One Wild Night With Her Enemy by Heidi Rice

CHAPTER EIGHT

CASSIETOOKTHEsteps two at a time, with the long shadows chasing her all the way to the back door of the imposing wood and glass structure.

She pressed her forehead against the cold steel, stupidly pleased to have got to the house before the last of the light faded on the horizon. The sun had set less than five minutes ago, but even so the familiar vice around her chest tightened.

She forced herself to even her breathing. Grow up. You’re fine...you’re safe...you’re back now. You did not have to spend a night lost in the forest.

She had always had an idiotic fear of the darkness, and had been forced to sleep with a light on at night ever since she was a little girl.

Except when...

The recollection of strong arms cradling her, a hard body cocooning her against the storm, protecting her after dark, pushed against her consciousness... And the disturbing truth occurred to her for the first time.

Except when I fell asleep in Luke Broussard’s arms.

She blew out a breath, pushed the unhelpful thought away.

Wonderful, Cassie. Just what you need to make you feel even more pathetic.

She rubbed her open palms down her jeans, inhaled and exhaled several more times.

She’d got lost on her way back from Pirates’ Cove—probably because she hadn’t been able to think about anything except Luke Broussard and his naked body.

Her map-reading skills were rusty at best—when was the last time she’d been outside of London, let alone hiking in an Oregon island wilderness?—so it had taken her several wrong turns before she’d finally found the coastal path that would take her back to Luke’s house.

But she’d still been a good two miles away—according to the map—when she’d noticed the sun starting to dip ominously towards the horizon and the wind beginning to whip away the last of the day’s warmth.

Suddenly getting caught eyeballing Luke Broussard’s very delectable naked body had been the least of her worries...

She pressed the code into the control panel so she could enter the house, and stepped inside just as the drizzle which had soaked through her clothing an hour ago turned into fat drops of rain. The metal door slid closed behind her, shutting out the beginning of the storm. Her tense shoulders finally relaxed.

She shivered, stripping off her damp sweater and boots, feeling the underfloor heating sending some much-needed warmth through her tired, overwrought system.

The lights in the entranceway emphasised the gathering darkness outside and her heart did a panicked two-step. The utter exhaustion—both mental and physical—which she had been holding at bay with sheer force of will for the last mile of her hike began to make her overused muscles ache, and the tension headache at the base of her skull turn from a whisper into a shout.

No more indiscriminate hiking. Or extra-curricular bird watching. Especially not less than three hours before dark and/or in the vicinity of Pirates’ Cove.

To avoid Luke from now on she would have to venture out with extreme caution.

She dropped her backpack, headed through the mud room, and flicked on the lights before taking the steps down to the basement.

Her hollow stomach howled in protest. She needed food. A hot shower. Some painkillers and bed. In that order. At least tonight she shouldn’t have any trouble sleeping.

She rummaged through the chest freezer for one of Mrs Mendoza’s ready meals and found a vegetable lasagne in a glass container. Carrying the dish under her arm, she headed back upstairs and scanned the dark open-plan living space.

Only the lights in the kitchen were on. The clenched muscles in her stomach relaxed.

Empty. Luke must still be out and about.

She’d been more than ready to forgo the first part of her To Do list and starve herself until morning if she had found Luke already there. She might be famished, but she did not want to face him tonight. She simply didn’t have the mental bandwidth to deal with his overbearing presence when she was already exhausted and perilously close to tears.

Not only did Luke Broussard have the ability to look right into her soul and discover all her secrets without even trying, there was no way on earth she wanted to risk seeing him with the vision still in her head of him naked and gorgeous and indomitable in Pirates’ Cove.

The kitchen’s lighting glowed on the clean granite work surfaces. She tiptoed into the quiet space, finding the fierce patter of the rain almost soothing as she placed the container on one of the surfaces without making a sound and set about programming the microwave.

She’d heat up the pasta dish and head upstairs to her room with a plate. Safe for another night.

‘Sneaking around comes real natural to you, doesn’t it?’ a deep voice purred from the darkness.

Cassie let out a high-pitched squeak and swung round so fast the lasagne dish launched off the counter like a missile. The sound of glass shattering blasted away the last of her calm.

She steadied herself against the countertop as Luke Broussard’s tall, broad and uniquely intimidating silhouette rose from one of the sunken sofas in the living area.

She gulped in a few desperate breaths, then pressed her palm to her chest to steady her rampaging heartbeat and control the vice now tightening around her ribs with the force of a starving anaconda. How long had he been lying in wait, ready to scare the bejesus out of her?

