Matching Mr. Right(41)
Nope. Nothing unusual, just a few popular mystery paperbacks—mostly unread if the bookmarks were any indication—lip balm, a mini flashlight, a pen, and some paper. Digging deeper, way on the bottom, she found two condoms. Boring. But nice to know he wasn’t a freak or anything since she was about to sleep with him. Sort of.
Nick’s voice drifted up the stairs, “Stop whatever you’re doing and get back down here!”
She laughed and ran to the other side to see if Beth had left anything more exciting. When she opened the drawer it was empty. He said she never spent the night. He’d been telling the truth about Beth after all.
Shelby went downstairs and straight to the kitchen. “You’re single again Nick, so two condoms, that are probably old, aren’t going to cut it. I’ll put them on the grocery list for you.”
“You went through my nightstand? What if I’d had whips and handcuffs in there?”
“It would have been a lot less boring, that’s for sure.” She wrote “condoms” in extra-large print on the top of the empty grocery list attached by a magnet to the fridge. Hopefully when he was feeling better he’d get his sense of humor back and it’d make him smile.
Nick had a great smile.
Shelby turned out the lights and made sure the screen around the still-burning fire was extra secure. Then she slipped under the blanket, snuggled up against all of his glorious muscles, and laid a soft kiss on his hot forehead. “Behave.”
“Now who’s boring?” Nick pulled her closer and shivered. “’Nite, Shelby.”
“Goodnight, Grump.”
She closed her eyes and drifted back to sleep.
***
Sometime deep into the night, Shelby’s thrashing woke Nick. The fire had flared so the living room was unnaturally bright. Shelby mumbled about running to get away. Should he wake her?
Then she sat straight up. “Fire! We have to get out!” She pulled on his arm. “We have to go, Nick. Now!”
“It’s just the fireplace. You were dreaming. Look.”
She turned with widened eyes and stared at the fireplace for a moment before she closed them tight against the tears that leaked out the edges.
Her fight against the tears killed him. Pulling her against his chest, he tucked her head under his chin. “You’re safe, Shelby.”
She wrapped her arms around him and held on tight as her whole body shook. “Sorry. I still get dreams about the fire sometimes. I’m so pathetic, I’ve never even used my fireplace and I don’t allow candles in the house.”
“No, that makes sense.” He laid a kiss on the top of her head as jolt of pain stabbed his heart at the thought of Shelby, trapped in a burning house, trying to save her sister. “Do you want a drink of water or something?”
She shook her head. “I’m fine. Sorry I woke you.”
“It’s okay.” He laid another soft kiss on her forehead. “Sweet dreams.”
After a while her breathing finally steadied and she fell back asleep. Only then would he allow himself to do the same. As he thought about her story, something still bugged him about the fire. So what if she’d left the burner on? That alone wouldn’t necessarily start a fire, unless she’d left a towel nearby or something. What if there had been faulty wiring or something entirely unrelated. Would they think to tell Shelby, who was a child sick in the hospital, and who’d just lost her family? There must be a police or fire report somewhere to confirm what had happened. But he wouldn’t want to upset her by dredging it all up, especially if her theory was true. So maybe he’d find a way to look into that without her knowing. He owed her that at least for deceiving her.
***
Sunlight flowing through Nick’s twelve-foot-high windows assaulted Shelby’s eyelids. She blinked her eyes open and found herself still draped over Nick, his chest a fine pillow. She hadn’t moved since he wrapped her up tight and held her after the dream. The only difference was his hand had slipped under her loose sweats and cupped around her butt. Because she’d worn a thong, it was bare skin he held.
“Nick?” She lifted her hand to feel his forehead. Still hot.
He moaned, but didn’t wake, so she poked him in the ribs. “Nick!”
His eyes jerked open. “What?”
“Move your hand.”
He gave her bottom a gentle squeeze. “Nice.”
Before she could snap at him, his hand slipped under her T-shirt. When his fingernails softly raked in long, slow strokes up and down her back, she arched like a cat.
His chest rumbled under hers. “Shelby likes her back scratched.”
“Doesn’t everyone?” She closed her eyes and fought the sigh that wanted to escape. “Sorry about the nightmare last night.”