There was nothing he wanted more than to slide in bed next to her.
But he had a job to do.
And right now, it sucked.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Never had a light cotton blanket been so utterly irritating. Louisa turned in bed again, hating the way the sheet brushed against her sensitized skin. Over the course of the day, she'd watched Six morph from the guy she'd woken up with into the soldier she guessed he'd been. All business. He'd stopped looking at her as though he wanted her, and he certainly hadn't returned to the conversation they'd started in bed that morning as he'd promised. Which frustrated the hell out of her because all she could think about was how good his body had felt pressed up against hers and how much she wanted his arms wrapped around her again.
Their conversation had ended awkwardly. She'd felt awkward. She'd watched for the light in his room to come on, but it never had. Instead, he'd spent the evening on the computer in the office, she guessed.
She understood and hated the idea that he didn't want to mix business and pleasure. But a small part of her, the part used to being rejected for her bookish behavior, worried he'd simply gotten cold feet in the harsh reality of day. Perhaps he was happy to help her scratch her itch, but maybe he hadn't found the whole thing quite as mind-blowing as she had. Or perhaps it was it finding out that she could be a carrier of Huntington's. That had happened to her before. He'd said it was because they now had a business contract between them. One that Mac had written and given to her. But then she could have sworn she'd heard Six mutter a curse word under his breath as she'd signed it.
Whatever the reason, she was now in bed, a place she wasn't really tired enough to be, and worst of all, she was alone.
Her phone vibrated on the bedside table, and she couldn't resist picking it up to see who it was.
I was too hasty. I am sorry about what happened at your home. The police came to see me. Please can we meet to talk some more? Vasilii.
It struck her as odd. Vasilii never texted. He always sent emails. Or called her. Or swung by the lab. Not once had she received a message from him in all the years she'd worked there. And for him to send a text message over something so serious was most definitely out of character. She'd mention it to Six in the morning and see what he made of it.
Part of her wanted to trust him, but equally she wondered if they could track her location through her phone? To be on the safe side, she quickly turned the power off.
Louisa lay back in bed and stared up at the white beams in the ceiling. Just like the previous evening, she couldn't sleep, but unlike the night before, she couldn't slip into Six's bed with him to make it all better. She was too hot, and, if she was honest, too horny with no clue what to do about it while sleeping across the hall from the man who was making her feel that way. Pull yourself together, North.
With exasperation taking her close to breaking point, she tossed the covers away with a huff and climbed out of bed. The house was warm, almost hot, but she couldn't decide if that was because of the air conditioning that Six had told her didn't work too well or because her thoughts were causing her to internally combust. She padded into the kitchen, got a cup and a tea bag, and set the kettle to boil on the stove. A cup of chamomile tea would help settle her nerves.
The house was silent, unlike the thoughts in her head.
"Couldn't sleep?" Six's rough voice washed over her, and she turned to face him. His eyes ran up and down her body, and she began to regret the decision to sleep in the little cami and shorts she'd purchased, so unlike her usual pajamas, especially when her nipples hardened in response.
Boxer briefs hugged his hips like a second skin and did little to hide the fact he was as well-endowed as she'd imagined, having not even gotten to the underwear-removal stage that morning. The kettle began to whistle, which made her jump, only adding to her embarrassment.
"No … I mean, yes. I couldn't sleep," she said, tripping over herself in an attempt to sound normal. With shaking hands, she poured the hot water into her mug and killed the gas. She yanked the drawer open to grab a spoon, but it clattered noisily out of her hand. She put her hand to her chest, fearing for her heart, the way it beat like there was a moth trapped inside her.
"Here," Six said, walking right up behind her. Not so close that they touched, but close enough that she could feel the heat from his body. He placed one hand to one side of her to hold the mug, took the spoon in his other hand, and scooped out the tea bag, flipping both into the sink, all the while keeping her hemmed against the counter.
Louisa could feel him as surely as if his fingers were on her. In the window, she could see his reflection as he lowered his nose to her neck and breathed her in. No part of him brushed against her, yet Louisa could barely draw in a breath. She looked down at his hands, which gripped the edge of the laminate countertop, his knuckles white. The feelings of embarrassment from earlier collided up against a burning desire for him to touch her. Why was she so confused and aroused? Again?