Sex And The Sleepwalker

But then he’d looked up from his arm-wrestling match and felt a sudden clutch in his gut. A sinking in his chest. A heaviness in his stomach. Because she was so damn beautiful. That same unique, angelic beauty still radiated from her. Still took his breath away.

And that had surprised the hell out of him. In his experience, life had a way of hardening people. Changing them from the inside out. After all he’d seen and heard in the course of his work, he doubted that the kid he’d once been even existed in his body anymore.

But Brynn hadn’t seemed to have changed in any major way. Her long dark hair was styled differently—in some fancy braid—and her slender figure had filled out into rounder curves. She now wore an air of authority with surprising ease. But the sweetness still glowed from her face and eyes, even when she was trying her damnedest to drive him away.

Maybe that was why he hadn’t been able to resist testing her, prodding her, to see how she’d react. “Maybe you’d better keep me occupied,” he’d told her.

And that, he realized, was the real reason he couldn’t sleep. He was angry with himself. He’d started out so well, pretending not even to remember her name. His time here would pass much easier if he could avoid any meaningful personal contact with her. He’d almost made it to his room with his mask firmly in place. But then he’d taken the bait and allowed her to lure him out of his “impersonal” mode.

He’d gazed into her eyes, up close and personal, and breathed in her scent. And lost a little bit of his mind.

The old heated awareness had flooded her face, and so had that look of alarm. Which meant nothing had changed. She was still running from him. He still couldn’t have her.

That was another reason he couldn’t sleep. He was angry with her—because she still jumped to the wrong conclusions about him. Assumed the very worst about his character. “Trish doesn’t need a wolf like you ready to pounce on her,” she’d said.

Wasn’t that the story of his life, though? Hadn’t all the people he’d loved believed the very worst about his actions, his motives? His mother had given up custody of him when he was seven because he’d been “a handful”—and he hadn’t even known he’d been misbehaving. To this day, his father and stepmother considered him bad news, and their son and daughter naturally excluded him from family gatherings.

Cade should have learned by now. When it came to the important people in his life, he didn’t have whatever it took to be trusted, or even given the benefit of the doubt. He’d thought he’d learned to live with that.

In a way, he was glad his annoyance with Brynn had rescued him this evening. Otherwise, he might have started wanting her again. And that would be pure hell. He’d spent weeks, months, maybe years, reliving the long, hot hours they’d spent kissing, necking, petting. She hadn’t let him make love to her. Not all the way. But he’d known how to make her hot, and how to make her come. And he’d relished the power, the heat…and had wanted, needed, so much more.

It had become a constant craving. The scent of her, the feel, the taste—all made him believe that she had been made for him. He’d wanted to drive himself deep into her body. To fill her entirely. To possess her completely.

It hadn’t happened.

Make love to me, Brynn, or we’re through. They’d been words of desperation. Stupid, foolish, asinine. His ultimatum had only alienated her. He’d then compounded the mistake by trying to make her jealous.

But he wouldn’t think about any of that now. Those desperate, churning emotions were long dead and buried, and he was damn glad of it. He never wanted to want her again.

Punching the old-fashioned down pillow into shape, he glanced at the bedside clock: 2:00 a.m. He laid his head back down and shut his eyes, determined to sleep. He had a serious job to do here, and needed his rest.

No sooner had he begun to drift off, though, than he heard a faint jingling, like the rattle of keys. And a click. Then another noise. Half-asleep as he was, he vaguely recognized it as the squeak of a door opening. But, of course, he must be dreaming.

Or maybe not. His eyes flew open just in time to see a figure gliding toward him in the dark. His instincts kicked in, and he reached for the gun beside the bed, his mind instantly alert, his body poised for attack.

But then his eyes adjusted to the dark, and the shadowy figure materialized into a woman. A woman with long, free-flowing dark hair, wearing a soft, sheer nightgown.

Brynn.

3

HE WONDERED IF HE WAS dreaming. He had to be. No way in hell was Brynn Sutherland creeping into his bedroom in the middle of the night. But there she stood, right beside his bed, her beautiful, wide-eyed face faintly visible in the moonlight seeping between the drawn curtains.

