“Move over,” I say, and she giggles when I shove her halfway across the king-sized bed. “You stay on that side and I’ll stay on this side.”
She sticks her tongue out at me, and without thinking, I give her a sharp but teasing smack to her arse. She gasps, her cheeks flush pink, then she rolls over on her side, miles away from me.
I climb into bed and try to get comfortable. In the end, I yank her back over to me, spoon her sweet body from behind, and fall into a dreamless sleep with her tucked against me, skin to skin.Chapter 7FionaHe came for me.
He came for me.
I’m wide awake, basking in the warmth of this glow, his arms around me and his body to my back in this large, comfortable bed. Safe.
So safe.
I repeat the mantra over and over, because it makes me so happy I can hardly believe this is true.
He came for me.
I’m safe.
He came for me.
I relish every single detail. The strength of his body pressed up against mine. His masculine scent, clean and strong. His powerful arm wrapped around me, laced with Clan ink, the muscles evident even in sleep. Even his strong fingers that curl gently around me. His heavy breathing in slumber.
The poor guy looked as if he hadn’t slept in days when he came to me, and now knowing I’m safe has put him to rest.
It feels almost like a dream, Lachlan so close. Holding me, even as I wonder what danger brought him all the way from Ireland to America. I close my eyes and drift off to sleep for a while, nestled in the cocoon of his safety and protection. I open my eyes a short while later.
I want to look at him. Slowly, so slowly so as not to wake him, I try to wriggle out of his grasp. First, I lift his hand while I try to move out from beneath him. I wriggle a bit, move his hand to my thigh, but the next second, his massive hand’s wrapped around me again and he pulls me even closer.
Guess he’s awake.
I try again, this time to lift his arm straight in the air, but he only tightens his hold.
I try a third tactic. This time, I roll over on my side, not moving his arm, but clumsily flopping and flailing until I’ve fully turned over and can look at him.
He opens one eye. “What the bloody hell are you doing?” His gravelly voice makes my nipples harden. My heart races at the sight of him. Basking in your beautiful masculine glory seems like a rather awkward response.
“Looking at you,” I say simply. “I just want to look.”
He closes his eye and furrows his brow, but I swear a corner of his lips twitch up.
“Objectifying me, are you?”
“Oh, absolutely.”
“That’ll get you spanked, though.”
My pulse spikes, as it always does when he threatens punishment. I can’t even imagine what it would be liked to be strewn over his strong, rugged thighs and spanked. Mortifying. A bit humbling. And very fucking hot.
“Not if I do it silently in my head.” While his eyes are still closed, I run one finger along his forehead. He opens one eye again.
“Fiona,” he warns.
“What?”
“Let me sleep, lass.”
“You’re not asleep.”
“I bloody well could sleep if you weren’t harassing me.”
“Harassing you?” I wriggle a little and free my left hand, then scoot over closer and run the very tip of one finger down the center of his chest. I hold my breath. I tweak one of his nipples between my fingers.
“That would be harassing you.”
Now I’ve got his attention. He hisses out a breath as his eyes flash open and he grabs my wrist.
“You naughty little brat.” His voice is affected, though, and I can see the outline of his hardened cock, stretched tight against his boxers. “Playing with fire, there, woman.”
Woman. Oh, I like that.
“Lach, you haven’t seen anything yet.”
Oh, lord, I am out of my mind, but I can’t help myself. We have a stolen moment of time, and I want him to pay attention.
I won’t run again, but I won’t let him, either.
And maybe a little part of me wants to see how he’ll handle things if I poke the bear.
With my free hand, I reach out to touch the lower part of his back, running my finger along the elastic edge of his boxers, and when he reaches for my wrist, I grab his powerful arse and give him a good squeeze.
For a half-asleep guy, he can move pretty fast. I find myself caught up in his arms as he sits up in bed and drags me straight over his lap.
“Now, let’s not get carried away,” I say, my voice high-pitched and strained, but he doesn’t seem to be listening. He’s settling himself into the mass of pillows, his knees gently propped up in bed, as if arranging his body as a bench beneath my body. My heart is thundering so hard in my chest I’m dizzy at his nearness. He overpowers me so easily. My protests are almost laughable.