That is rare enough to make me still.
Then everything returns in pieces.
My bed.
AJ.
AJ in my bed.
AJ’s arm across my middle, his chest against my back, one bare leg tangled with mine as if we have done this a hundred times and not exactly once.
He kisses the back of my neck.
My body, traitor that it is, responds before my brain has finished coming online.
“Pippa,” he murmurs.
I make a sound that is not a word.
His mouth curves against my skin. I can feel it.
“We have to be at the station in an hour.”
That wakes me properly.
I turn my head, which is difficult because he is very close.
“What?”
“Station. An hour.”
I blink at him.
He looks annoyingly good for a man who has just woken up. Sleep-creased face, wrecked hair, eyes warm and amused and a little too fond for safety.
“What time is it?” I ask.
“Six-ish.”
“Six-ish?”
“Six-oh-seven.”
“That is not ish.”
“I was softening the blow.”
I groan and roll onto my back.
Mistake.
He is right there, propped on one elbow, looking down at me with an expression that makes several parts of me forget we have jobs, responsibilities and uniforms that require functional limbs.
His gaze dips.
Not subtly.
I pull the sheet higher.
