His hands stretch across my back, fingers splayed, holding me tight, making me feel slight within their impressive span. I can’t help the intentional way I grind my hips, the deep throb beginning to stir within me. That earns a soft curse from his lips. A simple, common curse that is so sensual coming from him, his voice vibrating deep within me, making me moan against his mouth.
He tugs at my nightshirt, the hem bunched within his fists. “This is the softest thing I’ve ever felt,” he murmurs against my lips.
“I should have thrown it out about three years ago,” I whisper.
So smoothly, his fingers slip beneath my nightshirt just as his lips slide from mine, trailing along the hard line of my jaw, my breath trembling as I feel the first strokes of heat skating across my neck. “Don’t. I’m enjoying what I can see through it.”
I inhale sharply as his calloused hands skate upward in one smooth, agonizingly slow stroke, tickling my rib cage and memorizing the flat plane of my stomach.
I swallow against my self-conscious worry that my breasts aren’t enough for him—I’ve seen the kinds of girls he dates—but still I tense the moment his thumbs draw over them, slowly outlining their subtle shape.
He must notice my wariness because his hands pause where they are, as if to allow me to get used to his touch. “You’re perfect. You know that, right?” When I don’t answer, he pulls back, just far enough to meet my eyes, his nose nuzzling against mine affectionately. “I wouldn’t want to change one single thing about you. Ever.”
My heart pounds in my chest. He must be able to feel it with his hand against me, the pad of his thumb now moving again, sliding softly back and forth over my nipple.
I catch his lips and we’re locked again, his hands drifting, circling around to my back, gaining a strong hold of my body so he can pull me tighter. I let my own hands explore again, more confidently this time, down that strong, thick neck that leads to an even more impressive collarbone peeking through his shirt. I fist his shirt as he fisted mine, wishing it were off, wishing I could feel his warm skin against mine.
I break free of his mouth and lean back far enough to push his shirt up, exposing the ridges of his hard stomach and chest, heaving and caving with each labored breath. “Oh, my God. You’re . . .” I take in his golden skin, speckled with goose bumps, his nipples peaked. He is the most perfect human being I’ve ever seen, and he wants me.
His grip on my hips tightens as my eyes follow that small trail of dark hair from his belly button, downward, imagining my fingers slipping below his belt. Even if I couldn’t already feel him against me, the ridge in his jeans is blatantly obvious.
I press my hips into him again, a moan escaping me with the delicious friction.
“Cath.” Warning shines in his eyes, his breathing shaky.
I grind against him again, the ache deep inside me so consuming, I no longer care that we’re on my couch in my living room, or that this may have gotten out of hand.
“Dammit . . .” His fingers coil around the sides of my panties, tugging on them threateningly.
“Mommy?”
The one word, spoken in a sleepy voice, is like a cold bucket of ice water dumped over both of us.
Brett’s fingers loose their grip a split second before I scuttle off his lap, his shirt falling to cover him just as Brenna staggers from her room, rubbing balled-up fists over her eyes.
“Shit,” I whisper between ragged breaths, hoping she’s still too drowsy to process what she might have seen. Hoping I can get her back to sleep before she fully wakes. “I’ll be back in a minute.” I climb off the couch.
“Brett?” She asks sleepily.
I sigh. Great.
“Hey, Brenna.” He seems to have sobered up almost immediately.
“What’re you doing here?”
“Visiting your mom. I had a rough day and I wanted to see her.”
“Back to sleep, Brenna.” With my hands on her shoulders, I try to gently steer her toward her room.
She wriggles free, wandering over to the couch, the bottoms of her pajamas slightly too large and sagging in that adorable way. She studies his cast. “Does your leg still hurt?”
He frowns, following her gaze. “Not as much as it used to. I’m trying not to think about it, though.”
“Why? Does it make you sad?”
He nods.
“You should think about things that make you happy. That’s what I do when I’m sad.”
It’s jarring, hearing words I’ve said over and over again repeated in her child’s voice.
Brett regards her for a long moment, an unreadable expression on his face. “What do you think about?”
She doesn’t miss a beat. “My dog, Stella. I don’t have her yet, but I will one day.”
A smile slowly stretches across Brett’s face. “A dog named Stella would make me happy, too. What else?”
I should be stopping this, getting her back to bed—God knows it’ll take forever now that her brain is firing—but it’s impossible not to simply stand back and watch the way Brett is with her, so genuine and natural.
“Umm . . . Uncle Jack . . . ,” she picks through her thoughts, “ice cream, books, my dolls, waffles . . .”
Brett’s trying hard not to laugh. “In that order?”
“Yeah. Oh,” she giggles, “I almost forgot, my mom.”
“Yeah, she makes me happy, too.” His gaze flickers to me, a secretive glint in them. “But you should get back to bed. It’s late.”
“Say good night, Brenna.”
She sways with a touch of hesitation before climbing onto the couch and wrapping her arms around his neck. “Good night.”
Brett stalls, unable to hide the momentary surprise from his brow. But when he curls an arm around her body, cocooning her against him, I’m pretty sure my heart is about to explode in my chest.
It takes me a moment to gather myself and usher her back to bed. Thankfully, she doesn’t argue when I tell her I can’t leave Brett alone. She simply rolls onto her side and closes her eyes.
I emerge to find Brett on his feet, maneuvering around the coffee table on his crutches. He’s heading toward the door. “So, when do kids actually start sleeping through the night?”
I sigh, trying to hide my disappointment that he’s leaving. “When you parent them properly. I’ve created a monster. But I’ve never minded it. Until now.” I step closer to smooth my hand over the top of his T-shirt, offset just a touch. “It’s probably a good thing, though, that she got up when she did.”
“I didn’t come here, looking for that, I swear. I don’t want you to think that.”
“I don’t think that at all.” But what must Brett think of me? That I would so easily climb onto his lap, so quickly press against him. “I’m not usually so . . . It’s been a really long time for me.” I blurt out. Since I’ve been with a man. Since I’ve trusted a man.
He says nothing for a long moment, simply stroking my hair off my face with a gentle touch. “How long?”
“Since Brenna’s father.”
His brows lift in mild surprise.
“What?”
“No. It’s not bad.” He takes a deep breath. “I shouldn’t have come, not when I’ve been drinking.”
My hand drifts to his chest to rub against his curves. “I’m glad you came.” And more than anything right now, I wish he could stay. But that’s not an option, not with Brenna.
He seizes my fingers, holding them over his heart, letting me savor the strong, steady thrum. “I should go.”