Page 38 of Most Likely to Score
Subconsciously, or perhaps not so subconsciously at all, I let my hand fall from my waist to the mattress. A little closer now.
His gaze roams to my hand, dangerously near his hip.
He turns to me. His eyes lock with mine, and my breathing stops. I want to look away, but I want to stare into his deep blue eyes. With his voice a little gravelly, he asks, “Do you like the movie?”
My heart thumps hard against my chest. I lick my lips. “It’s great.”
“You’re not going to fall asleep, are you?”
I shake my head, my hair spilling against the pillow. He watches as my hair moves. I watch his face. He looks at my hand. I glance at his hand. I swear it slides a millimeter closer to mine, then another, then more.
I’m a shooting star.
I’m lit up.
My body is full of electrons and neurons, pulsing and glowing bright.
His eyes stay on mine, not on the screen, not on Ethan. “If you do, though, you can fall asleep on me.”
I swallow, but I can’t get past the dryness in my throat. I don’t think I can get past the desire to take himup on that, to snuggle up against him like the orange kitten, to let him pet me, stroke me, touch me.
Make me purr.
“Want to?” he asks. Is he saying what I think he’s saying?
“Sleep on you?” Each word has its own longitude and latitude.
He nods. “Rest your head on me.”
Oh God.
Oh, my.
He lifts his arm, making room for me to rest my head in the crook, right there. I want to, and I’m terrified of how much I want to.
“You already slept on me in the car,” he says, low and playful.
A soft laugh bursts from my throat, and I scoot a few more inches, resting my head on his chest. My body lines up with his. Our hips touch. My breasts are near his broad, strong chest. Our legs are so close I could drape one over his.
I glance down at my body to make sure I haven’t flung myself at him.
Whew.
Good. I’m still lying flat on my back.
I stay like this, not moving, because if I do, I’ll moan, I’ll groan, I’ll murmur. I’ll blurt out something dangerous liketouch me, kiss me, take me.
Briefly, I try to focus on the screen, to zoom in on the secret agent. What would the king of impossible missions do in this risky situation?
He’d find a way out of danger. Clearly, the only path for me is to go full possum.
With Ethan Hunt somewhere in Prague, my mind drifts, my eyes flutter closed, and I fall asleep.
Later, I wake to a dark room. To a clock flashing 3:25 in bright green. To a TV screen showing the soft blue glow of the hotel’s pay-per-view menu.
And to a hand on my waist. To a big, strong body pressed to mine. To an arm slung across my stomach.
And something else.
