by Alisha Rai
His eyes popped open, but by their glassy appearance, Genevieve knew he didn’t see her. “Jerry.” His tone was low and filled with such naked pain, Genevieve’s heart clenched a little. Who was Jerry?
She kept her tone firm and commanding. “No, it’s Genevieve. You’re dreaming.”
He blinked a few times and awareness returned. “Genevieve?”
She knew she should remove her hand, but it felt good over the tensile strength of his shoulder. “Yes. You had a bad dream. Are you okay?”
Alex shook his head, as if to clear it. “Yes. I’m sorry. Did I wake you?”
No, ’cause I never slept, ’cause I was too busy thinking of your hot bod. “No. Don’t worry about it.”
“I haven’t had that dream in a while.”
Alex had some kind of effect on her verbal filter, because despite the fact that she knew it was none of her damn business, she couldn’t help but ask, “Do you want to talk about it?”
He closed his eyes. “I’m all right.”
She should have been relieved. Hadn’t she just been telling herself that she needed to keep her distance from the oh-so-charming man? Without saying anything more, she moved as if to stand up.
“It’s just that…”
Her butt hit the ground so fast it was like she was a toddler running for story time. She couldn’t even begin to work up some good shame over her hypocrisy. “Yes?”
“I was shot last year while I was working a case. I think this stirred up that memory, that’s all.”
“Your leg, right?”
He cast her a startled glance and then gave her a halfhearted grin. “The sponge bath. Right. Yes.”
Since he was being so chatty, she decided to go for broke. “Who’s Jerry?”
Alex inhaled sharply. “I was talking, huh? Jerry’s my partner. He died.”
There was more to the story than that, but she didn’t want to probe at what was obviously a very painful subject. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s not your fault.”
“Will you be able to go back to sleep?”
He stared at the ceiling. “Sure.”
She didn’t need to view his aura to know he was lying. The waves of sadness and grief he was giving off would have been visible to anyone with a shred of empathy. Since those were emotions she was extremely familiar with, she couldn’t leave him to stay awake all night. For one thing, it would undo her hard work, leave him vulnerable to becoming ill again.
Yeah, you’re a regular Mother Teresa. “Do you want me to sleep with you?”
“There’s no way I could ever say no to that question.” His tone was dry. “Unless you’re just doing it ’cause you pity me or something.”
“Do we have to psychoanalyze it? Can’t I just sleep here because it’s the practical thing to do?”
His grin was a hell of a lot stronger than before. “Sure. I love practicality, though probably not to the level you do.”
“Good. You’re sleeping under the covers. I’ll sleep on top.” She wished she had a shirt that would fit him. Hell, she wished she had full body armor to throw on him. Whatever kept him covered and out of temptation’s reach.
“No, I’ll sleep on top of the covers.”
“If you argue, I’ll go sleep on the couch.”
He smiled. “Fine. You sleep on top of the sheet. Stay under the blanket?”
“Fine then. Do you need to use the bedpan?”
His face flushed. “I hate to have to do that.”
“I’ve taken care of people when they’ve been sick. I don’t mind.”
“I do. I’m fine.”
Grateful she was wearing her thickest, largest granny gown, she scooted in under the covers. Trying to keep his flesh from touching hers was an exercise in futility. He was so there, long and hard and male. Thankfully, he was no longer steeped in that awful sadness, but he threw off testosterone tempered by a caution and control that was more than exciting.
They lay on their backs, rigid, for a while. The firelight danced over the ceiling. With a low sigh, he tried to turn over onto his injured side and bit off a curse. Instead, he reached out his hand and groped for hers. “Can you come a little closer? Please?”
Genevieve could have refused but didn’t bother, the plea in his tone her undoing. She scooted closer to his warmth until she was snuggled against his side. He wrapped his arm around her and tugged her even closer, so there was barely any room separating the two of them.
She’d almost rather he jumped her. Sex she could handle, but this needy cuddling was so sweet and gentle it made an ache open up in her chest.
Yeah, the idea of sex with him didn’t alarm her at all. In fact, she figured it was close to inevitable, if they were sleeping together like this. She closed her eyes and laid her head on his chest, listening as his breathing evened out and deepened.
6
Alex woke up with an armful of soft woman. In her sleep, with her defenses down, Genevieve had wiggled even closer until she lay sprawled over his uninjured side. Somehow, he must have kicked aside the sheet separating them, and her thick nightgown had ridden up to her waist. Her arm was wrapped around his chest, her leg thrown over his body so her thigh lay right over his hard cock.
He froze. Yes, he was hard beneath his boxers, his penis engorged in his usual morning erection, no doubt intensified by the female flesh cushioning it. He tipped his head back and fought the urge to cry in happiness. At the very least, he was back to normal below the waist.
Genevieve murmured and shifted, rubbing the plump flesh across the sensitive head. His tears of happiness turned into tears of frustration. He counted to ten very slowly, tightening his buttocks to keep from grinding up against her.
He hadn’t been lying last night; his reasons for sleeping with Genevieve had been nonsexual. Selfish, but nonsexual. He had wanted to feel her against him, needed the connection of another human being. Maybe it had been an affirmation that he was alive.
