“I think my imagination caused it.”
He shrugged. “I didn’t see anything. But it’s pretty windy out there.”
She took him in, all long and stretched out on the bed in jeans, bare feet, and a Henley that molded to mouthwatering muscle. “Have you been sleeping next to me?”
He looked startled but quickly recovered. “Sometimes when we’re watching a show together, I doze.”
“What have we been watching?”
“All kinds of shit. We’ve watched everything from science to biographies to ancient pyramids. Is there anything you’re not interested in?”
“Not really.”
“Do you remember watching past hockey games and talking about the plays?”
“Vaguely.”
“You know your stuff.”
“So do you.”
He laughed. “As I should. Hungry? Thirsty? Is there anything I can do to make you more comfortable?”
God, he was sweet. She lowered herself on the bed and sighed into the mattress before lowering her lids. “I’m good. I feel about fifty pounds lighter after my shower.”
“You smell really, really good.”
Pleased, she rolled her head toward him. “Yeah?”
“Oh yeah.”
“Good, but I think the shower wore me out. My eyes burn too much to read or watch TV. Would you read to me?”
He cleared his throat. “Uh … read what?”
She leaned over, swiped her e-reader from the nightstand, and switched it on. “Here.”
“It isn’t the romance crap, is it?”
“Is the big, bad hockey player chicken?” Her toes started to tingle just thinking about that deep voice of his reading some of that “romance crap.”
“Of course not,” he scoffed. She could have sworn he blushed.
“Maybe you can score the characters on their … prowess. You know, like at the Olympics?”
A chuckle rumbled through him, and she grinned.
He started to read. He got through one sentence before he fell into hysterical laughter. “I can’t do this!”
“Embarrassed?”
“Yes! Happy now?”
“No. You’ve only read one fucking sentence.”
“Okay. Are there some non-sex parts I can start with? You know, like foreplay, so I can build up to the more graphic shit? You sort of threw me into the deep end here, Sunshine. We already have hard-as-wood cocks going into wet folds. And why the hell aren’t they using protection?”
A laugh spurted from her. “It’s the eighteenth century, you nut.”
“They had STDs back then.”
“Of course they did, but they didn’t have Trojans … or Durex … or …”
He cleared his throat. “Okay. Let me try this again.” He man-giggled through half of the scene, until he finally dissolved in guffaws. “Oh my fucking God! This is … this is … porn!” he wheezed.
“You’re taking all the romance out of this, you know.”
“That’s what she said!”
“C’mon, Sparks. I know you can do this. And if you can’t, I’m kicking you out of my bed.”
“That’s also what she said!”
She turned her head to the side and cracked open an eyelid. “You’ve been kicked out of bed before?”
He nodded. “God, yeah.”
“Don’t take this the wrong way—like letting it go to your already oversized head—but I’m having a hard time picturing it.”
“Like I said, toots, I don’t do things halfway. When I piss off a woman, I really piss her off.”
Now it was her turn to chuckle. “Now that makes sense.”
He laid the e-reader between them. “How about I read from the latest issue of Structure?”
“You read my magazine?” Her tone broadcast her surprise.
“Cover to cover. Fascinating stuff. I’d forgotten how much I like it.”
“I haven’t even read my magazine,” she groused.
“So this is perfect. There’s this great article about anchored wall systems.”
“Meh.”
“Okay. There’s a different issue on evaluating historic stone bridges.”
She blinked a few times. “How many of my magazines have you read?”
“I’ve read them all. I hope that’s okay.”
“Of course it’s okay.” She closed her eyes and snuggled into her pillow. “I like the sound of the bridges, but don’t read it to me. Just tell me about it.”
He did, his voice lulling her into a warm, floaty place. When he grew quiet, she opened her eyes and peeked at him. He was staring at her.
She frowned. “What are you looking at?”
“You.” He tapped the end of her nose. “I like your nose. And the bling.”
When she crossed her eyes to look at it, he laughed. “You have long eyelashes,” he said in a reverent tone that fired something in her tummy. “Did you know they flutter when you dream?”
Oh wow! That’s either super creepy or really, really sweet. Judging by the tender look on his face and the soft tone of his voice, she was going with the latter.
She swallowed around a sudden lump in her throat. “No. I don’t usually record myself when I’m sleeping.”
As if he hadn’t heard her quip, he reached out and swept her hair back. “And your hair … It’s so silky it constantly falls across your face.” She closed her eyes, relishing the feel of his fingers as he tucked strands behind her ears. It was such a gentle, intimate gesture that she was both moved and completely stunned. Two warring emotions welled inside her.
He snatched his hand back, the sudden movement popping her eyes open.
He shrank away—as much as a man his size could. “Sorry … Hey, can I get you some soup?” His abrupt businesslike tone was completely incongruous with the lover’s sensuous voice he’d used when he’d touched her. Sick as she still was, she found herself yearning for the lover to return—and equally appalled that she craved it.
The next day, Sarah sauntered into the kitchen, and Archer hopped up to greet her. Two heads swiveled in concert; two pairs of eyes riveted on her. She raised her hand in a self-conscious little wave. “Hey, Liz. ’Morning, Sparky. How is everybody?”
“What are you doing out of bed?” Quinn barked.
She went for a nonchalant shrug that ended up resembling a shoulder jerk. “Don’t blow a fuse, Sparky. I’m feeling better and decided I was tired of being lazy. How’s your shoulder?”
He gave her a blank stare.
“The one that was in a sling?” she added helpfully.
Recognition dawned in his cocoa eyes. “Fine.”
Liz broke out in a broad grin. “Welcome back to the land of
