Broken:Flirt New Adult Romance(37)

Afterward, the weight of him crushes me, but I welcome it, my hands  moving possessively across his broad back, holding him to me as we both  ride out the aftershocks.

Neither of us speaks, which is just as well. I don't know what the hell we'd say.

Wow.

Oh my God.

Do it again.

Paul finally moves, brushing my shoulder with his lips before moving into the bathroom.

I'm cold without him, so I muster the energy to pull back the covers. I  contemplate putting on pajamas, or at least underwear, but my body seems  to be even less inclined to work than my brain, so instead I curl up  naked beneath the sheets.

When he comes out of the bathroom, I instinctively tense, bracing for  him to leave without a word, or worse, say something asshole-ish like  thank you.

Instead he hesitates just outside the bathroom door. He looks . . .  nervous. Not because of his nakedness, obviously, because he seems just  fine letting it all hang out there (and may I just say wow on naked Paul  Langdon).

And then it hits me. He doesn't know if he's invited to stay. And he's too scared to ask.

l lift a corner of the covers in silent invitation.

He's beside the bed in three steps, sliding under the covers and pulling  me to him. His kiss is both sweet and urgent before he lies on his back  and moves his arm to the side, making a nook for me. I happily settle  in.

I have yet to speak. I'm still trying to figure out what happened to me.  Trying to figure out what it is about this guy that brings out my  shameless side.

He too is silent, and for a moment I think he's asleep, but then he  turns his head slightly, his lips on my hairline. "Are you any better at  cuddling post-orgasm, by any chance?"

I smile against his chest. "Nope."

He lets out an exaggerated sigh. "One of these days I just might have to tie you up."

"You mean it?" I say it in a coy, teasing way, but once my brain  actually goes there, I have a full, almost unbearably erotic visual of  me tied up beneath him as he licks all over my body. And then maybe him  tied up beneath me, so I can do the exploring . . .

Paul lets out a little laugh. "Olivia Middleton, I do believe that you're slightly wicked under that good-girl exterior."

"Only with you," I say, glad he can't see my flaming cheeks as I make the admission.

He's silent for several seconds, and when he speaks, I can tell he's smiling. "I wouldn't have it any other way."





CHAPTER THIRTY

Paul


I'm having déjà vu. The good kind, in which you wake up to a gorgeous woman in your bed.

Only this time is about a thousand times better than the last time  Olivia slept with me. This time she's naked. This time I spent all night  making love to her. This time she's in my bed not to keep my nightmares  at bay but because after we thoroughly tangled her sheets for the third  time, sometime around 3:00 a.m., she let me carry her to my bed, which  is bigger.

Although the extra space does nothing to contain her nighttime sprawl. So not everything's changed.

I can't help the dopey smile on my face as I reach down and pull a  matted strand of hair away from her cheek. She's flopped on her stomach  this time, one arm outstretched to the side, the other curled under her  pillow. The sheet's riding low on her body, and it would take only the  slightest tug to expose her ass to the cool early morning air.

A gentleman would pull it back up again. A gentleman would tuck the  covers around her chin with a note beside her telling her that there's  coffee ready.         

     



 

I am not a gentleman.

I tug the sheet down just slightly and give her a smack on the butt.  Just light enough to keep it playful, but with enough pep to have her  eyes flying open.

"What the . . . are you serious?" she says groggily, reaching down and  pulling the blankets up around her. I tug them right back down again.

"Get your gear on, Goldilocks."

She grunts and sticks out a hand to pat mine. "You having another boot camp dream, sweetie?"

I can't help it. I grin a little at the nickname, even though it's cheesy as hell.

"It's time for our run." I reach over and turn on the light.

She rolls onto her back and flops both arms over her head. The position  does interesting things to her bare chest, but I refuse to be  distracted.

Which I deserve a medal for.

"You know you've been an ass these past two weeks, right?" she says, not  looking at me. "Ignoring me altogether, locking me out of every room  like a bratty six-year-old . . ."

