Jill Shalvis - Smart And Sexy

Not going to happen. He kept with her, increasing the pressure and pace as she wanted, tugging the blanket down so he could watch, which nearly had him losing it.

Her eyes were closed, her mouth open as she gasped for air, her breasts full, her nipples peaked tight, her belly quivering as he moved his fingers on her, in her. Bending, he took one of her nipples in his mouth and sucked hard as he stroked her, and she went taut as a bow, and then burst.

He couldn’t tear his eyes off her as she exploded for him, on him, all over him. It was the hottest, most erotic experience of his life, and he hadn’t even been touched.

Her hips slowed, and she released his hand, probably as reality hit. She made a sound, one that held more than a touch of embarrassment, and without looking at him, rolled to her side, away from him.

He didn’t react as fast as she, and was slow to take his hand off her, letting it glide up over her hip, over her ribs, barely skimming the very bottom curve of a breast before he withdrew. Though it was the last thing he wanted to do, he covered her back up, covered them both back up, and by the time he snuggled in behind her, she was dead asleep again, lost in dreamland, hopefully where there were no bad guys with guns, and most likely where there was no him either.

Nothing showed of her now except the very top of her head, but he could feel her every single silky inch, and his body hadn’t yet gotten the message that he wasn’t on the same path to release that she’d gotten.

It didn’t matter.

He wanted to turn her over to talk, to make her trust him with all her secrets. He also wanted to make her come all over him again, as many times as possible, and then he wanted to bury himself inside her so only the two of them existed, so that she could lose herself in him.

And him in her.

Her breathing slowed even more, evening out in the cadence of someone deeply asleep. Which she needed, he reminded himself. He took several deep breaths of his own and forced some grim thoughts to help ease his desire, such as the events that had transpired since leaving Burbank, leading up to him being here in this bed.

It was sobering. But not sobering enough, not with her hair in his face, the taste of her still on his lips, the scent of her consuming him. Not with the hard-on he had raging even right this moment, nudging her in the ass on its own. With a sigh, he pressed his face into her hair, letting it drift down over him, and tried to follow her into dreamland.

Bailey couldn’t catch her breath. She was running, running at top speed, or at least as top speed as her ridiculous high-heeled boots would let her in the snow, which had seeped into her clothes, down her boots, into her hair and face so that she was so frozen solid she couldn’t feel anything.

She couldn’t see either; a fog had settled all around, and panic gripped her in its icy fist.

“Bailey!” Kenny called from somewhere in the fog, somewhere close.

He was in danger, terrible danger. She hadn’t gotten him far away enough, safe enough, and on top of that, she hadn’t been able to find the money.

Now he was going to die, because of her, and no matter how fast she ran, she couldn’t catch up with him. “I’m here!” she cried. “I’m right here! Where are you?”

“Bailey?”

He sounded farther away this time, and her heart sped up as she ran harder, faster. She had to find him before they hurt him. She had to.

Then she plowed into something-somebody.

Reaching out, she dug her fingers into Kenny, sobbing in relief, only…only this person was bigger, taller than Kenny.

Alan.

“But you’re dead,” she said inanely, staring up into his face.

He grabbed her arms, gave her a little shake, and smiled, and the teeth fell out of his mouth. Before she could so much as draw a breath to scream, the skin slid off his face, and his hair slid away, revealing a skeleton, a horrible, terrifying skeleton smiling at her. “And you’re next,” it said evilly.

She found the breath to scream, but it came out as a sort of pathetic little whimper because he was going to kill her. At the knowledge, she began to fight, kicking, biting, scratching, and when he dropped her, she whirled and ran for her life.

Any minute now she’d feel a bullet tearing into her flesh, which spurred her on while striking terror into her heart. Each breath was a sob for help, for mercy, for this nightmare to be over-

“Bailey.”

“Get away from me!”

“Princess, it’s just me. I’ve got you.”

Bullshit, he was going to get her. Confused, disoriented, she fought with every ounce of her being-

“Bailey.”

The voice was different, and penetrated through her panic. Not Kenny’s…

“You’re okay,” Noah said. “It’s just me.”

With a gasp, she opened her eyes, but it didn’t help. It was still pitch-black, and panicked, she sat straight up and bashed her forehead into his. Seeing stars, she fell backward to the pillow.

