Chapter ElevenI settled onto the couch in the hotel room. It had been a long but good day. I smiled while thinking about how we had skipped dinner with his parents and Brant and Jill. Instead we’d ended up at a jazz and supper club that Brock had been to several times on his trips to DC. Brock loved jazz and blues artists like Ella Fitzgerald and Louis Armstrong. This place didn’t disappoint. The live entertainment was amazing, and their triple chocolate cake was just what the baby was craving. For some reason, it was the only thing that sounded good to me. Brock didn’t bat an eye when I ordered the cake as my entrée. I think he was relieved to see me eat, as it was a hit-or-miss activity for me. And honestly, I don’t think he wanted to talk about the baby yet. I could understand that. I was hoping that as we learned how to figuratively row our shell together, we could become one in regard to the baby too.
I snuggled under the blanket and sank into the pillow Brock had used the night before. I planned on taking the couch tonight. Though I knew as soon as Brock got out of the shower he would balk at the idea. I wasn’t short by any means, but my frame fit better on the couch than his did.
I breathed in the sandalwood scent Brock had gifted the fluffy pillow. The hotel’s blanket felt like velvet against my skin. Though it wasn’t where I’d hoped I would be sleeping during this trip, it wasn’t uncomfortable by any stretch of the imagination. And it was better than sleeping alone in the master suite on the king-size bed. Choosing the couch of my own accord made me feel less rejected. Hopefully, I would sleep better than I had the night before. The baby was demanding rest after a day of walking and sightseeing. A day spent in the company of my husband. It had been a long time since we’d had such a wonderful day together. With that thought, I closed my eyes.
I must have fallen asleep, because the next thing I knew I was being gently jostled awake. My heavy eyelids drifted open, and I turned to find Brock kneeling next to the couch. His hair wet, chest bare, with tiny water droplets clinging to his glorious skin. His clean scent filled my senses—along with his chiseled jaw that sported a day’s worth of stubble.
“Everything all right?” I asked sleepily.
“Yes, except you’re sleeping in my spot.”
“You take the bed tonight. It will be more comfortable for you. Good night.” I pulled up the blanket and turned toward the back of the couch before I accosted him. Every part of me wanted him, and in my half-asleep state, my self-control was at a low.
“Dani, come on. Take the bed.”
“I’m good where I’m at,” I said, muffled into the couch, using all my willpower not to beg him to slide under the covers with me.
“Don’t be stubborn.”
“That’s good advice.” I wasn’t giving in. I wasn’t going to spend another lonely night in the agonizingly romantic room. The crystal chandelier was set to cast a dim light throughout the room, and the surround sound system had every sexy tune known to man available on it. To make the situation worse, the satin-covered bed had red rose petals sprinkled on it every day, and gourmet chocolates were placed carefully on each pillow. No way. I was going to stay on the chenille couch and maybe watch Netflix if I woke up in the middle of the night and couldn’t sleep.
He huffed and puffed for a moment but said nothing else, so I figured it was settled. That was until he swept me up into his arms with no warning and cradled me against him.
“What are you doing?” I asked breathlessly, finding myself up against his taut chest with only my thin black slinky nightgown between us. I should have brought some flannel, but I’d kind of hoped maybe I could tempt my husband. He was certainly tempting me. My hands were begging to nestle into the hair of his chest. Instead, I instinctively wrapped my arms around his neck, even though I felt secure in his strong, capable arms.
Brock headed toward the bedroom. “You’re taking the bed.”
“No, I’m not.” I tried to wiggle out of his arms, but he held tight.
“This isn’t a debate.”
“Why? Because you say so?”
His brow furrowed. “You know I’m not that kind of man.”
“I know. Which is why I’ll be taking the couch.”
He stopped once he crossed the threshold of the bedroom. “Why won’t you just sleep in the bed?” He was getting frustrated.
I looked up to the ceiling at the ridiculously big crystal chandelier that looked like it was dripping in diamonds. “Because . . . it reminds me of how alone I am.”