‘Are you actually trying to kill me?’ she managed—not easy with the adrenaline now pumping round her body at warp speed.

He stepped into the light.

Heat powered through her exhausted system.

He’d showered and shaved since she’d left him in the cove. And put on a few more clothes. Thank goodness.

Unfortunately, the black cashmere jumper did nothing to disguise the sleek musculature of the chest she’d been admiring four hours, five miles and one major coronary episode ago.

Look away from the six-pack.

She forced her gaze to his face and noticed a muscle tensing in his jaw. And the flat, disapproving line of his lips. Apparently he hadn’t been lying in wait to scare her for a laugh.

She should be grateful that he hadn’t enjoyed seeing her learn how to levitate, but somehow she wasn’t—because his displeasure was having a far more devastating effect.

‘I’m not trying to kill you,’ he said. ‘But if I did, I reckon a judge would consider it justifiable homicide.’

He ground out the words, and it occurred to her that Luke Broussard was absolutely furious. Possibly even more furious than he had been when he’d read Ash’s text two days ago.

Just as she was trying to figure out what she could possibly have done, he supplied her with the answer.

‘You get a good enough look this afternoon?’

Shame combined with panic, and the inappropriate shaft of heat climbing up her torso.

‘You saw me?’ she blurted out, before she realised how incriminating that sounded.

He stepped closer, making her even more aware of her height disadvantage in the woolly socks. The subtle scent of pine soap filled her senses and she saw the glint of fury turn the mossy green of his irises to emerald fire.

‘Uh-huh,’ he said, almost casually.

But she could see what the semblance of control was costing him in the rigid line of his jaw and the vein pounding in his temple.

‘Next time you’re going to use binoculars to check out my junk, don’t stand facing the sun.’

‘I... I wasn’t checking out your junk... Precisely...’ she said, but even she could hear the weakness in her denial. And feel the tell-tale blush warming her cheeks.

‘Then what were you doing... Precisely?’ he snarled.

‘I was watching an eagle... Or... Or possibly a hawk.’ She hesitated, hopelessly flustered. ‘I’m really not sure what it was.’

Shut up, Cassie. Rambling incoherently about the bird you couldn’t identify before you got fixated on his junk is not going to make you look any less guilty.

‘I couldn’t find it in the book,’ she added, so jittery now that she was incapable of obeying even her own instructions. ‘But it was big... Very big.’

Her gaze drifted south, entirely of its own accord, then shot back up so fast it was a miracle she didn’t break her neck. The blush exploded.

The muscle in his jaw remained as rigid as pre-cast steel. And about as forgiving. ‘Why did you track me to the cove? And why were you spying on me there?’

The questions sliced out on a grim murmur of suspicion.

‘I didn’t track you to the cove. I didn’t know you would be there. And I wasn’t spying on you.’ She fought back, trying not to see all his naked beauty in her mind’s eye, but guilty heat glowed on her face regardless.

His eyes narrowed, but then his jawline relaxed, his lips quirking in an arrogant smile that only made her feel more insecure... And volatile.

‘Damn...you got a kick out of it, didn’t you?’

‘I... I don’t know what you mean...’ she said, but the flush had become radioactive.

‘You know, for a corporate spy you’re a real crummy liar, Cassandra,’ he said.

He stepped closer, crowding her personal space, making her more and more aware of the heat flowing straight to her core and turning her heartbeat so frantic her tired limbs became animated. Energised. A flash of lightning from outside blinded her for a moment, and electrified the sexual tension already sparking between them.

‘If you want sex, why don’t you just say so?’ he growled, the low, husky tone of his voice both provocation and promise. ‘No need to sneak around and spy on me. I can’t think of a better way to pass the time now we both know exactly where we stand.’

The spark leapt and sizzled, searing her nerve-endings, burning down to her core. But she jerked back a step, her bottom hitting the counter, even as her body clamoured for her to get closer, to take him up on his insulting offer.

She couldn’t give in to this yearning again. However powerful, however intoxicating. Not after everything he had accused her of. She had to control the chemistry, the yearning, or she would be lost.

‘I don’t want sex from you—not any more,’ she said.

‘You’re lying,’ he said, so confident, so arrogant, so sure.

‘No, I’m not,’ she said, but the denial came out on a shattered sob, daunted rather than decisive.

How did he do that? How did he make her want him when she knew she shouldn’t?

