Chapter Seven
Thanks to the glow of the hall light and the flicker of the TV, Savannah knew the minute Beau woke up. She saw his eyes open, focus on her, and then watched awareness creep into his sleep-dazed face as he took stock of their situation. He had her draped over him with her fleece robe tangled around her legs, one hand splayed across her hips, and the other clamped to her lower back, his rugged abs providing a perfect saddle for a long, hard, and very dirty ride.
A not-so-subtle nudge around back announced at least one part of him was wide awake. Fully. Awake.
He stared at her mouth for what seemed like forever, not moving a muscle, and she stared right back, remembering the power of his kiss—the explosive heat unleashed by the simple contact of lips to lips. Their “no complications” rule was already bent all to hell. If he kissed her right now, it would be completely and irreparably broken. Even knowing this, she couldn’t say whether she hoped he’d pull her closer or ease her away.
The white gauze taped to his forehead caught her attention and made up her mind for her. His injury. The whole reason she was here in the first place. She propped her forearm on his chest and made the peace sign. “How many fingers am I holding up?”
He lowered his chin a degree and looked down at her hand. “I’m usually the one asking that question.”
“Let’s hope you can also answer.”
“Let’s hope.”
Two fingertips traced a meandering pattern down her back all the way to the base of her spine. She shivered, but stayed strong. “I’m afraid I have to insist on a verbal response.”
“Two,” he said, and shifted his hips, managing to dislodge his personal parts from hers in the process. “Do I owe you an apology?”
He couldn’t have looked or sounded less apologetic, with his shadowed jaw, growly voice, and general air of tense, dissatisfied male. She held back a grin.
“No need. After all, we’re engaged.” She crawled off him and settled onto her back on the bed, then double-checked her robe to make sure all the essentials remained covered. They both stared at the ceiling and took a moment to settle.
“Ready to play doctor?”
She felt rather than saw him turn his head to look at her. “Only if I get to be the doctor.”
The grin threatened again, but she shook her head. “Maybe next time. What’s your name?”
“This seems like something my fiancée would know.”
“I’m not asking for me, I’m asking for you.”
“I already know my name.”
She thumped him on the leg with the back of her hand. “Don’t make me beat it out of you. Dr. West told me to have you recite your name and date of birth.”
“Ow. I liked your earlier bedside manner better. My name is Beauregard Miller Montgomery.”
“Beauregard?” Now she turned to look at him. He had his arm propped behind his head and stared at the ceiling again. Nice profile. “How did I not know Beau was short for Beauregard?”
“It’s my paternal grandmother’s maiden name. There’s a way-back connection to General P.T.G. Beauregard.”
“Impressive. And Miller?”
“My mom’s maiden name. Now you know as much as I do.”
Strangely, she did feel a bit more intimately acquainted, though the conversation might not be the sole cause. “I’m prepared for the fiancée quiz.”
“If there’s going to be a quiz, we better exchange this information, don’t you think?”
“Wait. I’m not done with my questions yet. I need your date of birth.”
“August sixth.”
“Hmm. That’s a problem.”
“You got something against Leos?”