Brokenhearted Beauty(Divine Creek Ranch 19)(22)

For a long time, he lay there listening to her breath. Minute movements from Vincent told him that his brother also lay awake. Satisfaction filled a space that had long been empty in his soul but he had no illusions. He wanted her in their bed and their world but it remained to be seen whether she’d stay. He wasn’t taking a single second for granted.

He must’ve dozed at some point because he awoke later in the night and discovered that she’d moved around until she now lay with her thigh cast across his, just below his groin, and she’d flung her arm across his torso and had her cheek plastered to his chest. It was his dick that had awakened him, he realized, as it twitched with interest and tingled as it rose to half-mast. He grinned, realizing that she was using him for her body pillow. He’d suffer an unattended erection if it meant getting to feel her draped all over him like that.

She let out a deep sigh and with a slow, sinuous movement, she inched even closer to him and he had to stifle a groan as she pressed her warm pussy against his thigh. He wanted to reach down and stroke her there but he reeled the urge in. She needed to rest.

His hard-on gradually subsided and when he woke again, it was to find his side had cooled because she was now snuggled all over on Vincent. His brother cleared his throat and chuckled softly as she made a little feline sound of contentment and settled into a deep sleep. She must’ve displaced the covers when she rolled over because they were now pushed down to her waist. They made eye contact in the dim moonlight and James nodded mutely as Vincent stretched under her and slid his hands down to rest at the small of her back.

They discovered over the course of the night that she tended to be restless in her sleep. James wasn’t much of a morning person and even though he didn’t look forward to getting up when the alarm went off, he didn’t mind losing sleep for her.

Leah came to him in his dreams, purpose in her eyes as she climbed over him, straddled his hips, and took him inside of her. He let her have her way, let her ride him like a majestic, wanton siren. Flushed with arousal, she tilted her head back and skimmed her hands up her body, clutching her breasts, pinching her nipples before sliding her hands into her hair. Her breathing grew erratic and when she came, her cry was so loud it startled him out of sleep.

Disoriented, he struggled to breath at first and realized he had a mouthful of her hair and that she was wrapped tight around him…and she was crying.

“No!”

Vincent must’ve also been startled, because he was kneeling near them, attempting to calm her, smoothing his hand down her back. She cried as if her heart was breaking and the two of them frowned at the sound.

“Doll?” Vincent whispered, still stroking her back as she sobbed.

Her face was buried against James’s neck, which was wet with her tears. He brushed her hair from her face and spoke softly to her. “Honey, it’s okay. Everything’s all right.”

“Don’t…please don’t,” she whispered and then suddenly jerked and gasped.

There was enough light for him to see that her eyes were open. She lifted her head and looked around in confusion. She focused on him and then turned to see Vincent right beside her. The stricken look on her face nearly broke his heart. More tears filled her eyes. “It wasn’t a dream.”

Vincent reeled back as if he’d been slapped. “No, it wasn’t a fucking dream. I’ll leave you to your morning-after regrets.”

He climbed from the bed, grabbed his jeans from the chair by the door and moments later, James heard the sound of kitchen cabinet doors slamming, drawers opening and closing, and the water running. He was probably making his morning oatmeal. Now looking even more confused than when she’d awakened, she continued sobbing as if she’d lost her last friend.

James wondered if they’d made a huge mistake. What had they been thinking? It’d only been four months since Patterson died. They’d pushed her too far, too fast. Rising from the bed, she located her clothing and began dressing.

This wasn’t at all how he’d wanted the morning to go. He wanted her rumpled and content, dressed in his shirt, or better yet, in the shower with him. Not dressed and ready to flee with regret in her red-rimmed eyes.

She wrung her hands and could hardly look at him as she said, “I need to go. Vincent sounds really mad.”

James led her back to the bed, and coaxed her to sit down beside him. “Please don’t leave yet. Talk to me.”

“I need to go home and change for work.”

“Let me at least make you breakfast, honey.” He brushed a tear away that overflowed her eye and said, “Tell me what happened earlier. I’m confused.”