“You want me to keep you occupied, Cade?” The fierce whisper sprang at him, like a cat, from the darkness.

Before he could gather his wits enough to reply, she sank a knee into the mattress, levered herself up and knelt beside him on the bed, her long hair billowing in sleep-mussed tangles around her. Her eyes, oddly shining, seemed to look straight through him. “Don’t think for a minute that I can’t ‘keep you occupied.’”

He sat up in bed, stunned beyond words.

“Oh, you don’t think I’m up to it?” she cried. “You think I’m a prude, a tease? You think I’m a dud in bed?”

“No! God, no.”

“I’m anything but a dud, or…or frigid.”

“Frigid? I never said—”

“Let’s give it a go, Romeo.” And with a suddenness that startled him, she yanked her gown over her head, struggled briefly to free her arms, then flung the garment aside. The effort threw her off balance. She swayed.

He grabbed her, pulled her to him. And his breath left him in a whoosh of sudden sensation. Her bare, jutting breasts, firm and full and impossibly soft, pressed against his chest, and a lavish abundance of cool, fragrant hair spilled over him. And her scent…ahh, her scent. He’d almost forgotten.

“Brynn,” he breathed, holding her tightly to him. She felt incredibly good. Incredibly right.

He fell back against the pillows with her, feeling as if he’d fallen into a fantasy. A purr hummed in her throat—a long, low moan of approval—and her breath steamed against his shoulder. His temperature spiked. His body hardened in arousal.

Sweeping his hand down her back, he relished the softness and warmth of her skin. It had been so long since he’d touched her. She wore panties, he discovered. But only panties. And she was here, in his arms, in his bed. Brynn.

She shifted against him, their bodies connecting fully from breast to hip, and she murmured something he didn’t quite catch. He rolled onto his side and pressed her down onto the bed, twining his leg with hers. He wanted to kiss her. Connect with her. Delve into her sweetness and heat. See if the magic could possibly be as potent as he remembered.

Her eyes were closed, her lips parted. He swept his mouth across them, wanting her. Wanting her.

“Mmm,” she moaned. And smiled. And turned her head.

Turned her head? The surprise of that made him draw back. Never had she failed to respond to his kiss. It was her one true weakness. His doorway to heaven. If his lips touched hers, he’d always been assured of long, lush kisses, each one hotter and wilder than the last. He believed that was the reason she’d never let him too near, after they’d broken up. Because she couldn’t resist his kisses. Yet she’d turned her head just now. Something was wrong. Very wrong.

“Brynn?”

As he watched, she lapsed into deep, rhythmic breathing, as if she were asleep. Which was impossible. No one went from anger to passion to sleep in a matter of minutes.

Thoroughly confused, he rose up on an elbow, reached for the bedside lamp and switched it on. He saw her clearly then. Lots of creamy skin with a natural honey glow. Dark, lustrous hair spread over the pillows. Sinfully beautiful, she was. And nearly naked beneath him. And, unquestionably, asleep.

But…but how? Why? It made no sense.

A vague memory stirred. A bothersome suspicion.

The light, or maybe the shifting of his weight on the bed, disturbed her, and she frowned. Blinked. Opened her eyes. For a moment, she stared blankly, toward nothing in particular. Perplexity entered her gaze. And then she turned her head and focused on him.

Her eyes widened and she shot up into a sitting position, gaping at him as if he were a two-headed space alien. “Cade! What are you doing here?” It was as much an accusation as a question.

As if he’d done something questionable. “What am I doing here? That takes some nerve.”

She glanced around the room, and gradually her expression turned from perplexed surprise to distressed understanding. “Oh no,” she whispered, clearly mortified. “I’m in your room.”

He didn’t bother to confirm that conclusion. He just watched her through narrowed eyes. Maybe she understood what had happened, but he didn’t. Or maybe he didn’t want to understand.

“I…I guess I was…sleepwalking.”

“Sleepwalking.” He said it as if the idea was ludicrous, although the suspicion had flitted through his mind. He remembered hearing something about her sleepwalking in the sorority house. But, damn it, he didn’t want to accept that as the explanation. She’d come to him, wanted him. There was no mistaking that. He forced a nonchalant shrug and leaned back against the pillows. “Whatever you say, darlin’.”