The first time she tried, his hand merely tightened on her arm. The second time, he lifted his head and very causally threw one leg across her lower body, grinding his pelvis into her hip and proving beyond a shadow of doubt that, regardless of what he’d claimed to the contrary, there were parts of him that were very much alive. She subsided, staring at the ceiling for a while, trying not to think about the warmth of his body against hers, and especially trying not to think about the very different kind of warmth that began to hum through her. He didn’t trust her. That fact seemed unavoidable, that, as tired as he was, knowing he had to sleep, he figured the best way to do so was to make sure he didn’t have to concern himself about where she was or what she was doing. She didn’t delude herself into thinking it was anything else, even if his body said differently. Sighing, she tried to angle her head enough to look down at him. There was an angry red welt on his neck that would probably be a bruise before long.
