Working Overtime. Raye MorganЧитать онлайн книгу.
stepping closer to take her sandwich and turning as though about to flee.
“‘Sorry’ won’t help,” he said, grasping her wrist before she could pull away. “I’ve got to get some sleep. Now.”
She glared up at him. “What do you expect me to do about it?”
He raised an eyebrow. “Oh, I don’t know. Be a little helpful, maybe.”
Their gazes held a moment too long. That sense of awareness sizzled between them, and her heart was beating so loudly, she knew he had to hear it.
This was utterly ridiculous. How could she be standing here in these silly pajamas, with his hand holding her wrist in a viselike grip, feeling like a teenager with her first crush? Determinedly, she yanked her hand away and glared at him, rubbing her wrist.
But he hardly seemed to notice. “What rooms are empty?” he asked crisply.
“I don’t know,” she said, knowing she was acting like a sullen child but unable to help herself. “I don’t pay much attention.”
“Don’t you?” His gaze narrowed. “What floor are you on?”
“The second. But…”
“Are there any empty rooms near you?”
“That’s not the point.”
“There must be a room across the hall from you. Anyone in there?”
She hesitated. “Not that I know of, but that doesn’t mean…”
He started for the door. “It means I’m going to be sleeping there tonight.”
“You can’t,” she said, hurrying after him back to the entryway.
“Oh, can’t I?” He slung his suit carrier over his shoulder and picked up his suitcase, then turned to look at her. “Just watch me.” He gestured for her to lead the way. “After you, fair lady.”
She searched his eyes suspiciously, looking for any sign that he was making fun of her, but she couldn’t pin anything down.
“Why can’t you just camp out on the couch until they get back?” she suggested rather halfheartedly. She knew he wouldn’t go for it and he didn’t even bother to say so. Instead he waited, giving her a look of expectation, and she sighed and flounced off toward the stairs.
“The door might be locked,” she said over her shoulder as he followed her to the second floor. “The bed might not be made up.”
“I’ll sleep in the bathtub if I have to,” he said calmly, not even pretending he didn’t like the view he had in front of him going up the stairs. “Just give me a pillow and don’t turn on the shower. Once I fall asleep, I don’t plan to wake up again until morning.”
She hurried to put distance between them, but stopped in front of the room she was staying in.
“Here’s mine,” she said, cracking open the door to deposit the peanut butter sandwich just inside and to sneak a peek at her sleeping boys. They looked fine, and she closed the door again just as he arrived.
“And here’s the room you plan to hijack,” she said, trying the handle. It opened easily. She went straight to the bed and pulled back the bedspread. “I thought so. No sheets.”
“I’ll rough it.”
“No, you won’t.” She was scandalized. “I’ll find you sheets. Here, help me pull back the blanket. I’ll make your bed up for you. Just wait a minute.”
He pulled back the blanket as she’d suggested, then shrugged out of his jacket, pulled off his tie and began unbuttoning his shirt. All he wanted to do was fall down on the bed and close his eyes, but he waited while she opened drawers, looking for bedding.
Her hair had come completely loose by now, and it swirled around her pretty face in a way that made him want to kiss her nose. She looked so beguiling with the tanned skin of her long legs gleaming in the lamplight. But when she’d found the sheets and turned, coming back toward him, he had to laugh at the picture she made. Her legs were lovely, but it did look as though she were wearing two very angry Persian cats on her feet.
“What?” she said indignantly, stopping in her tracks. “What’s so funny?”
“Nothing,” he said quickly, shrugging out of his shirt and dropping it onto a nearby chair. “Nothing at all.”
She was going to say more, but one look at his muscular chest rendered her speechless and she looked away quickly, praying that she wouldn’t turn red as she moved toward the bed with the fresh sheets. The picture Sherry had created in the calendar had nothing on the reality. It had been a long time since she’d been this close to a real live shirtless man. She wondered, fleetingly, if he would notice if she turned up the air conditioner. It seemed to be getting awfully hot in the room.
“Here, grab this side,” she ordered as she tossed the sheets down and began to pull the fitted one into place.
He did as he’d been told and they got the sheet on in no time. Chareen reached for the top one and gave it a swish, looked up and caught Michael’s eye as he grabbed his side, and her heart did a flip in her chest. There was something in the way he was looking at her…
“Pull it tight,” she ordered, avoiding his gaze and trying to keep her equilibrium. Just a few more minutes and she would be out of here.
“Yes, ma’am,” he said, his voice like a purr.
“Tuck it under, like this,” she said, demonstrating a hospital corner.
He gazed at her balefully. “What is the point?” he asked, making no effort to attempt one.
With an exasperated sigh, she charged around the end of the bed to do it herself, but he didn’t make way fast enough, and when he did move, it was in the wrong direction. She turned right into him, their bodies collided, and the next thing she knew, she was falling down onto the bed, and he was falling on top of her. She gasped. He broke his fall with his arms, bracing himself over her, looking down into her face.
“Sorry,” he said, but he didn’t move.
She knew she should say something, but she seemed to have lost all power of speech. Her gaze was locked with his, and she felt as though she were lost, wandering in the shadows of his hazel eyes, unable to find a way out. His hard, warm body was pressed to hers in so many places. To have a man so close, so strong, was unbelievably intoxicating. It had been so long since a man had held her in his arms and made sweet love to her.
Suddenly, she ached to have that feeling again. Her senses drank in every nuance of his presence, his clean, manly scent, the brush of his breath against her hair, the hard muscles of his thighs pressing on hers. Her hands were flattened against his naked chest, and she could feel his heart beating a pulse into her palm.
“I hold your heart in my hand.” The sentiment flickered through her mind and for one very scary moment, she was afraid she might have said it out loud.
But there wasn’t time to worry about that, because her body was turning traitor. A shudder ran through her soul and she knew she wanted him in a strange, deep and very primitive way. The need had an urgency that took her breath away and seemed about to convulse her body, as though she’d been taken over by a libidinous spirit that would soon render her helpless to resist. Her lips parted and she found herself arching toward him, begging for his kiss. There was a moan starting deep in her throat. Was it a moan of surrender? Of triumph? Of overwhelming desire?
She would never know, because at that moment there was a new sound from the hallway.
“Mama? Mama?”
As though a switch had been thrown, her eyes snapped wide and she used those hands that had been kneading into the muscles of his chest to throw him off her. Springing to her feet, she called out, “Just a minute, baby,” and glared at where Michael was sprawled on the bed, looking