I feel a twinge of guilt. Well-deserved guilt. "I know, I-"

She lifts an elbow and stares at me with one eye. "I'm not done. I was  going to say that there was a silver lining to your bad behavior, in  that there was none of this predawn running nonsense."

I hook a finger into the pile of clothes next to me, dangling a sports  bra in front of her face. "I got all of your stuff ready. Pink."

The green eye narrows. "My pink shoes too?"

"God, no. I told you, you'll injure yourself with the wrong shoes."

"But they're so cute," she mutters, the elbow slipping back down to cover her eyes again.

Losing patience, I wrap one arm around her waist, jerking her toward the  side of the bed, and then lifting her to her feet with both hands.

She glares at me. A morning sprite, my Olivia is not.

My Olivia.

I ignore the faint sound of warning bells at how right that thought feels.

I bend down to kiss her nose. "I want to show you something."

Her eyes go dark and she reaches for me. "Oh yeah?"

I laugh and grab her wrists. "Not that something. We have to go outside."

She opens her mouth to protest, and I squeeze her fingers, just a little urgently. "Please," I say. "It's important."

Curiosity slowly replaces her sleepy resentment, and she reaches out a  hand for the pile of running clothes I already retrieved from her room.

"This better be good, Langdon."

It's darker than ever outside, but it's cold and clear and perfect.

She trots down the steps behind me as we walk toward the trail, the way  we have dozens of times before. If she notices that I don't have my  cane, she doesn't say anything. I've been going without it for weeks  now, but she's never seen me on one of our morning walk/runs without it.

"This better not be some weird new species of bug or a bird's nest on  the trail," she mutters. "I can't get excited about that stuff even on  normal days, and on a morning when I've gotten two hours of sleep . . ."

I start to remind her that her lack of sleep is for a good reason.  Several good reasons, I mentally amend as I remember just how creative  we got last night. Instead, I place my hand over her mouth to stop her  cranky rambling. "Shut it. Just hush and watch me for a sec."

Slowly I remove my hand, gratified to see that she's finally quiet.

And damn it . . . my heart is hammering. How did I not realize how hard this would be?

But I owe it to her. I owe it to myself.

Very slowly I turn toward the path and start to jog.

In the past few days, while I was avoiding Olivia, I added the treadmill  to my workout routine. As a result, running has gotten a little bit  easier every day, but the wonder of it still hasn't worn off.

I'm running.

I can't make myself look back. I'm too afraid that she won't get it.  That to her it'll just be some dude moving along at a slow jog, big  whoop. I'm afraid she won't understand that I thought I'd never run  again.

Most of all, I'm afraid she won't realize the most important thing of  all, what I'm really trying to tell her-that if it weren't for her, I  would never have run again.

I hear her come up behind me. Her breathing pattern is still terrible,  so it's like a big honking bird. Hard to miss. And then she falls into  step beside me. No words. She just matches my pace.

Very slightly, I turn my head to look at her, careful not to break my stride.

Tears are running down her face. The happy kind, I presume. She gets it.

I can't hide the smile. I don't even try. If running feels good after a  three-year hiatus, smiling might just feel even better. One more thing  to thank her for.         

     



 

We run forever. At least that's what it feels like. We don't stop until  we get to the part of the path that narrows as it leads into a wooded  area. It's more secluded here, and it must be the part of her run where  she usually turns around, because she slows to a walk before moving  toward the trees, hands on her hips as she catches her breath and looks  out over the water.

I move behind her, and for several moments we stand there in  companionable silence, as the dark of night shifts into the gray of  early morning.

"How does it feel?" she asks, turning her head just slightly to the side so I can make out her profile.

Leave it to Olivia to say just the right thing. Anyone else would have  given me some sugary garbage, like I knew you could do it! or See? All  you needed was to set your mind to it!

And when she asks how it feels, I also know she's not talking about my  leg, which is fine, if a bit stiffer than it used to be before the  injury. She's asking how I feel. How my soul, if you want to get all  weird about it, feels about running again.