His brow rose, and his lips spread into a slow curl. “Do you want to?”
Yes. “Why? Do you want me to?” Pulse pounding so hard she tasted the adrenaline, she waited. She should just say it. It was obvious. But again, this wasn’t something she’d ever do, but anytime it came to this man she found herself doing and saying things outside her comfort zone.
He crossed his arms as if waiting on her to say something.
She lifted her chin, recognizing his challenge and responded to it. “Fine. Yes, I want to cuddle. I’m tired, but I can’t sleep. We’re in this together and I feel sort of bonded to you because of it. I trust you not to manhandle me in the middle of the night, and it’s been a long time since I’ve cuddled anyone. Call me a slut if you want but--”
“Enfer, Cherie. Too many words.” Gerard threw the sheets back, and he was so naked and she was so not, she felt hot and twitchy all over again.
“Oh jeez, Gerard. You’re gonna have to put on some night pants or something. I... I can’t.”
“Have you ever lain with a man before, Betty?” his deep voice rolled over her skin like warmed oil.
“Many times. Tons. Lots.”
He snorted and got up. “Give me clothes then, woman.”
Betty tripped over her feet, and dived into the bag, feeling around for the soft fabric. She grabbed the black sleeping pants and tossed them at him. “There.”
He laughed and slipped them on. He held his arms out. “Better?”
Not really. Because the pants tapered to his slim waist like the finest silk, hugged his hips and thighs, teasing her with what lay beneath. She bit her lip.
Gerard hopped back into the bed, crossed his arms behind his head and reclined. “Well?”
“What?”
His brow rose. “Your turn. You can’t sleep in all that.”
Betty glanced down at her jeans and shirt. She narrowed her eyes. “I’m not afraid of you, Gerard. I’m not a prude.”
“Prove it.” He crossed his heels, wearing a cocky grin.
“This is so stupid,” she said, lifting her shirt above her head, tossing it at his face. She always wore an undershirt, so if he’d hoped to see the color of her bra he was S.O.L. “Not like you can do anything, why put yourself through the torture?”
He sniffed her pink top, and her stomach swirled with dancing butterflies, she’d spritzed herself with orange blossom perfume before she’d left and couldn’t help wondering if he liked it. Her toes curled, digging into the carpet.
“The trews,” he said, and she licked her lips, pulse fluttering as the butterflies climbed out her stomach and up her throat.
Betty touched the button of her jeans and channeling her best Marilyn Monroe meets Xena warrior princess sex kitten vibe, snapped it open. Her fingers shook, but thankfully he didn’t seem to notice as she pushed the jeans off.
“You’ve the shapely thighs of a gazelle, sorciere.”
His voice sounded hoarse and hearing him call her a sorceress, knowing he implied she cast a spell on him, it filled her with a sense of womanly empowerment. Betty smiled and hopped over her pile. “See, not afraid of you.”
He scrubbed his jaw.
But the second she got in bed with him, and his arm stretched across her shoulder, the fear came back like a splash of ice water to the face. She tensed.
Gerard didn’t speak either, but his fingers rubbing her cold upper arms soothed her, and before she knew it, she was shuddering out a deep breath, body liquid and languid.
Briley hated covering his window with a curtain, hated blocking out the stars he said. Now she knew why, Gerard’s big body cradling hers, her head on his chest-- lulled by the steady beat of his heart-- and the beauty of a million twinkling lights, was better than any sleeping pill. From one breath to the next, Betty slipped into the peaceful oblivion of dreams.
***
Gerard stared at her, entranced by the soft lift of her chest, her warm breaths against his skin, and wondered why he’d never taken the time to watch a woman sleep before. Watch the shadow of dreams race across her face, see her face twitch and hear her gentle moans. T’was a wonder he’d never want to miss out on again.
He couldn’t understand her. Understand why she was okay with this. If it’d been him, and she’d fallen into his lap, he’d have screwed her senseless, then walked away. He’d not have cared for her plight, it wasn’t his problem. And yet here she was, snuggled up to him, with her leg wrapped around his and her tiny hand splayed against his heart, and he couldn’t understand it.
His lips twitched. She rambled, a lot. Nonsense he often couldn’t make out, but it didn’t bother him. Not even the sharp tongue of hers did anything other than make his blood hot and his brain crazed with a consuming need to know her.