What’s more life affirming than sex?
No, Genevieve’s trust was more important than sex. During the hours he’d spent lying alone yesterday, he’d realized that his father’s voice while he’d been crawling to safety may not have been a hallucination. What if he’d been guided to Genevieve? The only question was, to what purpose? How was he meant to help her?
Genevieve had been hurt, no question about it. He was good at mysteries. He’d uncover her secrets, and then he’d know how to help her. Something he had said or done must have resonated for her yesterday, since she’d lowered her guard enough to tease him and sleep in his bed. No way was she ready to trust him completely, but it was a start.
Maybe she can help you too.
He rejected that little taunting voice. He didn’t need help. That dream last night had just been brought about because of the similarity of the two injuries, that was all. He’d gone through therapy, overcome his deepest depression about Jerry’s death. Alex had moved on, had a new job. So what if he wasn’t the same happy-go-lucky guy he’d been before last year? People changed. So what if his new job often felt like he was just a cop in name only? He was still a cop. He’d grown up in a police station, tagging along with his father. He’d been born to serve, and he’d die a cop, just like his old man.
No, the focus here was on Genevieve. She was the one who needed him.
She rubbed her thigh against him again and he bit off a curse. Could he help her without fucking her through the mattress? He didn’t know. Alex didn’t believe in casual sex. He’d personally never really had a one-night stand, had never really understood the appeal of making love to a stranger. Despite her tough talk, Alex had the feeling that Genevieve wasn’t exactly the type who could have sex with a stranger and move on, either.
At the same time, he was nobody’s fool. There was some weird connection between them that made him feel like he’d known her forever. He was wildly attracted to the woman. He understood that a lot of it was probably psychological, since she’d saved him,
but that was mixed in with a healthy dose of old-fashioned physical lust. If the opportunity arose, and if she was consenting, he would probably have sex with her despite the short period of time they’d had together.
Since he couldn’t fuck her and leave, that meant if they did have sex, he’d have to maybe…stay around? He glanced down at her face, her full cupid’s-bow mouth open, close to his nipple. It would take him a while to get tired of looking at that face, if he ever did. She was special, no question about it, and it wasn’t only because of her unexplainable power.
Of its own volition, his hand spread where it lay on the curve of her ass and he gently squeezed the flesh, luxuriating in the way it gave beneath his fingers.
His cock jerked, as if to get his attention. He released her ass and grabbed her thigh, intending to ease her leg off him. Instead, for a brief second, he held her there and thrust his hips the slightest bit, imagining the resilient flesh to be the slick recesses of her pussy.
Immediately he was ashamed of himself. He wasn’t an animal, to molest a sleeping woman. With a bit more force than necessary, he removed her leg from him. As she murmured and blinked awake, he pressed his palm flat against his cock where it peeked above the waistband of his boxers and rearranged the comforter on top of his hips, bunching it to avoid any detection.
She stretched next to him, rather like a lazy cat. He wanted to pet her, but since he’d already done quite a bit of unnecessary petting, and his hands were currently busy trying to keep his cock under the radar, he didn’t feel as if it was appropriate.
Genevieve turned her head and gave him a slow, lazy smile that warmed his heart. Yeah, he could definitely get used to waking up to that sight, as often as she’d let him.
He knew the exact instant when comprehension returned to her. Her face flushed and she scrambled away. If she thought they were in an inappropriate embrace now, he was thankful she hadn’t woken up five minutes earlier. Her face would have caught fire.
“Morning.” His voice was gravelly, despite the water she’d woken him to drink during the night.
“Good morning.” After she had covered up her legs she turned to him. “How do you feel?”
“Better.” His reply was automatic, but as he took stock of his body he realized that he did feel better. When he’d gotten shot last year, it had taken him almost two weeks to feel as great as he did today, just a few short days after he’d sustained a far more serious injury.
She left the room, and he did his best to think of as many unarousing thoughts as he could manage to cool his amorous body off. By the time he started reciting baseball stats for the Yankees, he knew he would be able to at least speak to her without embarrassing himself.
When she returned to the room, dressed in her faded jeans and a pink long-sleeved shirt, he had himself under control. Thank the good Lord, since she immediately tried to help him with his embarrassing morning rituals. “I can walk today, I think.” Anything to get away from the bedpan.
“That’s nice that you think that. You won’t be doing it, though.”
He groaned. “Please, Genevieve.”
She eyed him critically. “Two more days before you’re up and about. And if you complain anymore, I’ll make it three.”
“These are not the kind of orders I like to take in bed, chica.”
A warm flush filled her face, but then she delighted him by retorting, “I don’t see you taking any kind of orders in bed.”
He grinned, a slow smile of intent. Ahh, yes, if she trusted him enough to flirt with him, he was a happy man. He’d never been much of a flirt, but he liked their banter, and sexual innuendos were tripping off his tongue around her. “You’re right. I’m usually on top.”
“Don’t be crude.” She didn’t look insulted, though, just a very flushed armful. A militant look entered her eyes. “Bedpan, with me in the room or without. Your choice.”
Since she wouldn’t be budged, he gave in with a grumble and took care of his needs once she left the room.
