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I shook my head. “The living room's too small for a big one.”
Jack smiled. “Miller, it looks like we're taking the term roommates to a whole new level.”
I paused for a moment to calm the butterflies in my stomach. “Um, what?”
He pushed off the counter leaving me standing there with a steaming cup of cocoa and a kick-started libido. “Do you sleep on the right or the left?” he called from the bedroom.
I didn't need the drink for warmth anymore. I had a little bit of lust and a whole lot of anger taking care of that. Violet's bedroom was small, the double-sized bed taking up most of the space. It was ample enough for one person, but two....
Putting the mug on the counter, I stalked into the bedroom. “What are you talking about? You're not sleeping in my bed.”
Jack tossed the extra pillows I'd been leaning against onto the floor. He looked at me across the bed. “It's not yours, is it?”
My mouth dropped open. “Um, no.” I wouldn't be caught dead with a man in my bedroom with a bright fuchsia comforter, turquoise flannel sheets and throw pillows in a weird Muppet-type fur.
“We'll think of it as a hotel. There's no way I'm sleeping in a chair. It's too cold, and I'm too sober to sleep on the floor,” he said dryly.
“You expect me to sleep in a chair?” I asked. No way, no how.
“No. I expect you to control yourself and keep your hands off me.” He winked at me.
My eyebrows went up to my hairline and I put my hands on my hips. “Control myself?” I sputtered.
“Fine. We'll make a pillow wall between us.” He bent down to pick up the pillows he'd just tossed on the floor and built a pseudo wall down the middle of the bed. Jack eyed his handiwork, then clearly satisfied, grabbed his bag and headed into the bathroom, closing the door behind him.
I just stood there like a complete idiot. Frozen in place at the horror. I was going to sleep in a bed with Jack Reid.I was going to sleep in a bed with Jack Reid. Holy shit!My heart fluttered wildly at the thought. It had been a dream of mine and now it was going to happen. Right now!
Then I sobered as if I was doused in cold water. There was a pillow berm in the middle of the bed. That wasn't in my fantasy. I realized my lusty thoughts weren'tsleep in a bed with Jack Reid,it wassleep with Jack Reid.The difference between reality and my fantasy was that we were actually going to sleep. And the only time I was going to find myself beneath Jack's rock-hard body was if someone was shooting at him.
10
Light streamed through the gauzy curtains, waking me from a delicious sleep. I was warm and cozy, under a thick down comforter. My head rested on a hard chest, soft hairs tickling my chin. One of my arms was thrown over a flat, rigid stomach, my leg wedged between two of?—
I launched myself bolt upright when the intimacy of my situation dawned on me. Holding myself up on one hand, I looked down at the sleeping Jack. His chest was tan with dark, springy hair sprinkled across the middle leading down to his belly button, and from there in a happy trail that led to the edge of his boxers. Somehow, he wasn't covered with the comforter, nor the sheet, and I was able to look my fill.
“So much for the pillow wall,” I mumbled.
“If you'd wanted to lie on top of me all night, why did we build one in the first place?” he asked, his voice rough. So much for a sleeping Jack.
My mouth fell open, and then I closed it with a click of my teeth. How dare he? As if I'd wanted to sleep on top of him! The annoying jerk. There was no answer to that question that would be in my favor. So, I took another tack.
“Why do you have ducks on your boxers?” I rolled my eyes, wishing myself anywhere but in bed with Jack. Had I just asked him about his underwear?
Jack lazily opened his eyes, took in my most-likely crazy bed head, my pink tank top I’d had on beneath my hoodie and flannel pajama bottoms. One finger snaked out and tugged gently at the elastic waistband of my pants.
I swatted his hand away before he saw anything important.
“Why don't you wear any underwear to bed?” he asked, his eyes on my breasts. I looked down. My nipples were hard and obscenely visible through the stretchy cotton. I crossed my arms over my chest.
“Oooh,” I squealed and climbed out of bed, grabbing clothes willy-nilly from the folded pile in the laundry basket, and stalked into the bathroom. I heard Jack chuckle before I slammed the door.
An hour later, we were bundled up against the weather, Jack headed to his rental, me to the van. I turned over the engine and cranked the heat. Jack appeared beside my driver’s side window and I rolled it down.
“Car won't start,” he said. He yanked on the collar of his jacket and pulled it up higher about his neck.
“So?” I grumbled. I was so frustrated with him. He brought out the absolute worst in me, pushing every button I had to make me angry, annoyed, and horny. Damn the man for making me hot for him!
Jack rolled his eyes. “So, give me a ride to my uncle's until it warms up enough for the rental to start.” Ten below was not good for cars left outside. More often than not, when it was this cold, they didn't start. Without a garage to keep a car warm, most Montanans had a block heater retrofitted onto their engines so they could be plugged in at night. It kept the enginewarm enough to start, in any arctic climate, like my van. Jack's rental didn't have this kind of set-up.
