“Help me up?” she asked. He did, pulling her to her feet. “Thanks.” She turned, pulling her hair over her shoulder. “Would you please unhook my bra?”
Trembling fingers brushed over her skin, her nerves igniting every time he touched her.
“Sweet bleeding hell,” he murmured when she let her bra fall to the floor and then kicked her underwear away.
She shrugged into the shirt, inhaling his scent off the fabric. “I’m cold, I’m more exhausted than I’ve ever been and I want to sleep for days, but not alone. Will you hold me?”
“Yeah.” His one-word answer was so choked she would have laughed in almost any other situation.
He moved around her, folding the covers back on one side of the bed, and helped her in. Then he lay down on top of the comforter.
“What in the world are you doing?” she asked through a yawn.
“I was going to hold you until you fell asleep then move to the floor.”
“I want to be held, Justin. Held. Ditch however many clothes you’re comfortable with and crawl in.”
Without a word, he rose and stripped in seconds. All the way to the skin. Folding down the covers on his side of the bed, he slid in and rolled toward her, pulling her into his arms and adjusting their positions until he was comfortably spooning her.
The last thing she remembered was him slipping one arm under her head and the other around her waist, snaking his hand between her breasts and hooking it over her far shoulder. “Sleep, baby. I’ve got you.”
Then the world disappeared.
* * *
JUSTIN LAY AWAKE for two days. At least it felt like two days. It was probably only two hours. He held Grace close to his chest, listening to her breathe, feeling her heart beat beneath his wrist. The arm lying under her head began to go numb. Oh well. The pins and needles would suck in the morning, but they’d be worth every bit of discomfort because they meant he’d held her.
Nuzzling her hair, he was thrilled when she moved but less thrilled with how she moved. She snuggled even closer, the shirt riding up so that her bare backside rubbed against his aching shaft. Yeah, he’d been hard since he took off her shoes. Not a proud moment, that. Guilt had screamed at him to get himself under control, but he hadn’t been able to even remotely deter the single-minded other piece of him that was shouting, “Yay! Naked Grace!” And now, every time he moved away from her, she followed his retreat so they were still pressed together.
This was going to be the longest night of his life.
She wiggled a little, getting comfortable, and he couldn’t contain the soft hiss that escaped. “Get a grip, Maxwell.”
“Justin?”
He stilled. “Yeah?”
“It’s okay you’re poking me in the back, but you’ve got to stop squirming.”
He laughed softly, moving to prop himself up on one arm so he looked down at her. “Might help if you weren’t so damn beautiful.”
“You’re biased. I wowed you with my Monopoly references and you were mine.” Her sleepy voice was still infused with humor.
“You’re right. If memory serves, you got to be every piece, too, didn’t you? That’s what you wanted.”