This was insane. She blamed it on Gina. Her friend’s parting words rang through her mind. Get yourself under the first big, brawny Scot you meet.
Thea knew Gina would heartily approve of this guy for her to work out all her sexual fantasies on, but that wasn’t why she came on this trip. She came here to enjoy herself … to maybe even find herself and think about her future. She’d already figured out she would rather be alone than with douchebags who didn’t love or appreciate her. No more guys who didn’t fit. No more men who wanted to change her. She’d either feel right, feel good, when she was with a guy or she wouldn’t be with a guy at all.
This fixating on a stranger in the bed across from her was wholly unhealthy. She was confident he didn’t entertain any sexual thoughts about her.
She listened as he settled into bed, the mattress squeaking slightly under his weight. His movements eventually stilled and there was nothing but the pop of the fire, the howl of the storm outside, and rush of blood in her ears.
She couldn’t hear his breathing, but strangely enough … she thought she felt it. As though it matched in rhythm to her own. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale.
Sweet Tater Tots. She was losing it. Her grandmother had told her she was crazy when she said she was still going on her honeymoon. Grams insisted Thea needed to stay home and patch things up with Charlie or she was going to end up one of those old ladies living with a bunch of cats. Never mind she was allergic to cats and Grams knew that.
You’ve messed up two relationships now, Thea. You may never get another chance. You’re not getting younger. Or thinner.
Thea rolled onto her side and curled her knees to her chest. She shoved Grams’s voice out of her head and closed her eyes.
She could not feel his breathing.
She could not feel his stare from the bed. He was not looking at her with those brilliant blue eyes of his and thinking naughty things. No, that was only Thea. It was all in her head. Her crazy head.
She hugged herself and tried to make herself as small as possible.
She kept her eyes closed. Even if she couldn’t fall asleep, she could at least fake it. The night would pass. She’d lay here and wait for the morning.
~
Face to face with the bear, Goldilocks had never seen so fierce a creature. His hungry eyes, his snapping teeth, his dark pelt…
~
Somehow Thea did fall asleep. And she dreamed of him.
She dreamed of that hot body over hers, skin to skin. Pushing and pulling. His hands. His mouth. The delicious weight of him driving into her, taking her so close. Right to the brink of shattering.
She opened her eyes to the fire-cast room with a ragged gasp, her body shaking and panting, just shy of orgasm. She released a mewling whimper, her frustration acute. She’d been close. Closer than she ever came with Eric or Charlie, and this had been a mere dream.
She dragged a hand over her face, her skin feverish to the touch. God, she was pathetic. A woman with two long-term relationships under her belt should have more experience with orgasms.
She was curled on her side on the couch, her shirt—or rather his shirt—hiked up around her thighs. Her hand pressed between her legs, her fingers buried in her heat. She was throbbing there, her sex aching. In her sleep, she’d sought to relieve that ache. The base of her palm pushed right against her bare sex, grinding into her clit as she drove her fingers into her clenching channel.
She wrenched her hand away with a soft gasp and buried the treacherous thing under her pillow as though needing to restrain herself.
Immediately she began to rationalize her behavior. Dreaming about him wasn’t so unusual. He’d been on her mind before falling asleep, and didn’t people usually dream about things that weighed heavily on their minds? She’d been obsessing over him, and why wouldn’t she be? She was trapped in a house with him. It was only natural.
Except the nature of her dream wasn’t exactly natural. Masturbation wasn’t normal. Not for her.
She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had an arousing dream. Maybe never. Of course it had been ages since she last had sex. Even months before Charlie broke off their engagement. It hadn’t really bothered her because the sex had never been noteworthy. She’d actually convinced herself sex wasn’t all that important in a relationship—or in life.
She wished she knew what time it was. Then she would know how long she had to wait until morning.
“Come here.”
The deep voice sent a wave of gooseflesh over her. Still, she doubted her ears. Why was he awake? And why would he be speaking to her?
“I said: come here.”
Okay, there was no denying it that time. He was definitely talking to her.
She lifted her head and looked toward his bed.
He was sitting up, his upper body propped against the headboard of the bed. He looked relaxed and casual, and yet there was something restrained about him that made her body tingle. An animal magnetism. Like a creature of the jungle, watching its prey and biding its time.
Maybe it was that body of his. It was born of labor and sweat. Muscled and ridged and lean as any warrior’s. It was like he walked right off the screen of Braveheart. He only needed the requisite war paint.
“You want me to come over there?” Still requiring confirmation, she pointed at the bed.
He nodded. Just once. Hard and curt, his expression void of emotion.
She swung her legs over the couch and walked toward his bed with hesitant steps, stopping near the edge, a careful distance from him.
“You’re awake,” he announced, his deep voice an accusing growl.
“So are you,” she countered.
His blue eyes glinted in the dim light cast from the fire. “You were making some verra interesting sounds in yer sleep.”
God, that voice. It was too hot. He was too hot.
Heat fired her cheeks. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to disturb you.”
“That’s what you’ve done though.” He paused a beat and she wondered if this was where she should apologize again. “From the moment you invaded my house, you’ve disturbed me.”
“Was I talking in my sleep? I do that sometimes.”
“No. I wouldn’t call it talking, but you were making sounds.”
Her pulse skittered beneath her skin. She was afraid she knew what kind of sounds she’d made. Her body still hummed with need, so she had a fairly good idea.
“I’ll try not to disturb you anymore.”
He stared hard at her, unmoving. Silent and taciturn.
She started to turn around, figuring he was done with her.
“Come here.”
She figured wrong.
Now this was the point when she should ignore him. She should keep going. Return to the couch and slip beneath her blanket. That would be the safe and logical thing to do. That would be what middle school art teacher Thea Hoover from Phoenix would do—a woman who only ever chose safe men.