Swallowing a heavy dose of reality, she finally worked up enough courage to reach over and lightly tap his shoulder. He didn’t budge, although a loud snore of defiance resounded from deep inside his chest.
“Psst.” She poked him right in the center of his chest. Taking in the number of scars and marks that riddled his body—a roadmap of a story belonging to the man who’d fought in the War on Terror, the Libyan Crisis and many others since enlisted as a bomb specialist in the Marines—she felt a sickening feeling open up in the pit of her stomach.
“Hey, wake up!” she whispered, not wanting to disturb Finley which would lead to a messy situation that Novah wasn’t prepared to handle, especially with a migraine starting to pound at her temples with a heartbeat all its own.
He rolled over, sending the pillow off his face. One lid opened. “What?” At first, he looked disoriented, then finally a sleepy grin curved the corners of his full, kissable lips. Running a hand over his classic taper and down along his thin layer of whiskers, his storm-blue eyes captured her in an invisible embrace. His dimples intensified, targeting her chafed inner thighs. “Good morning,” came the guttural greeting.
Novah squeezed her trembling legs and pointed at the sleeping child who had her head nestled in his armpit.
His brows lifted in surprise, but he quickly recovered. “What’s she doing in bed with us? I thought you said she was staying the night with your mother?” He wiped the remaining sleep from his eyes and pushed up onto one elbow.
It should be illegal for someone to wake up looking as good as he did.
With an aggravated moan, Novah slid out of bed, grateful she had donned a long T-shirt last night and pulled on the knee-length robe from the chair in the corner giving her more layers as if it could hide the turmoil in her body.
“Get up, Egan,” she urged quietly. He made a good point, she’d have to ask her mother why Finley was here, but the more pressing situation was that she needed to get tall, dark, and off limits on his way before things took an entirely different direction than just a relapse of her sanity. She knew better than to drink a few shots around Egan because she always lost sight of reality. It hadn’t helped that she’d been feeling a little lonely when she’d chased him down at his family’s bar where they’d once shared a lot of good times. They’d even had their reception there and every anniversary, until the last.
Seeing that he wasn’t moving, she tapped her wrist to remind him of the time. “I mean it. Get up.”
“You didn’t answer me. Why is she in our bed?” He was still braced on his elbow, his large bicep flexed, looking like a bronzed anaconda. If only she could be near him without feeling an overwhelming sense of longing.
“It’s not ‘our’ bed any longer.”
He sat up straight and rubbed his forehead. He’d always kept his hair cut regulation short, which showed off his chiseled cheekbones and square jawline, giving him a warrior-like appearance. His twinkling eyes and charming smile were what had attracted her to him first five years ago, and then she got to know his gentle heart and warm touch that shouldn’t belong to a man of his caliber—a man who hunted dangerous enemies and disposed of chemical and nuclear hazards like they were yesterday’s trash. His rugged presence intimidated some, and he hadn’t always been in touch with his communication skills, but she’d known a warmer side to him that had given her a feeling of safety and security, even when her entire world was turning upside down.
Finley stirred, but didn’t wake up. She looked so peaceful that it ripped through Novah. “She’s been having bad dreams.” Turning to stare at the vanity mirror, she groaned at the haggard reflection she saw. Her hair was tousled. Dark circles rimmed her eyes. And her pale skin needed a dose of good ol’ vitamin C. The tequila shots had kicked her butt. She was a lightweight and had made an awfully bad decision. Alcohol wasn’t an excuse though, not when she’d been as sober as a church mouse when they walked through the door. When they’d first moved to the small two-bedroom house on Hickory Street, they’d christened every room, and last night, they’d rekindled those days when they couldn’t keep their hands off one another.
Sex had never been the issue…
Glancing at her bed partner through the oval mirror, who still had his flecked gaze locked on her, she felt her nipples tighten. No, she wouldn’t sink back into that virile web again.
Why wasn’t he getting out of bed? Didn’t he see how complicated this situation was? He never did stress about anything and that irritated her.
“Why is she having bad dreams?”
“I don’t know, Egan. Let’s see, her dad is gone for long periods of time and her mother has to come up with excuses for his absence.” She followed the trail of his clothes on the floor, picking them up on her way to his side of the bed, tossing the heap into his bare chest. “Now get up!”
“Her dad isn’t AWOL,” he growled, holding the pile of clothes awkwardly. “Remember who chose to be single?” His harsh gaze sent acid burning through her veins.
“I’m not navigating that particular mine field again.” She swiveled on her bare feet and marched out of the bedroom, down the hall and into the kitchen where she started a much-needed pot of strong coffee. While she rummaged through the cabinet for pain medicine, she