She lifted her hands, palms out, determined to shove him away, to preserve what little was left of her dignity. But just as her palms flattened on his broad chest a lightning flash and a deafening crash of thunder plunged the house into darkness.

She gasped, blinked, but the black veil was so impenetrable it grabbed her by the throat and yanked her down into a bottomless abyss.

Fear thundered through her veins, weakening her knees and catapulting her heart into her mouth.

She couldn’t see, couldn’t feel, couldn’t breathe.

A whimper escaped. Was that her? How could it be? It sounded like a trapped animal a thousand miles away.

Panic consumed her, turning her into a frightened child, cowering, terrified...and so, so alone...

Until her fingers acknowledged the warm, solid wall she touched and the strong, steady beat of a heart.

The urge to cling to the only human thing in the darkness overwhelmed her. She threw her arms around the broad body, cowered against its strength, folding into herself, fear choking her.

‘Please...’ she begged, taking great gulping breaths of the clean pine scent as she tried to escape the terror chasing her.

‘Cassandra... It’s okay, it’s just a power outage,’ Luke said, concerned by the choking sound and the whimpering cries coming from this woman who had been turning him on to the point of madness one minute—he’d found her guilty, outraged expression as captivating as every other damn thing about her—and then literally collapsed into his arms the next.

As soon as the lights had cut out.

The rush of shock as her whimpers echoed in the darkness transformed into the swift rush of compassion and Luke wrapped his arms around her trembling body, aware of her nails scraping at his back in desperation.

‘Shh... It’s okay, I’ve got you,’ he murmured.

Her fingers released their death grip, but still she seemed to be curled into him, her body racked by violent shudders. Was she even aware of his presence?

He sank his face into the rain-soaked, citrus-scented hair that haloed around her head and stifled the jolt of desire. How could she be driving him nuts one second...and be so defenceless the next?

That desire shamed him now—the way it had in the cove, when he’d spotted her watching him. But for very different reasons.

He’d wanted to goad her, he realised. Wanted to make her as angry and frustrated as he was about the chemistry that would not die when he’d found her sneaking into the kitchen.

And he’d succeeded.

But that impulse had gone south pretty quickly. Because he’d seen the same shocked arousal, the same vicious awareness in her eyes, that had tormented him for days.

And then the lights had gone out and she had retreated somewhere he couldn’t follow.

All he could do was hold her until she found herself again.

He wanted to deny her sudden switch from hot, aggravating woman to terrified child—wanted to dismiss it as another trick, another game, another act to garner his sympathy or his co-operation. But she’d never tried to elicit his sympathy before. She’d stood up to him, even offering him comfort when he hadn’t asked for it.

‘Please don’t leave me.’

The hoarse plea pierced through the last of his cynicism.

‘I... I can’t be alone...not in the darkness,’ she added.

Her voice was so small and scared it crucified him.

‘I won’t,’ he said, finding her face in the darkness, tracing his thumbs over her cheeks. Moisture coated his fingertips, the tears almost as shocking as her fear. ‘Just hang on. The emergency generator will kick in any second.’

He’d wanted her at his mercy—wanted her to admit she was as tortured by the relentless desire as he was, as desperate, as close to the edge... But having her in his arms like this, so vulnerable, so terrified, so dependent, did something to him.

None of it good, all of it disturbing.

They stood together for seconds which felt like hours as he willed the lights to come on, aware of the shivers still racking her body.

Sympathy and sadness assaulted him. What the hell had happened to her, to make her so afraid?

At last the lights flickered back on and the sound of the rain died to a soft patter. The storm had passed as quickly as it had come. But the storm of emotion gripping his chest continued to bite as she shifted out of his arms.

Blinking against the bright, brittle light, she turned away and braced her hands on the countertop, holding herself together with a force of will he had to admire, even as he watched her try to shove the last of her fear back into the shadows.

‘I’m sorry,’ she murmured, as if there was something to apologise for. ‘I need to go to bed.’

He should let her go. Whatever had just happened, it wasn’t his concern. But as she passed him, hightailing it towards the staircase, his hand reached out of its own accord to curl around her bicep.

‘Hold on.’

She stopped instantly, her shudder of reaction almost as disturbing as his surge of desire. He forced it down. Again.

‘Please, I just...’ She stumbled over her words, her head bowed, her humiliation so complete it made his ribs hurt. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said again, sounding so hopeless that the drawing sensation in his chest cinched tight.

He tucked a knuckle under her chin, lifted her face to his. ‘What have you got to be sorry about?’ he asked, because suddenly he wanted to know.

