A Mate's Denial(14)

Her suspicious nature and keeping distance was 98% effective at making sure she didn’t get screwed over again. But it also left her incredibly lonely. Achingly, lonely. So lonely, it made her chest feel tight just thinking about it. Maybe she should go back to Alaska. At least there, she had Braeh. The I-told-you-so’s from her father would fade eventually. Surely.

Kerrigan took the mug back to the kitchen and put away her market finds, then settled into her cozy chair in the living room to keep an eye on Trager.

Time to read some more of that romance novel she’d started. She glanced at the window. Might be able to finish before dark.

Hours ticked by in silence. Trager slept, as still as the dead. The only difference was he actually breathed.

Kerrigan snuggled farther into the chair. The book was getting good. The hero had just rescued the heroine—only to then be rescued by her in return. And now, they were going to kiss. Or… maybe more. Yep, definitely more.

…he slid his hot, hot hand between her thighs, hesitating, almost but not quite touching her through her panties.

“Please,” she whimpered.

Instead, he stroked her inner leg with his thumb. Slowly, softly, while kissing her neck and nibbling her ear, his breath scalding hot on her shoulder.

“Please what?”

“Touch me.” She moaned as his fingers finally— “Kerrigan.”

Her name, clearly mumbled, from Trager’s lips made her jump. The Kindle clattered to the floor, bouncing on the carpeted hardwood. She stared at him, but he was still asleep. Asleep?

Had she actually heard her name or was she imagining things?

She snatched the Kindle off the floor and found her spot, glanced once more at Trager, and settled back into the chair.

… made contact with the part of her that burned for him.

“Like that?” His husky voice reverberated in her chest, causing her breasts to ting— “Kerrigan.”

Her head snapped up, but this time she managed to hold onto her Kindle. That was definitely her name. Coming from his mouth. While he slept.

Holy cow. Was he dreaming of her?

Better question: was it a good dream? Or a nightmare? Like, maybe she was throwing herself at him and he was forced to fight her off. Hopefully it was more pleasant. Maybe something like what was in her book.

Whoa.

The idea made her feel like a melting ice cream cone. She pressed her lips together. Clearly, the loneliness was getting to her.

Trager’s eyes flew open wide. There was the glassy look you’d expect from someone who’d been asleep for hours, but underneath it, there was an eerie awareness. Like he was seeing straight through her, and into her seductive thoughts.

Slowly, he sat forward, the drowsiness, sloughing off.

“Kerrigan.” His voice was low and deep, a rumble that reverberated in the space between her ribs. The sound made her want to purr. Trager breathed deep through his nose and his eyes narrowed to slits. “Oh, Kerrigan. I do like that very much.”

“Th-thanks. My mom chose it.”

“Not your name. Though, I’m partial to that too.”

Okay. Before she could ask what it was he liked so much, he’d left the couch. Deliberately, he bent over her chair, his hands anchored on the arms, his face inches from hers. His eyes burned tracks down her body, starting at the top of her head and ending god-knows-where.

Kerrigan gulped. He looked hungry. Starved. Like he wanted to completely ravish her. Lay waste to the land that was Kerrigan, and ruin her for any others before he rode off into the sunset on his bike. She’d read of men having this kind of reaction to a woman, but that was just fiction.

Maybe he was sleepwalking? Stuck in a dream still. But if so, it was a good one. A thrill ran along her spine.

“Trager?”

“Mmm hmm?”

“A-are you awake?”

“Wide. Completely awake.”

Her heart raced as he bent even closer, making her skin feel flush. She thought, maybe, he was going to kiss her. Did she want that? They were barely more than strangers. But instinct told her a kiss from Trager would be unlike anything she’d ever experienced before.

Yeah. She wanted this.

Except, he didn’t kiss her. What he did was a million times more intimate.

His cheek barely brushed hers as his face came to the crook between her neck and shoulder. The stubble tickled but she was far from laughing, shivering instead at his nearness, at his breath and how it danced along her skin. His nose grazed a path from her earlobe to the collar of her shirt, and back again, making her breath come faster and faster.

Trager inhaled deeply, and took all her self-restraint with it. Her hand threaded into his hair. It was the softest sensation between her fingers.

He growled—that was the only word for it—a low, rumbling sound from the back of his throat. “Too much.” It was barely more than a whisper. “Too fast.”