“Jesus. Fuck. Christ.” He sounded as if maybe he was in considerable pain.

Pain she’d caused.

But at least he was alive, and then he proved it by pinning her down with his big, tough, gorgeous body.

“Talk to me,” he said.

Talk to him…the one thing she didn’t want to do, not when still gasping from the dream and seeing stars from bashing her head on his, hard. She couldn’t see a hand in front of her face either, which didn’t help.

She could feel, though. Feel Noah sprawled over the top of her. All of him was hard, and sharp, far too sharp for her to get anything past, though she wished she could, because she didn’t want to discuss this.

Or anything.

It was too much, it was all too much, and she shoved at him, needing to roll over and lick her wounds in private.

“Bailey,” he murmured, holding on to her, stroking his hands down her body. “You’re okay.”

Her naked body.

Oh, God. She’d let him-at the memory, she squeaked in humiliation, which he must have taken as fear because he whispered, “It was just a dream.” He kept his hands on her, not letting her go, even though she wanted to roll into a tight ball. “Just a dream.”

“But it wasn’t.” She hated that her eyes burned, that her throat was so tight her every breath hitched. “Kenny was there, he was hurt, and then Alan-”

“A dream,” he said again firmly. “I promise.”

“But it all really happened. Alan did leave me in this mess, and it’s going to keep happening, don’t you see? It’s going to keep happening until I-”

Find the money.

She closed her mouth, wishing she could find an escape, something to take her out of this existence of terror.

His hand stroked her hair, and she closed her eyes, thinking if he kept doing that, maybe for the rest of the night she could pretend none of it had ever happened, that they were here together because they wanted to be.

That she was safe.

“It’s going to keep happening until…what, Bailey?”

And even though he couldn’t see her, she shook her head from side to side. She couldn’t tell him. The less he knew, the better. She was still breathing kind of crazily, as if she’d really been running in the woods from Alan. It had seemed so real, but truthfully? Lying in bed with Noah like this, tucked beneath his long, tough, sinewy body, it wasn’t Alan she was in danger from now, but her own heart.

Noah stroked the hair from her face. She still couldn’t see him, but she didn’t have to; she could feel him. He’d kept his word; he’d kept her safe. It was like her own little miracle.

He brushed his nose along her jaw toward her ear, where he slowly exhaled and brought an entirely different kind of shiver to her body, one that had nothing, nothing at all, to do with fear.

Not a little miracle, she corrected when she felt something pressing into her thigh. A big miracle with a long, tough-built body more than capable of doing whatever was needed.

Including, apparently, her, and in spite of herself, she felt her body heat up in memory.

“You’re safe here,” Noah said, his voice coming disembodied in the dark. “Believe that much, at least.”

“I do.” Her voice was raspy, telling her she’d slept long and hard. A shock. She hadn’t slept long and hard since Alan’s death.

His fingers sank into her hair as his thumbs stroked her forehead. “That’s got to hurt,” he said, and she heard the wry smile in his voice. “You hit my chin hard.”

“Seeing stars,” she admitted.

“You really are safe here, you know,” he said, sounding sure and confident.

What she’d give for half of that confidence. “Still, I should go. I have to-”

“It’s only five. Sleep some more first, then I’ll take you where you need to go.”

“Five…in the morning?”

“Yeah.”

With a squeak, she pushed him aside and sat straight up again. “We slept all night?”

“What was left of it.”

She felt the mattress give as he stretched for something, and then she heard a click, and a soft light flooded the room.

Then an entirely different nightmare came to her. Because she’d kicked away the covers while running in her dreams, and she wore only a set of goose bumps, and nothing else.

She grabbed for the down comforter to pull it over herself, but Noah beat her to it, holding the blanket away, his gaze running over her breasts, her ribs, her belly, his eyes dark, so very, very dark.

But that wasn’t what made her breath catch in her throat, what had her nipples hardening in spite of herself.

No, that came from the fact that he was also completely, gloriously, one-hundred-percent naked.

And aroused.

Oh, good Lord, was the man aroused, and built, not to mention completely at ease with his body in a way she would have admired if she wasn’t suddenly so aware of how exposed she was, and vulnerable.