The shattered look in her eyes, before she could mask it, turned the golden brown to a rich caramel. She looked away, the glow on her cheeks highlighting the reddened tracks of her tears.

He could see her exhaustion.

He hadn’t noticed it earlier, because he’d been so mad—about everything. But he could see it now, in the weary line of her shoulders, the smudged shadows under her eyes, that bone-jarring shudder when she sighed. So she hadn’t been getting any more sleep than he had these last couple days...

‘I’m sorry for making such a ridiculous scene.’

She raised her head, the direct stare somehow brave and bold, a valiant attempt to deny her obvious fatigue and the remnants of her anxiety attack.

‘I don’t want you to think I’m weak, because I’m not,’ she added. ‘That was just a...a blip. I’m not used to being anywhere that gets so dark at night.’

He found his lips softening at the prim, carefully chosen words, the unconvincing defence. He was captivated, even though he didn’t want to be. And relieved that whatever had been terrifying her had been conquered.

Part of him wanted to ask where the ‘blip’ had really come from. What had caused it? Because her explanation was garbage. People didn’t react with that level of fear and panic just because they normally lived in a metropolis with a lot of light pollution. What he’d just witnessed was a fairly major phobia was his guess. One she’d somehow managed to keep hidden the first night they’d been together.

How come she’d been okay in the darkness when she was tucked against his body?

He sliced off the thought and stopped himself from asking the question burning in his gut. Increasing the intimacy which was already making his chest hurt would not be a smart move. But somehow, even though he knew he should let her leave, he couldn’t seem to loosen his grip on her arm.

His lips quirked and she stiffened.

‘What exactly is so amusing?’ she snapped. The prickly tone dispelled the last of shadows in her eyes, easing the pressure on his chest.

He let go of her arm, enjoying her show of strength. ‘That’s gotta be the dumbest thing you’ve ever said to me,’ he replied truthfully. ‘Whatever you are, you’re not weak.’

Her eyebrows rose up her forehead and he could see the observation had surprised her? Why?

‘Okay...well, thanks,’ she said, her tone a fascinating mixture of embarrassment and indignation.

He was glad. Because the broken child was finally gone, replaced by the smart, forthright woman whose armour was almost as beautiful to him as the furious light in her eyes which had added streaks of gold to the rich caramel.

His gaze drifted down, entirely of its own accord, and snagged on the front of her T-shirt, where her breasts rose and fell, full and high and untethered. The nipples were clearly visible, puckered into hard peaks beneath the worn cotton of the Portland State logo of the shirt, which he was pretty sure he’d seen a few times on his fifty-something housekeeper.

Funny...that old T-shirt had never looked hot on Mrs Mendoza.

He raised his gaze with an effort, and the flush of indignation on her cheeks did nothing to stem the renewed pulse of desire.

So he went with it.

Desire he understood—it made sense, unlike the pressure in his chest, which still hadn’t disappeared.

‘Did you get a good enough look?’ she demanded, but even he could hear the husky tone under the snark.

She wanted to be offended. But she wasn’t. She was turned on.

‘Not as good as the look you got this afternoon,’ he shot back, rising to the challenge, glad to take the opportunity to meet her on her own terms. ‘Seems to me, we’re not even close to being even,’ he added, unable to resist the provocative statement.

Her expression flashed with the same heat he could feel building in his groin. Hot blood flooded through his system, rich and fluid and familiar, burning everything in its path.

So what else was new?

‘Fine,’ she announced.

Then she reached down, gripped the hem of his housekeeper’s old T-shirt and dragged it up and over her head. She flung it over her shoulder. Her bare breasts bounced, and the sight of ripe reddened nipples, the scent of firm soft flesh, turned the heat in his abdomen to raw fire.

‘How’s that?’ she demanded. ‘Are we even yet?’

He swore as his erection thickened so fast it hurt.

Jesus, she was so damn perfect. So exquisite... Her sweet flesh was as soft and succulent as he remembered it. He looked his fill, then lifted his head and saw the same desperate passion that was turning his sex to iron reflected in her eyes.

‘Not even close,’ he gritted out, then reached to glide his thumb under one plump, puckered nipple.

She gave a shattered gasp and he gripped her hips, dragged her close to lift her. She wrapped her arms round his shoulders and plunged fingers as needy and desperate as his into his hair.

The pure, heady rush of adrenaline made his arms shake. She slanted her mouth across his and he devoured her moan of surrender.

To hell with it. What were they waiting for? They both wanted this... Both needed this...

