Was Fisher Holloway after her? Again?
She couldn’t make any other assumption, not after the way their last confrontation had ended—a circumstance that had sent her, literally, packing. She’d been away from home ever since. At first, she’d missed her mother, her old life, the convenience of financial security.
Now... Well, she still missed her mom sometimes, but she’d resigned herself to how their relationship had changed. She’d gotten used to everything else and she didn’t really want to return. Ever.
An hour later, Rowdy made a low sound that was part anger, part agony. Alarmed, Avery touched his shoulder hoping to soothe him. His breathing came faster; he shifted again. Was it his back? Should she wake him for more aspirin?
She had just started to sit up when suddenly he clutched at her, dragging her tight to his chest in a hold filled with desperation.
Making shushing sounds, Avery kissed his throat, his chest and shoulder.
He eased, his grip relaxing as he again faded away.
“I’m here,” she whispered, and because she couldn’t help herself, she kissed his throat again. His weakness—something he’d hide if he was awake—drew her in. She felt so many things: emotionally protective of the boy he’d once been, devastated that he still suffered nightmares, awed by his strength of character and, against all odds, the man he’d become.
She also felt a little turned on.
What woman wouldn’t be? Rowdy wasn’t hard now, but they faced each other in bed, as close as two people could be without actual intercourse, so her awareness of him—all of him—rose to a keen level. He’d hugged her up to his lightly furred chest so that with every breath his delicious scent filled her head. One of his thighs now rested between hers, pinning her in place, yet somehow making her feel cherished instead of trapped.
Fisher was the last man to touch her like that, and her reaction hadn’t been the same.
But then, that time with Fisher hadn’t been by choice.
Physically, Fisher Holloway was attractive enough. Just shy of six feet, thick brown hair, shrewd blue eyes, built like an athlete... The memory of his heavy body, his unyielding strength, sent a shudder through her.
She tucked her face closer to Rowdy’s chest.
To those who knew Fisher, he was a thirty-four-year-old CEO of a very successful company. A philanthropist who supported many charities. A financial guru generous with those he employed. Her stepfather respected him; her mother adored him. They ran in the same circles, often attending the same affairs.
Everyone thought he’d make the ideal husband for Avery.
Everyone except Avery herself. Whenever they were alone, Fisher was too condescending: ordering her food, critiquing her wardrobe, disdaining her friends.
Her stepfather said he was invested in her well-being.
Her mother said he was attentive to her needs.
Avery hadn’t liked it one bit. During a fundraiser, when Fisher persisted in pursuing her, she’d made her disinterest clear.
God, he’d been so cunning, setting her up for the greatest fall of her life...
She jumped when Rowdy’s hand went to her backside, squeezing for a minute before going limp again. Wow, even in his sleep he stayed revved up. Or was he playing possum?
Avery no sooner had the thought than Rowdy started a soft snore. She smiled, as much at herself as at the sound he made.
Looked like she’d be the one with insomnia that night. But she didn’t mind. It gave her more time to enjoy Rowdy without the risk of him realizing the truth—that she’d already gone head over heels for him.
If he knew she’d started falling in love with him almost from the start, what would he do?
Given his track record with women, she didn’t want to find out.
* * *
ROWDY WOKE DISORIENTED, his brain sluggish, his limbs utterly lax. Sunlight spilled through the tall wall of windows, making him squint. It took him a second to realize that he’d slept like the dead.
Jesus, he never passed out like that. All kinds of shit could have happened without him knowing it. A little alarmed, he rose up on an elbow. The discomfort in his back would have taken precedence—except that he found Avery right there, her head propped on a fist, her tumbled red hair spilling all over the bed, her blue eyes lazy with interest as she watched him.
She said, all husky and sexual-like, “Good morning.”
That particular expression of hers was too damn soft, almost dreamy. “Why are you smiling like that?”
Her gaze went to his mouth, then back up to his eyes. “Because I realized last night I’m a pervert.”
Whoa. Rowdy made a show of lifting the sheet and looking down at himself.
“What are you doing?”
“Checking that my boxers are still in place.”
Her teasing laugh went over him like a slow lick. “Did you think I took advantage of you without you waking?”
“I was half hoping.” Something was different this morning. While he’d been dead to the world, she’d come to some conclusions. Now if only he could keep that progress going when awake. “Obviously you didn’t have your way with me, so what perverted things did you do?”
“I checked out your body.”
“You’ve done that before, babe. I know because I’ve seen you doing it.”
“This time, I didn’t hurry or try to be subtle. I just soaked up the breathtaking sight of you.”
Breathtaking? He tried not to feel self-conscious with the over-the-top compliment. “Anytime you want a repeat showing, let me know.”