Page 64 of The Woman with the Handcuffs

I slept like garbage.

It turns out that the bunk was too short, too narrow, and the mattress was too hard. I guess I was just older, maybe bigger, definitely more spoiled by having a fancy ten-inch pillow-top mattress. And half a dozen pillows. A fan blowing on me all the time.

I tossed and turned for hours while Gav slept peacefully a few feet below me, despite also being in too cramped a space for his long legs.

Eventually, I drifted off, only to wake when I felt something tickling my face.

Half-asleep, I figured it was my hair, and I reached to brush it away.

But it wasn’t a hair.

It was definitely not a hair.

I shrieked and rolled, too disoriented to remember where I was.

So I rolled right off the bunk.

And crashed down onto Gav, who let out a grunt at the impact, his arm going automatically around me.

“What…”

“He’s back. For revenge.”

There was the briefest of pauses before understanding dawned on him.

“Spider? There’s a spider in the bunk?”

“He was on my face. He was going to crawl up my nose.”

An airy laugh escaped Gav as I rested my head on his shoulder. His bare shoulder. His bare shoulder that smelled like that cologne that was always begging me to lean closer, to breathe it in.

So I, you know, breathed him in.

Just a little.

Not even enough for him to notice.

I hoped.

“I’ll get it,” he said. But he didn’t move to do so. Probably because I was still sprawled all over him. And I couldn’t seem to force my body to move.

God, it felt so good to be close to a man. Close to this particular man, as crazy as that was.

Maybe it wasn’t so nuts.

Not after the night before in the shower.

Him half-naked.

Me, mostly naked.

Bodies close enough to brush.

Breaths mingling.

Hearts pounding.

That heavy-lidded look of desire in our eyes.