He thrust his tongue past her open lips, feeding the heat, and explored the recesses of her mouth, starved for the taste of her after two never-ending days and sleepless nights.

He spied the best available horizontal surface—a couch—and headed towards it with her in his arms, determined to get the rest of her naked before he lost what was left of his mind.

He couldn’t wait one more minute to bury himself deep inside that tight, wet heat once more. And to forget about everything but making her scream with pleasure.

This is insane. This is madness.

The thoughts surged into Cassie’s head as she gripped Luke’s cheeks and sucked on his invading tongue. Then surged right back out again as she welcomed everything he had to give her and demanded more.

Ravenous, desperate, frantic.

Not weak. Not sad. Not alone.

Strong and in command of her own pleasure at last.

He tasted so good, so right. The staggering pain and humiliation of her fear was replaced with hot, unstoppable desire as she clamped her legs around his hips and felt the hard, thick ridge of his erection rubbing against the melting spot between her thighs.

She could have this—could have him. Anything to finally destroy the last of that pitiable, frightened child who had been so exposed, so vulnerable, only moments before.

She didn’t want him to think of her like that.

She wanted him to know her like this.

She needed to take the power back, to own it again. The way she had never been able to before him.

He dumped her on the sofa and she shivered—not from the cold, but from the staggering rush of sensations already battering her body, waking it up and making it crave. She resisted the urge to cover herself from his searing gaze as it raked over her.

‘Fire on,’ he murmured as he stripped off his sweater and threw it away.

Flames leapt to life in the firepit, gilding his tensed muscles in an orange glow, highlighting the dark curls of hair arrowing down to his groin.

She watched transfixed as he undid his belt, stripped off the black jeans and boxer shorts. His erection sprang up, taunting her, tempting her. His penis was longer and thicker than it had been that afternoon, and even more magnificent. The flames from the firepit seemed to lick at her sex, where the throbbing pulse was swelling the sensitive nerve-endings.

‘Lose the pants, Cassandra,’ he demanded, and the gruff murmur reminded her of how his voice had dragged her out of the abyss minutes before.

‘Shh... It’s okay, I’ve got you.’

She blinked, shuddered, and then jerked into action, ruthlessly trying to contain the warmth swelling in her chest.

Don’t think about that.

She scrambled to undo the borrowed jeans, shoving them down her legs, taking one woolly sock with them in her haste, frantic to banish the foolish, misguided emotions.

Still about sex. All about sex. Nothing more.

‘Now let’s lose the panties,’ he added, his gruff chuckle reverberating at her core as he hooked his fingers in the waistband and tugged the lace down her legs.

She lifted her bottom to help him, shaking uncontrollably when he flung her panties away and knelt between her legs. He cradled her bare bottom in large palms, sending sensation reeling, and then leant forward to capture one turgid nipple between his teeth.

She bucked off the sofa cushions. His soft nip was like touching a live wire to her breast as sensation slammed down to her core. He feasted on each tortured peak, tugging and tasting and tempting, licking and sucking, then blazed a trail down her belly to blow on the curls of her sex.

She moaned, gasped, propped herself up on her elbows to watch as he parted the wet folds with his thumbs and feasted.

She threw her head back as the focussed attention of his tongue, so devious, so perfect, so sure, made an inferno rip through her.

The orgasm hit with staggering speed and intensity, slamming into her like a freight train. And she flew, remembering the flight of that eagle...soaring over the waves.

As she came down, floating in afterglow, his dark shadow rose over her, his broad shoulders blocking out the orange glow from the firepit. But she wasn’t scared any more. She was alive.

She held on to his shoulders, widened her knees to cradle his hips. She needed him to plunge deep and take away the shudder of emotion, that raw feeling of connection.

‘I don’t have a condom,’ he said, his voice strained.

‘I wear a contraceptive patch,’ she managed, never more grateful for the period pains which had blighted her life for so many years before she’d found the solution.

‘I’m clean,’ he said. ‘I get a test each year for my insurance and I’ve never gone bareback...before now.’

It took her dazed mind a moment to work out that there was a question in his statement. ‘You’re my...’ She stopped dead, realising she had almost revealed the truth of their first night. ‘I haven’t slept with anyone for a while. Not since college,’ she added trying to make the lie convincing.

‘Yeah?’ he said.

He tilted his head, considering, and she thought for one horrendous moment she’d been busted. But then his expression became fierce.

‘Good to know.’

