Sex And The Sleepwalker

“It’s true,” she insisted vehemently. “I was sleepwalking.”

He nodded and smiled.

She glared at him, then glanced down at her naked breasts, so high and round and pretty, with their proud coral tips and lilting bounce. With a little cry, she grabbed for the rumpled sheet and yanked it up to cover herself. The accusation returned to her gaze. “What did we do?”

Now that irked him. Did she really think it would be possible, if they’d made love or anything close to it, for her to sleep through it? He managed not to grit his teeth. “You’re telling me you don’t know? That you were unaware of what you were doing when you came to my room, unlocked my door, climbed into my bed and got naked?”

“I’m not naked!”

Heat sluiced through him in a surprising rush, just from thinking about her sitting there in nothing but those little panties and a bedsheet. He wanted his hands on her. And his mouth.

Along with the heat came unreasonable resentment. She’d been in his arms, ready and willing. He would not disregard that. “Oh, you’re not naked?” His gaze traveled pointedly to the sheet she clasped to her slim form. “Then show me what you’re wearing.”

Her fists tightened on the sheet. “I’m sure you know.”

“And why is that?” He tilted his face close to hers, the anger and the desire flaring in him. “Because you crawled into my bed wearing only those little panties and rubbed your body against mine, promising to keep me occupied.”

She looked stricken. “Oh, God.”

“Then you said something like, ‘Let’s go, Romeo.’”

“No!”

“You want me to believe you don’t remember any of that?”

His chiding pushed her too far, it seemed, and the spunk and sass returned to her face. Leaning back against the pillows, she crossed her long, shapely arms and lifted her delightfully cleft chin. “I don’t care what you believe. The truth is I was walking and talking in my sleep. It meant nothing.”

“At the very least it means you were dreaming about me. Dreaming about having sex with me.” The thought pleased him. Immensely. He raised a brow. “How often does that happen?”

“Don’t flatter yourself. You could have been anybody. I had no idea who you were.”

“You said my name. You called me Cade. How many Cades do you know? And how many are registered to this room?”

“If I was dreaming about you, which I don’t remember at all, it had to be the first time. I haven’t given you a thought in years.”

He might have believed her if rosy color hadn’t climbed her cheekbones and she hadn’t averted her eyes. She was, without a doubt, lying. She’d dreamed about him before. Pleasure warmed him like fine whiskey. He wondered how often she’d dreamed of him, and if those dreams always involved sex. He hoped so.

But then another question occurred to him. “My God, Brynn…how often do you walk in your sleep? How many guests have you surprised like this?”

Her mouth opened and hung ajar for two or three heartbeats. “I’ve never done this before,” she cried, aghast. “I haven’t walked in my sleep since college. Well, except for once, when I ended up in the broom closet. Alone. Wearing pajamas.”

He believed her, and couldn’t have been more relieved—or more pleased that thoughts of him and him alone had stirred her to rise from her bed at night.

Then again… “If you don’t remember your actions after you wake up, how can you be sure? Maybe this happens more than you realize.”

“It doesn’t. I would know.”

He rubbed his chin and regarded her doubtfully. “I’m not too sure about that. You seemed pretty popular with those frat guys I met in the parlor. And if I understood correctly, they do come back year after year.”

Surprisingly, she didn’t hit him, storm out of the room or cut him to shreds with a razor-sharp comeback. Instead, she caught her lower lip between her teeth to suppress a smile. “Are you accusing me of being…promiscuous?”

He stared at her, not because of what she’d said, but because her emerging smile caught him off guard. A dimple now danced beside her mouth and cute little she-devils played in her eyes. It had been damn near a decade since she’d sparkled at him like that. “I didn’t accuse you of anything,” he murmured, feeling shell-shocked.

“But you implied it. You implied that I climb into my guests’ beds on a regular basis.” With a toss of her thick, tangled hair, she held up her hands, like a perp surrendering to police. “You caught me. I can’t deny it. I never know which bed I’ll wake up in.” She looked so pleased at the notion that Cade almost laughed. Almost. But the sheet had drifted lower across her breasts, ending just above her hardened nipples, and he was helplessly aroused. “I see more action than those girls on Sex and the City,” she boasted. “I’m one hot mama.”

Cade rested his bare shoulders against the head-board and studied her, aroused, amused, mystified and intrigued. “That’s odd, then…considering what you said when you climbed into my bed.”

A watchful stillness came over her. “What?”

He didn’t answer right away, enjoying the sudden intensity of her gaze. He still couldn’t believe she was actually sitting here beside him in bed, talking about sex, wearing next to nothing, while he wore only his briefs. The possibilities were endless. And he couldn’t help dwelling on them.

“Cade, what did I say?”

“Well, at one point, you mentioned something about your being a dud in bed.”

The chagrin that filled her eyes said more than words ever could. He’d clearly hit a raw nerve.

So, of course, he prodded a little more. “I believe you also said something about being frigid.”

Her color flared. “What I say in a dream means nothing.” She nearly choked on the words. “Just a lot of garbled nonsense.” She looked wounded and terribly vulnerable.

Why? Of course it was nonsense. He had no doubt about that. But, incredibly, it seemed that she did have doubts. “Don’t tell me someone’s got you believing you’re no good in bed!”

“Of course not. It’s none of your business, anyway.”

He strongly felt that it was. “Are you involved with someone now?”

“Yes, and he’s a wonderful man. An excellent lover.”

“Who makes you think you’re frigid.”

“No!”

Cade ignored her denial, amazed that she could believe herself sexually inadequate in any way. She, the epitome of desirability. The standard by which he measured all others. A standard no one else had met.

He was also suddenly, violently, jealous of anyone who had had her. Anyone who had known her intimately. It took Cade a moment to find his voice and form coherent words. “You’re not frigid, Brynn, or a dud in bed. Nothing could be further from the truth.”

That wary stillness came over her again, and she concentrated her attention on him like a ray of noonday sun through a magnifying glass. “And how would you know that?”

He released a surge of breath and realized he was angry. She was wounded. Unfairly wounded. And he wanted to punish whomever was responsible. And tend to her wounds…

Sliding an arm around her, he cradled her against his chest and brushed a tendril of hair from her face. “I’ve never known a woman more responsive than you,” he said, meaning every word. “One who made me hot with just a kiss. No one, Brynn. Ever.”

Her breath caught, her neediness apparent. “Really?”

“Honest to God. I can’t tell you how many times over the last nine years I’ve gotten hard just thinking about you, and the things we used to do. With only our hands…” He trailed his fingers down her arm to her slender wrist and rubbed his thumb over the center of her palm. His gaze then drifted to her lips. “And our mouths.” Desire coursed through him, hot and strong, making his voice gruff. “Don’t you remember?”

“Yes, I remember,” she admitted with a trembly exhalation.