CHAPTER 22
Colt didn’t want to wake up, the dream was too good. He’d dreamed about Lydia before, hell, nearly every night. But not like this. She felt so real. She sighed, a sound like music, and stretched her legs against his. With a groan, he tried to move his arm, surfacing from the dream as the realization hit him that his arm was pinned to the bed.
Holy shit.
He struggled to sit, chasing the cobwebs from his brain. There was a woman in his bed. Lydia was in his bed. His pulse roared in his ears. Was he hallucinating? He hated muscle relaxers, hated the way they made him foggy. “Lyds?” he asked thickly.
“Mmm hmm,” she answered sleepily and stretched against him.
He definitely wasn’t dreaming. She was next to him, very much flesh and blood. Naked flesh and blood. “What happened to your pajamas?” His voice wavered like a teenager’s.
She turned her face to him, giving him a coy, albeit sleepy, smile. She pointed behind him. “Floor.”
His blood pounded through his veins. He had to be imagining this. “I don’t understand.”
“Renegotiating,” she answered burying her head into his arm. “Can we go back to sleep?”
“Sure thing, sweetheart.” He didn’t want to move anyway. He adjusted his arm to better cradle her, and dropped his injured arm to her hip. He only winced a little. So she wasn’t completely naked. She wore some lacy thing he’d enjoy removing from her at a later time. Sleep pulled at him, and with a happy sigh, he gave in. If the angels claimed him right now, he’d die a happy man.
*
Sunlight flooded through the windows. Lydia was still there, curled up against him, silky dark hair spread in short waves across his chest. Wonder filled him. He didn’t know what had brought about her change of heart, but he wouldn’t question it. Craning his neck, he tried to see the bedside clock without moving Lydia. It had to be past eight. His chest felt like lead. As much as he wanted to avoid the doctor, Lydia would insist he keep his appointment. Giving her a squeeze and placing a kiss on her head, he spoke. “Lyds, hon, wake-up. We’ve gotta get going.”
She let out a sigh that sounded more like the coo of a dove, and stretched against him.
He bit back a groan as his balls tightened with need. “Come on, sweetheart. Time to rise and shine.” He should be a candidate for sainthood. He wanted nothing more than to devour every inch of her.
She shook her head against him with a growl.
Of course. Coffee. She never moved without coffee. With heroic effort, he gingerly slipped from the bed, reminding his swollen dick that it wouldn’t be much longer, and pressed the start button on the coffee machine. The machine gurgled to life, and he tentatively rolled his shoulders as he waited. A sharp pain shot down his arm.
Unease settled in his gut. Sharp pain didn’t necessarily mean a tear. He’d learned from the hours of massage therapy he’d received over the years, it could just as easily mean a knot of fascia. Given his ride yesterday, he’d at least sustained some whiplash.
The coffee machine let out a final gasp, and he pulled the paper cup from the dispenser, added both the creams, and walked back to the bed. Slipping back under the covers, he nudged Lydia. “I’ve brought your caffeine hit,” he teased.
The aroma must have registered in her sleepy brain, because she cracked open an eye. “You brought me coffee?”
“Just like every morning.” She gave him a pleased little smile that shot straight to his cock. He’d bring her coffee every day just to be on the receiving end of that look.
“Thank you.” She tucked the sheets under her armpits and sat primly, hand extended to receive her cup.
There was nothing prim about her like this. She was more like a 1960’s pinup girl and the urge to tumble her pulled at him fiercely. But she had to get to the exhibition hall, and he needed to call the doctor.
As if reading his mind, she cocked her head. “How do you feel this morning?”
“Sore. Foggy from the pills.”
“Do you want me to go with you?”
He shook his head, secretly thrilled she’d offered. “Nah. I know you need to get to your booth. I’ll come by when it’s over.”
Her face clouded. “Are you sure? I have a nice stack of orders already. Shutting down for half a day isn’t going to hurt.”
“Drink your coffee,” he ordered gruffly, not wanting to let on how much her offer meant to him. “When I get back, we can talk about this new development in our agreement.” He cocked an eyebrow as he let his gaze run over her.
Her skin turned pink, moving up her chest, and brightening her cheeks. “There’s nothing to talk about,” she answered, chest rising and falling rapidly. “I-I thought about what you said last night.”
“I said a lot last night.”
“About the renegotiating everything.”
So, they were talking about this now? “Okay…” he drew the word out, unsure of what to expect.
She held up a hand. “I’m not looking for marriage, in case you were worried about that.” Her color deepened. “But the other stuff…”
“The other stuff?” Okay, he was fucking with her a bit. But only a bit. He needed to hear from her exactly what she wanted. “What other stuff?” he prodded.
“You’re gonna make me say it?”
“Umm hmm.” He nodded. “I want to know exactly what is going on inside that pretty little head of yours.”
She took a deep breath and stared into her coffee, before raising her head with a determined glint in her eye. “Fiancée with benefits?”
He nearly choked on his tongue, and the laugh that bubbled up from his chest came out strangled. “I’ll give you all the benefits you want, darlin’.” He leaned over and landed a kiss on her temple. “I’ll stop and get a box of condoms after I see the doctor.”
Her answering squeak did something to his insides.
“Does that mean I should get two?” He dropped another kiss at her ear, awareness zinging through him.
She answered, voice breathy with anticipation. “What size box are you talking about?”
A laugh rumbled around in his chest. “Forty, if I get the variety pack.”
She squeaked again. “One’s probably fine. For now.”
“For now,” he echoed, tracing her jawline with his mouth. Waiting today might possibly kill him.