His fingers firmed on her hips and the huge head of his erection butted her sex. She had a moment to register the self-satisfied tone, and a moment more to panic that she might have exposed herself again, but then every thought flew out of her head as he pressed home.

He surged deep, filling her to the hilt. Then he began to move. Rocking out, surging back, rolling his hips to conquer every part of her.

Her surge of emotion combined with the shock of sensation. Sharpening, twisting, torturing...

Her shattered sobs matched his deep grunts, her thundering heartbeat echoing in her chest as they moved together in blissful unison. The wave gathered and built like a tsunami this time, so much bigger and bolder than before.

Reaching down, he found the heart of her pleasure, his touch triggering a massive release. The wave barrelled through her and sent her soaring into the stratosphere. She flew free for what felt like an eternity, her body shimmering with bliss. Then collapsed, exhausted and spent, back to earth.

Luke braced his hands on the sofa cushions to stop himself crushing her. He eased out of her tight sheath, grunting as her muscles gripped him, massaging him through the last vicious throes of his orgasm. And hers.

He let out a ragged breath and touched his forehead to hers. ‘That was intense,’ he said, in what had to be the understatement of the century.

‘Hmmm...’ she said, her eyes closed, her voice barely a murmur.

He forced himself to lift off her and sit up, suddenly raw and confused. For a moment he’d thought she’d been about to say she had been a virgin after all, and something brutally possessive and protective had surged through him—was still surging through him. Which made no damn sense.

He perched on the edge of the sofa, then glanced over his shoulder to watch her. She rolled away from him, tucked her hands under her cheek and settled into the couch cushions, her naked body given a golden sheen by the light from the firepit.

A few moments later he detected the steady rise and fall of her ribs.

She’d crashed out on him.

A part of him figured he should probably be annoyed she’d dismissed him so easily, but as he studied her—the delectable curve of her bare butt, the elegant line of her spine, the tangle of hair down her back—he couldn’t muster much indignation.

If the orgasm had shattered him, it had destroyed her.

Standing, he dragged his boxers back on, far too aware of the renewed pulsing in his groin. But no way were they doing that again tonight, or it would probably kill them both.

A wry smile tugged at his lips, despite the unsettling direction of his thoughts. After three days of hard physical activity and very little sleep, was it any surprise that he was ready to face-plant after finally addressing the sexual tension that had tormented him? Why should she be any different? That was all this was. Nothing to see here.

He tugged on his sweater, then found a throw rug on the opposite couch to cover her.

But after tucking the soft blanket around her naked body he heard the distant rumble of thunder from the retreating storm. He couldn’t leave her alone down here. What if the lights went out again and she woke in the dark?

The tension in his groin moved up to constrict around his heart.

‘Ah, to hell with it...’ he murmured, then hunkered down and scooped her into his arms, wrapped in the throw.

‘Mmm...’ she said, groggy and dazed, but then she shifted to snuggle against his chest, as trusting and defenceless as a child.

His heart bobbed as he toted her towards the staircase. ‘Come on, Cassandra, let’s go to bed.’

He reached the mezzanine, but instead of heading down the hallway towards the guest bedroom she’d been using for the last two days, he walked into the master bedroom.

She wasn’t his responsibility... But he didn’t ever want to see her fall apart that way again.

He laid her gently on his bed, still covered in the throw rug. One of her feet peeked out of her cocoon and hung over the edge of the mattress. She was wearing one hiking sock.

He frowned, mesmerised and stupidly touched by the sight.

Just a sock, man, get real.

He tugged the dangling sock off, then tucked her slender foot back under the blanket and headed to the bathroom for a cold shower.

When he returned to the bedroom she hadn’t moved a single muscle, so deeply asleep he would guess she wasn’t going to move till morning.

He climbed into bed behind her and placed a hand on her hip, needing that connection and not even knowing why.

Being mad at her hadn’t worked—maybe losing themselves in the electrical connection they shared was the answer? Perhaps they could get it out of their systems while they were stuck here together. But then what did he do with her?

He sighed, his brain knotting around the unsolvable problem of Cassandra.

Whatever.

Tomorrow would be soon enough to figure out what the heck was going on here. And what the heck he was supposed to do about her.

But, for tonight, what he needed most of all was the sleep he’d been denied.

‘Dim lights,’ he murmured, burying his face in the citrus-scented puff of hair peeping out of the throw. ‘Stop,’ he added, leaving a slight glow to prevent plunging the room into total darkness. Just in case.

Letting his hand drift over her curves, he anchored her safely to him, then dropped into a deep dreamless sleep.