The dream unfolded like the mist shrouding a sunrise: slowly, completely, overtaking all the light and softening all the sharp edges to wrap her in comfort, urging her to let go and surrender to sensation.
The hot, hard length of his body pressed against hers. Her tight nipples dragged across his chest, causing her to arch upward for more. She sighed and softened. No need to fight in a dream. She was safe here. A sense of dizziness overtook her, and she clung harder to him, digging her fingernails into his muscled arms. Her name echoed in her ears, but she frowned, not wanting to wake up yet. She was so tired, and he felt so good. No one would know how badly she craved him.
She floated briefly in the air, then fell back into softness, cloaked in the delicious scent of ocean waves and clean soap. So good. She buried her face in his neck and breathed deep, scraping her teeth down the ridge of his throat, wrapping her legs around his so they were pressed hip to hip, thigh to thigh, and his erection pushed against the material of her pants. Her name echoed again, more urgently, trying to break the spell. No, she didn’t want to wake up yet. Just a few more minutes and she’d get Becca to school. Just a few more minutes . . .
A masculine groan rumbled in her ear. She spread her thighs wider in invitation, running her tongue along the length of his jaw, relishing his slight shudder. “Kiss me,” she demanded.
His lips crushed hers. His tongue dove deep and gathered her taste. She kissed him back, nipping his lower lip, soaking in the dirty curse words that emitted from his carved lips, wanting him to do everything bad to her, every delicious, sexy fantasy he’d ever had . . .
“Baby, if you don’t want me to rip off those pants and slide inside you right now, you better wake up and tell me no.”
Her hands slipped down and squeezed his pulsing length, so hard and thick, so ready. God, she loved dreams. He thrust into her palms, and then his mouth was taking hers again, pressing her hard into the mattress. Loose strands of her hair tickled her face, and she felt reality bite into the fantasy, a warning in her brain springing to life, telling her to wake up, wake up, wake up . . .
Her eyes flew open. Whiskey-colored eyes blazed into hers, fogged with lust and a fierce hunger that drove the breath from her lungs. Lips an inch away, face tight with tension, as if he was just holding himself back from the edge. Sexual arousal beat from him in waves. She stiffened, suddenly fearful. Blinking furiously, she tried to catch up, tried to remember why this was a bad idea, and then—
“No!” Panic hit. He’d carried her back to the master bedroom and laid her on the bed. She frantically tried to push him off her, and that hungry gaze narrowed in warning. “Don’t touch me.”
He raised himself up on his elbow, staring at her with a hard ruthlessness that stripped away her barriers. “That’s not what you were just telling me a second ago,” he reminded her. His gaze swept over her needy, aching body. Her nipples poked from the thin material of her shirt, begging for his mouth.
“I was sleeping and you took advantage of me.” She pushed again, trying to scramble out from underneath his body. Oh, God, she ached everywhere. Her panties were soaked, and her heart beat so hard she swore he saw. His nostrils flared as if he caught the scent of her arousal, and a hard smile touched his lips.
“Liar.”
“I mean it, Tristan. I’m not sleeping with you.” Her body raged in protest at her words, wanting him so badly she had to grit her teeth and hang on.
“You have to. I will not have my daughter questioning why her newly married, happy parents don’t sleep in the same room together. Do you really want to confuse her like that?”
She bristled with frustration. “No. But I’m not about to let you use me to slake a physical itch you have.”
His lower lip twitched. “Physical itch, huh? And you’re saying you don’t have the same spot you’d like scratched?”
“That’s right.”
“Then answer me one question.”
“What?”
His eyes burned a hot whiskey gold. His voice dropped to a husky whisper. “If I slipped my finger into your panties, how wet would I find you?”
She let out a cry of outrage and punched at his chest. He only grinned in amusement at her temper, easily holding her off. “Get off me now!”
“Sure, baby.” He rolled over, his impressive erection straining his briefs. With a casual disregard, he walked to the other side of the bed and crawled under the covers. He let out a deep sigh and turned to his side. “Don’t worry, I won’t bother you. Unless you ask nicely, of course. But just know, I happen to have a master key to every room in the house.” He plumped the pillow and let out a sigh of contentment. “Oh, and try not to snore tonight, okay?”
“I don’t snore!”
“Yeah, you do. Hopefully I’m too exhausted to care. Been a hell of a wedding day.”
She fumed in silence, her body stiff and unyielding as she lay beside him. If he even thought of trying to touch her, she’d kill him. Her heart pounded wildly as she listened to his breathing. Within minutes, Sydney realized he was fast asleep.
Oh, she hated him. Still pissed off, she climbed out of bed, gathering up all the extra pillows from the closet. She carefully stacked them down the middle of the bed, creating a wall between them. The temptation to sneak out again was great, but she was so damn tired.
She got back into bed, and her body slowly relaxed into the mattress. She was wet and achy between her thighs. Maybe she’d sleep for a bit, then leave. She’d have to find the damn skeleton key first. Still, when he woke up and found her gone, it would teach him a valuable lesson. He had a point about Becca, but she hated the way he ordered her around. He needed to be taken down a few pegs. She’d sleep with him when she was ready—on her terms. One day.
Yes, just a few minutes and then she’d prove her point.
In just a few minutes . . .
She drifted off to sleep.
Chapter Nineteen
I think we should take Becca horseback riding.”
Sydney regarded him over her coffee. It had been two weeks since the wedding, and they were still dancing around each other. Every night she snuck into a different room, and every time, she woke up back in his bed. Once she’d hid in the library with a blanket on the leather armchair.
He always found her and carried her back to bed, then rolled to his side without touching her and went back to sleep.
At least the wall of pillows was always there.
It had become a game between them and a way to show him she refused to buckle under his orders. She liked the way his usual wall of ice crumbled in the face of his aggravation, especially when he spent over an hour to find her. Pushing him seemed the best attack to get him to deal with her on a more emotional scale. He kept his promise, though, and left her alone.
Unfortunately her body seemed to seek his out like a missile to a target. Every morning she woke up with her legs and arms entangled around his, her face pressed to his naked chest, and the pillows scattered around them like rubble on a battlefield. When she regained consciousness, she pulled away in horror, disentangling herself and rolling back to her own side, but it’d be too late.
His knowing gaze raked over her body with amusement each morning, relishing her hot cheeks and refusal to look at him. It was pure torture, and she didn’t know how to keep herself away from him. The ache in her gut was growing worse, along with the need for him to touch her. To say more than a few surface words to her. To give her a real smile.
They worked side by side during the day, staying out of each other’s way and remaining polite. In the evening, they ate together, spent time with Becca, and then went to their separate computers to work. They couldn’t keep on this path or one of them was going to break.
Sydney bet it’d be her.
She needed to force him to deal with her away from work and the bedroom. Horseback riding seemed the perfect opportunity.
“You mean for the lessons I bought for her birthday?” he asked.
“Yes, I think we can all use a day together.”
He was sorting his briefcase for the day ahead. Dressed in a crisp black suit, red tie, shiny wing tip shoes, and engraved onyx cuff links, he emanated male grace, power, and hotness. Hair pushed back from his brow in brushed waves, jaw clean shaven, his ocean scent filling the air. Mornings were always hectic, but he kept completely calm through breakfast madness, her regular argument regarding Becca’s wardrobe, the lost library book, and the toast he’d made too crunchy without melting the butter until it was invisible. Instead of getting annoyed, he remade it to perfection and discovered the missing library book tucked in the couch cushion.