a burst of fiery magical energy that heated her face even as Gabriel grew pale. “Except not to say ‘touching’ as a verb, no, definitely not, I’m not insinuating anything so purposeful; indeed, there’s no purpose at all, I assure you. Not that you need assurance. Neither do I. Why would we? We’ll be sleeping together purely on a professional level, not as a married couple, even though we are married—er, which is to say, in sum, it’s of no consequence whatsoever that we must share a bed, and I for one am entirely serene, unburdened by concerns that—”
“Elodie.” The interjection was like a steadying hand on her shoulder. She took a deep breath, letting the jumble of words sink into Gabriel’s aura of quiet.
“Of course,” she added, “there’s always the option of sleeping on the floor.”
“Hm.” Gabriel looked at said floor with such fierceness, Elodie was certain he would at any moment lie down upon it and declare himself asleep. Then he shrugged. “We’ve slept together before,” he said in a businesslike tone. “We can do it again.”
They both fell into profound silence as they recalled the last time they shared a bed, and how little sleeping actually occurred. Then Gabriel frowned. “Perhaps desensitization is a good idea. We will…hug.Scientifically,” he added, giving her a stern look. No doubt he expected this to daunt her, but instead it filled Elodie with sparkles, rendering her so unscientific she essentially became a love sonnet. Taking off his jacket, he draped it neatly over the dressing table’s chair, then removed his tie and unbuttoned the top button of his shirt. At this point, Elodie must have fainted just a little, because when she returned to sense, he had detached his cufflinks and was folding up his sleeves as if preparing to delve into action. The sight of his strong, toned forearms set her heartbeat racing.
“Why are you staring like that?” Gabriel asked warily. “You’ve seen my arms before.”
“Uhhh,” she replied—for despite her embarrassment at this verbal equivalent of drooling, she could not seem to produce any dry, sensible consonants.
“You’ve seen my entire naked body,” Gabriel then added. Which did not help.
“Unuhhh,” Elodie managed.
“Hm. Take off your cardigan.”
Surprise jolted Elodie from her dreaminess. “Excuse me?”
“Take off your cardigan. The wool looks like it will be itchy. I can’t abide itchy things. Take it off.”
“But—but—”
“It’s hardly risqué, Elodie. After all, I’ve seen your entire naked body too, remember.”
She tried to summon an outraged reply—something something arrogant sod something—but the cardigan was already sliding from her shoulders with wanton ease. As it dropped to the ground, Gabriel stepped forward, and Elodie supposed he was going to pick it up. But suddenly he was embracing her. Or, to be more precise, he was holding his arms around her with a rigidity that felt rather like being embraced by a tree.
“Um, are you sure you want to do this?” she said awkwardly.
“Yes.”
“Because if you—”
“It’s fine. Do you intend to participate also?”
“Oh. Right.” She hugged him close, snuggling against the rock-hard cliff face of his pectoral region. “See, this is easy,” she lied cheerfully. “We should soon become desensitized.”
“Hm.”
They waited in taut silence.
And waited.
