Page 16 of Breathe Again

Need surged inside me. Not want, need. It was difficult to keep from squirming under the pressure. I was not going to be able to stay close to him without combusting. I forced myself to relax against him for a few minutes and then casually spun around to putmy back against the side of the couch and placed my feet in his lap. He wrapped his hand around my ankle.

“Comfortable, gorgeous?”

“Mm-hmm.”

I didn’t meet his gaze and he jiggled my foot. “You okay?”

I looked up, wondering how he could possibly think I was okay, but I answered him in the affirmative, well knowing once I released the cork on my feelings, things would escalate quickly, and I’d end up feeling more alone than ever.

Fifteen minutes later he was asleep in the most uncomfortable position known to man, his body slumped to one side and his neck twisted to the other. I studied his handsome face, the frown line between his brows deeply engraved. Compassion beat out frustration. I stood up and he came awake, rubbing his hand over his face, inhaling deeply.

“C’mon, Zee, let’s go to bed.”

He nodded. “Sorry, gorgeous. You made such a nice dinner for us, and we don’t have Olivia, I’ll make it up to you.”

His regret tasted bitter. I wished he wanted to make it up for himself, and not just for me.

We slipped into bed, he flicked on the bedroom tv, and opened his arm again, inviting me to cuddle in.

I shook my head. “I’m going to sit up and read for a while.”

He looked at me this time, getting concerned. “Come cuddle for a while. Watch tv with me.”

TV was not really my preferred thing, and the frustration of lying down close to him right then would be far worse than merely sitting beside him as I was on the couch, which had already reached an intolerable level. I needed to manage my frustration and being so close yet so far from what I wanted was not the way to do that.

“I’m not interested in tv, Zee, I’m going to read.” I yanked my pillows into a pile behind my back, dragged them next to him. “Here, I’ll sit right beside you.”

“Good.”

He watched tv for fifteen minutes, then rolled to face me, tucked his hand under my thigh, and slept. When fatigue finally eclipsed the craving, I went to sleep. It was two a.m.

Early morning, I woke to the feel of Zale’s hand caressing my hip, my body pressed up tight to his side. I’d rolled into him in my sleep, my arm slung across his wide chest, my thigh resting ever so slightly over top of his.

“You awake?”

“Mm-hmm.”

Mm. His deep, usually mellow, voice was gritty from sleep and heat radiated off his big body, keeping me warm.

“What time is Olivia due home?”

“Lunchtime.”

“You want to take a shower with me?”

Loaded question.

The answer was yes, I did want to get all wet and soapy with him in the shower, kissing under the spray, and feeling his hands slicking over my skin, then tumbling into bed still half damp to finish what we started, and no, I did not want to stand naked in the bright morning light, where every dip and bump and dimple of cellulite would be exposed to his gaze.

He ran his hand firmly up my back, dragged my knee across his lap with his other hand, and rolled his hips, pressing his erection against the inside of my thigh. I arched my back, pressing closer to his side.

“Come,” he murmured, “shower with me.”

I couldn’t say no, and really, I didn’t want to.

We brushed our teeth. To my mind there was nothing romantic about morning breath, nothing. While I’m okay with quick and dirty sex in the morning with no kissing, this was not that. He got into the shower first and slid the door three quarters of the way shut, ready to open it for me. I pulled my hair up on top of my head to keep it mostly dry. I turned off the bright lights, there was more than enough light coming from the window.

I heard his less than subtle snort from behind the shower door and I laughed out loud.

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