“I doubt I’ll be able to sleep,” she said. “I’m too revved up. Will it bother you if I keep the television on?”
“No, I can sleep through anything.” He looked over his shoulder at the chair, then the bed again.
“If it’s okay, I’m going to sleep in the bed with you. I’ll sleep on top of the covers; you sleep under.”
“I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”
“Sure it is. We’ll both get a good night’s sleep.”
Before she could come up with a polite way to tell him absolutely not, he turned off the light, stretched out on top of the covers, stacked his hands on his chest, and closed his eyes. She could have sworn he fell asleep seconds later.
At least now she knew that, of the two of them, she was the only one plagued with lustful thoughts.
He obviously didn’t think about her the same way. He was quite blasé about sleeping with her. Her libido took a nosedive.
Too late, Michael realized getting in bed with her was a mistake. He told himself he had enough discipline to get through anything—even the night with a beautiful woman. Damn, she smelled good.
He tried to block the images rushing through his mind, all involving Isabel, of course. In every one of them he was taking her clothes off. Yeah, big mistake. He should move to the chair or sleep on the floor. That’s what he should do. But what he did do was stay right where he was. He could reach out and pull her to him. He blocked that thought, too.
Isabel turned the television off and hoped she could quiet her mind in the dark. She pulled the blanket up to her chin. The room seemed to be getting colder. She vowed she would think about only pleasant things until sleep took over.
It was a stupid plan. She came to that conclusion after ten minutes of trying to come up with a pleasant memory. The man she’d shot kept getting in her way. What she needed was another plan. She had too much energy to sleep now. Then it came to her. She would get dressed, go up to the fitness center, and get on the treadmill. She would run until she dropped.
As quietly as possible, she pushed the covers back, sat up, and tried to stand. Michael stopped her. And oh, was he quick. Before she could blink, he had his hands on her hips, holding her still.
“What are you doing?” he asked, his voice a sleepy whisper.
“I’m going to get dressed and go upstairs to the fitness center.”
“You want to work out?” He was slowly pulling her toward him.
He had to think she was crazy, and she couldn’t blame him. Who in their right mind would work out in the middle of the night? She put her hands on top of his and tried to push him away so she could get up.
“Your hands are freezing,” he said.
“It’s cold in here.”
Michael didn’t think it was cold at all. “You’re shivering.”
He made it sound like an accusation. “Yes.”
“I can fix that.”
He rolled to his side and pulled her down next to him. Her backside was pressed against his groin, the backs of her thighs were plastered to his, and her arms were crossed over her chest with his arms wrapped tightly around her, hugging her to him. All of a sudden she was toasty warm. The heat radiating from him felt wonderful.
“This is all wrong,” she said. Yawning, she whispered, “You don’t have to stay. I’m okay now.
You can leave.”
Another long yawn and she was gone.
SIX
FOR THE FIRST TIME IN YEARS MICHAEL SLEPT UNTIL ALMOST NINE IN THE MORNING. HE WAS
usually up and dressed by six, seven at the latest. He had slept hard. Sometime during the night he had let go of Isabel, and she had turned toward him. She was still in his arms, cuddled up against him. Her face was pressed into the side of his neck, and he could feel her warm breath on his skin.
Barely awake, he realized he had a beautiful woman in his arms, and damn, he wanted her.
Fortunately, his mind cleared, and he gently pulled away from her, got out of bed, and went into the bathroom to take a cold shower.
By the time he was dressed, his mind and body were back to normal.
“Isabel, time to get up, babe.”
“I’m up,” she said, facedown in the pillow.
“Come on. Wake up. We need to get going.”
“I’m up,” she said again but didn’t move a muscle.
It took three more tries and a threat to carry her into the shower to get her moving.
Groaning, Isabel rolled herself off the bed and staggered into the bathroom, the marble tile floor cold under her feet. Propping her hands on the vanity, she looked at her reflection in the mirror. Her hair hung over her left eye, and there was a slight crease in her cheek, a sign she had slept through the night without moving much. She splashed water on her face and brushed her teeth, then dug through her bag for something to wear. She decided on a short, straight khaki skirt, ballet flats, and a blue short-sleeve T-shirt. It was a bit snug across her breasts, but it was soft and comfortable, and after yesterday’s fiasco she was determined that today would be laid-back and stress-free. After she brushed her hair, she looked in the mirror, gave herself an encouraging smile, and opened the door.