When that chore was over, they enjoyed breakfast. Or rather, she enjoyed breakfast, and he choked down pasty gruel. “I’m vowing to you right now, when I get better, I’m cooking for you, and you’re going to eat it. Everything I make is terrible, so we’ll be even.”
She didn’t respond. She just crunched into her piece of toast, slathered with butter, and licked her shiny lips.
He made a woeful noise and she snickered. Genevieve had no idea he was reacting to her pretty lips instead of the toast.
As she cleaned up from breakfast, he tried to find a comfortable position, but each way he turned either made him more twitchy or hurt his shoulder.
“Stop squirming. You’re going to hurt yourself.”
“Men don’t squirm. I’m itchy.” He rubbed at his bandage.
“Don’t touch that.”
He dropped his hand to his lap. “Distract me then.”
She blinked. “How?”
Strip naked. “What do you do for entertainment?”
“Entertainment?”
“Yeah. You know, that stuff that unpractical people do?”
“Impractical.”
“Just a little, but I am a responsible guy.”
“No. The word. It’s not unpractical. It’s impractical.”
“Hey. You cook like the nuns at elementary school and you correct grammar like them too.” Alex gave her a slow grin. “If you’d been my teacher though, I would have definitely paid more attention.”
She fought it, but he noted with satisfaction the instant her smile got the best of her. “Give me a break.”
“So what do you do?”
“There’s always plenty to do on a small farm.”
“But that’s work. We’re talking fun.”
“I knit.”
That surprised him. She was so pragmatic and no-nonsense, knitting seemed almost too soft. “That’s cool. What do you make?”
“Blankets. Socks. I crochet a bit. Sell the stuff down at this tourist-trap store in Newbury.”
He resisted the urge to smile. Of course Genevieve would make crafts practical. “My mom’s a seamstress. She loves that stuff. You must have fun with that.”
“It brings in some cash.” Her tone was indifferent, as if she could take it or leave it.
“What else?”
She hesitated. “I read. Write. But mostly I spend a lot of time outside.”
None of her activities included other people. It sounded so solitary. Alex was a social creature. Except for that dark time last year, he couldn’t remember when he hadn’t surrounded himself with a bunch of people. “That’s it?”
“Movies. Do you like movies? I have a DVD player.”
He wanted to weep with gratitude and a little bit of relief. Finally, a sign that Genevieve was a fairly normal young woman. “I love movies.”
“Action, I’m guessing?”
“Sure.”
Alex watched her walk out the back door and return with a portable DVD player and a stack of DVDs. She set up the player without speaking. When she moved to rise, he stayed her with a hand on her arm.
As soon as he touched her, electricity shot up his arm, and he knew it had nothing to do with magic. Just pure, old-fashioned chemistry. “Don’t you want to watch with me?”
“It’s the middle of the day.”
He smiled at her slightly askance look. He figured she’d react the same way to a suggestion of making love during the day.
At first, that is.
“You can’t watch a movie in the middle of the day? I mean, it’s not like you can go outside and do anything.” She was wavering, his instincts told him, so he pushed. “Come on. I’d love to watch with you.”
She heaved a sigh and sat cross-legged next to him. He liked the position, since her jeans tightened around those round thighs. Mmm, that soft inner thigh which had been riding his… Oh crap.
Queen of England. Naked. On a snowdrift.
“Are you okay? You have a fun
ny look on your face.”
I’m trying to keep my dick calm, since there’s only my boxers and a comforter between it and your face. “I’m fine. Which movies?”
She shot him a warning look, reaching for the stack of DVDs. “One movie. That’s about all you’ll be able to stand before your nap.”
Alex gritted his teeth at the reminder of his invalid status. “Sounds good.” Good for starters, at least. He settled into his pillows, certain he wouldn’t be able to remember a single thing about the upcoming movie with Genevieve’s delicate floral scent wafting under his nose.
7
“I’m bored with movies.”
Genevieve rinsed the last dish from breakfast. They’d had fun watching four movies yesterday, breaking for meals and the chores she’d half-fabricated so he’d sleep. Normally she hated talking during movies, but the cheesy action flicks had lent to a teasing commentary running back and forth between them. After the second film, it had seemed easy to curl up next to his pallet. By the time the fourth movie rolled around, his arm had been around her shoulders. It had been a natural progression.
It was like some sort of spell was over the cabin. She could almost believe the real world didn’t exist outside the snowed-in home. He wasn’t really the police chief; she wasn’t the town witch.
She hadn’t even quibbled about sleeping in the same bed with him last night. As much as he might exchange sexual banter with her and touch her with easy familiarity, he was very careful to keep their touch platonic in bed. Until they fell asleep and their subconscious took over. Genevieve had found herself lying on top of Alex in the early hours of the morning, treating him like her very own mattress.
She shook herself out of that pleasant memory when he spoke. “What can we do today?”
Her lips quirked. The man was showing definite signs of mending. As much as she knew he’d enjoyed their film marathon yesterday, such a virile guy was not well suited to lying around in bed. “Here’s an idea…how ’bout you rest?”
“All I do is rest.”