He laughed and rubbed his jaw. “No.”
I cleared my throat. “Well, um… I’ve seen it already, so…”
“You’ve seen it.” He stood and pulled his shirt off. “I can still take the couch.”
“Then your ass and balls will be on my couch. Just take them off, Lucan.”
He threw his shirt at my head, and I laughed as I pulled it away from my face. My fingers lingered on the fabric longer than necessary, a small indulgence I couldn’t quite help.
I folded his shirt, smoothing the wrinkles with my palm before setting it on my nightstand, acutely aware of him watching my every move. He hesitated before taking off his jeans and sliding in beside me.
The bed was definitely not made for someone his size, and there was no way to avoid touching. His body radiated heat, and after a moment of awkward shifting, I turned on my side, my back to him.
We lay there in silence, inches apart yet carefully not touching. We’d been wrapped around each other not even an hour ago, and now we were acting like strangers.
I reached behind me to grab his arm and pull it over my waist. “Just hold me, okay?”
His body relaxed immediately, shifting to curve around mine. His arm tightened, pulling me against his chest as his lips brushed against my neck. “Goodnight, Elizabeth.”
I closed my eyes, feeling safer than I had in years.
Chapter 24
Liz
Ileaned against the kitchen counter, sipping water from a coffee mug and willing my body temperature to drop to something resembling normal. My reflection in the microwave door showed a woman with hair sticking up at odd angles and cheeks flushed despite splashing cold water on my face three times already.
What was wrong with me? I woke up with Lucan’s arm draped over my waist, his body warm against mine, and I immediately panicked. Not because I was scared, but because every nerve ending in my body lit up, and I wanted nothing more than to press back against him and see what happened.
Instead, I carefully extracted myself from his hold and escaped to the bathroom like a coward.
Now I stood in the kitchen, my brain unable to make a simple decision. Coffee? Diet Pepsi? Or just hide under the sink until my hormones remembered I was forty-three and supposedly past this sort of thing?
I ran a hand through my tangled hair. Lucan was still asleep in my bed. Naked. The sight made my stomach flip pleasantly, and I had to physically shake myself to dispel it.
It was Saturday. He probably didn’t have to work. The decent thing would be to let him sleep in, not wake him up because I couldn’t control myself.
Food. I should make food. That was a normal thing to do, right? Not stand around obsessing over the naked man in my bed and the things I wanted him to do to me.
I opened the refrigerator, staring blankly at the contents. Reese had stocked it for me, along with the pantry, when I’d first moved in. Eggs, milk, butter... I could make pancakes. From scratch. That would keep me occupied.
I started pulling ingredients from the pantry, setting them on the counter one by one: flour, sugar, baking powder, salt. It was methodical work that would hopefully quiet the buzzing under my skin.
I was reaching for a mixing bowl when arms wrapped around my waist from behind. I jumped, nearly knocking over the container of flour.
“What are you doing?” Lucan’s voice was rough with sleep, his lips brushing against my neck as he spoke.
My body went rigid, then melted against him in the same breath. His chest was warm against my back.
“I, um...” My brain short-circuited as his lips moved against my neck again, not quite a kiss but definitely not an accident. “Pancakes. I’m making pancakes. From scratch. Because it’s not like I can go out and hunt a pig to make bacon, which would probably solve my—” I bit my lip to stop the flow of words.
His hands splayed across my stomach, thumbs making small circles just above the waistband of my sleep shorts. “Solve what?”
“Nothing,” I blurted. I focused on measuring flour into the bowl as if my life depended on it. “Do you even like pancakes? I should have asked. Maybe you’re more of a waffle person. Or an egg person. Or a no-breakfast person. Some people don’teat breakfast. Intermittent fasting is supposedly good for you, though I’ve never been able to?—”
His lips pressed against the side of my neck, a deliberate kiss this time, and my words disappeared. His fingers slid along the elastic of my shorts, just barely dipping beneath it.
“I like pancakes,” he murmured against my skin, and I felt his smile. “I like a lot of things.”
