Page 13 of Securing the Odds

She wondered what he wore to bed. PJs? Underwear? Nothing? While packing, she’d been so flustered by Jake hovering over her shoulder, she’d forgotten her pajamas. So there she lay, in nothing but a t-shirt and panties.

The pre-going-to-bed protocol had been a bit awkward. After arriving back at Jake’s place, he’d helped her make the bed in the guest room then told her if she wasn’t tired, she was free to watch TV in the living room. He’d left after that, closing her bedroom door behind him, and she hadn’t seen him since.

Oh, but she’d heard him. With his bathroom abutting the one she was using, she’d heard when the shower turned on while she’d been brushing her teeth. Jake naked, wet, and soapy with only a wall separating them had brought back all the feelings his hand on her leg earlier had inspired. She’d be embarrassed at how turned on she’d gotten if not for the fact it’d been over three years since she’d had sex.

Anyone would be sex starved.

The last year of her marriage had not been an intimate one, and now, knowing where her husband had spent his Friday nights when she’d thought he’d been playing poker with his buddies, she found that a small blessing.

Quickly finishing up in the bathroom, she’d scurried back to her room and climbed into bed, closing her eyes and willing herself to fall asleep. And now, an hour later, she still hadn’t achieved that goal. She couldn’t turn her thoughts off.

She rolled to her stomach, bunched the pillow under her head, squeezed her eyes shut, and started counting sheep. But soon the sheep turned into Jake jumping fences. His long, bare legs were extended, taking each hurdle with ease, their muscles flexing when he landed. His chest was equally bare and started to sheen as he worked up a sweat.

All in all, not thoughts that induced sleep.

Sighing, she sat up and glanced around the darkened room. Maybe some warm milk would help. She’d read somewhere it was supposed to have soothing qualities.

Tammy got out of bed and padded to the door, opening it a crack to peek out. The hall was silent and empty, as was her trip to the kitchen. Streetlights cast enough of a glow through the windows, she didn’t bother turning on the light as she made her way to the fridge and opened it.

No milk.

Who doesn’t have milk? Grabbing a bottle of water instead, she cracked the lid and took a long drink. It was cool and refreshing and did absolutely nothing to make her feel drowsy.

And neither did seeing Jake sitting on the couch as she walked past the living room on her way back to the stairs.

With a startled yelp, one of her hands flew to her chest, the other flung to the side. Unfortunately, that was the one holding the opened bottle of water and an arc of liquid soared, seeming to hover in midair as she gaped at it before splashing to the floor to be absorbed by the carpet.

“You scared me,” she said while trying to get her breathing under control and her heart rate back to normal.

Jake was already standing, a smile playing on his lips as if trying to keep himself from laughing. “I didn’t mean to.”

“Were you sitting there the whole time?” Belatedly, she noticed the TV was on, playing some sports program but the sound was low.

“Yes.”

“Why didn’t you say something when I walked past?”

“Didn’t want to lose the view of your perfect ass in nothing but a pair of panties.” He shrugged as if sayingwho could blame meand it was then she realized he was shirtless. How she was just noticing that was beyond her, she’d blame it on the fright he’d given her.

Her eyes traveled—leisurely—over his pectorals down to his abdominals. Oh, good lord, he had a six-pack. Her imagination had not done him justice.

Her eyes landed on a scar about an inch above the waistband of his shorts and about two inches to the right of his navel. A light, shiny line about three inches long and a half an inch wide and only ugly because she knew the story behind it. “That’s where you were shot?”

“Yeah.”

The word was barely a grunt of sound, and she rolled her eyes up to find his blazing down on her.

Oh, my.

She was taking a step forward, her hand reaching out to land on the warm skin of his stomach before she even realized what she was doing.

His muscles quivered under her touch, and he issued a sharp hiss as he exhaled a breath, causing her to quickly retract her fingers. “Does it still hurt?”

His long fingers surrounded her wrist, pulling her hand back. “No. Just been waiting a long time for your touch.”

His comment made her bolder, and she splayed her fingers, covering as much area as the width of her hand would allow. She wanted to use both hands, but one still held the bottle of water.

As if sensing her plight, he pulled the bottle from her grip and brought it to his lips. Tipping his head back, he chugged the last of its contents then straight-arm tossed it to the side where it bounced on the carpet once before coming to a standstill.

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