Page 62 of Almost Dead (The Cahills 2)

Not yet.

But she was going to learn.

Soon.

And, better yet, so was her mother.

Cissy yawned and rolled over.

And bumped right into something solid and warm and snoring.

Her eyes flew open, and in the early hours of dawn she saw Jack lying beside her.

“What are you doing here?” she said, shaking him awake. “You can’t be here, you can’t be…Oh God…” What had she done last night? She didn’t remember, and the headache behind her eyes told her that she’d had a lot, maybe too much, to drink.

Jack opened one eye. “’Mornin’ beautiful,” he said, one side of his mouth lifting into a sexy grin.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing sneaking into bed with me when I’m asleep?”

His grin widened. “I thought I might get lucky.”

She stared at him as if he truly had gone round the bend. “We’re separated, remember?”

“So you keep reminding me.”

“We do not sleep together.”

“I wasn’t thinking about sleeping,” he admitted, and something deep inside of her responded.

She started to fling the covers off, and he grabbed her wrist, pulling her back, so that her pajama-clad body was touching his, which of course was naked.

“I thought we had a truce,” he murmured.

Cissy could feel his warmth where their bodies touched. “It was for yesterday and didn’t include the bedroom,” she said, trying not to notice how her body yearned for his. It was semidark in the room, the only light coming from a nightlight that gave off a soft white, luminous glow, enough that she could see his features, catch shadowy glimpses of his expressions but not read what he was thinking.

“Cissy,” he said in a voice that sounded an octave lower than usual. “I—”

“Don’t say it,” she said and placed a finger over his lips. She didn’t want to hear any apologies or mention of the word love. Here, in bed with him, under thick, downy blankets, in a room where they’d made love more often than not, she didn’t want to be emotionally ambushed. “Just don’t.”

He kissed her finger, and she felt a tingle deep inside.

She should have removed her hand, but didn’t, and he wrapped his lips around that finger. The warm wetness of his mouth sent a shot of desire to her core. And that desire, deep inside, in the most feminine part of her, grew in intensity. Memories of making love to Jack cut through her mind, quicksilver images of him staring down at her, levered on his elbows, his blue eyes intense, or of him kissing her breasts, his tongue teasing at her nipples, or of the feel of him as he nudged her legs apart, then held himself for a few moments, just touching her, rubbing against her, making her writhe with want before he actually…Oh God.

She slowly pulled her finger out of his mouth. “This is not going to happen, Jack.” Her voice was raspy, her heart tripping expectantly.

“We need to start over.”

“We’re past that.”

“Are we?”

Damn the man, he had the nerve to slip his arms around her and kiss her.

Hard.

Warm lips found hers, and she closed her eyes. Stop this, Cissy, stop it now! Before it goes any further. You do not want to make love to Jack, do not!

But she moaned softly, and Jack’s big hands seemed to envelop her, pulling her tight against him, fingers sliding beneath the hem of her pajama top to splay against her back as he slowly moved downward, kissing her neck, her collarbone, the hollow of her throat.

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