“OK a sausage before a bowl of spaghetti.”
He busted out laughing. “Not sure that’s better.”
“I’ll take the bathroom first.”
When they were both finished freshening up for a night of sleeping and not sex, Trent crawled into bed beside her and pulled her into him. Monica looked over her shoulder and kissed him. “Good night.”
“Good night, Monica.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
The first time she woke in the middle of the night, Trent stroked her hair, and helped her fall back asleep. She curled next to him like a cat and murmured his name as she dozed. The second time Trent didn’t think she would remember. He felt her stirring beside him and realized he’d rolled over while he slept. Once he pulled her close, she settled.
He sat awake after that for some time. He’d had his share of nightmares since Jamaica, but never more than one in a night, and only a couple per week in the beginning. In the past month he could count on one hand the times his sleep had been interrupted with memories. Although he hoped her restless night was a rarity, he heard Jack’s words in his head and knew it probably wasn’t.
Trent kissed the top of her head and dropped off again.
The sound of water flowing in the pipes of the apartment woke him. Inside the bathroom he heard Monica humming and Trent felt a smile on his lips. What would it take to slip into the shower with her?
His body responded to the thought and he rolled over with a groan. Had he actually agreed to a no-sex relationship with the most beautiful woman he’d ever known?
God, he must have been desperate last night to agree to that stipulation. Then it dawned on him, he’d suggested it. Maybe he had drunk too much yesterday.
Trent slipped out of Monica’s bed, pulled on his pants, and padded with bare feet into her kitchen. He found her supply of coffee and prepared a pot.
The apartment was well laid out. The furniture looked to be new, the flat-screen TV would do a game day proud. There were silk flowers instead of live ones and a few childish art pictures hanging on her refrigerator along with a magnetic picture frame housing the artist. He was sipping his coffee and studying the picture of what Trent thought was a boy holding the leash of either a really big dog, or a very skinny horse. “To Auntie Monica,” was written on the bottom followed by, “From Danny.”
The fresh floral scent of Monica’s skin preceded her into the room. She walked into the kitchen and Trent forgot to breathe. Her skin was pink and scrubbed clean, her face was void of any makeup, and her hair was still wet, dripping. A small bead of water fell down to her shoulder, past the slim spaghetti strap of the small top she wore, and disappeared between her br**sts.
He set his cup of coffee down before he dropped it. She wore yoga pants that fit like a second skin. Her toes peeked out from below, with pink sparkly polish finishing her off. As his eyes roamed back to her face he found her hungry gaze on him. She held a towel to her hair but had stopped attempting to dry it as she took a moment to look him over.
One step and he had her up against the wall and his lips on hers. It’s just a morning kiss. A good-morning-where-have-you-been-all-my-life kiss. She tasted like mint and smelled like spring. His body raged with the need to put more than his tongue in her, but he pushed those thoughts aside and just kissed her.
Just kissing with his hands on her br**sts and over the curve of her ass. Her hand fisted in his hair and pulled him tighter and when her hips pushed into his he came up for air.
“This abstinence thing is really hard,” she said.
“It’s just a morning kiss.” He returned his lips to hers to prove it, and he would completely ignore the hard parts of him seeking the warm soft parts of her. Just kissing.
She was the one to pull away the second time. “Morning tonsil hockey is more than a morning kiss, Barefoot.”
“Want me to stop?”
She shook her head and he dipped down for further exploration of her clean teeth and tasty lips.
Minutes later, pulling away was one of the hardest thing he’d ever done in his adult life.
Her laughing eyes sparkled when they looked at him. “Two adults really should have more control,” he scolded the both of them.
“You’d think.”
He reached down and picked up the towel she’d dropped on the floor and handed it back. “I think I’ll take a shower.” Because if he stayed there, he’d have Monica horizontal and naked… or vertical and naked.
He groaned and adjusted his pants to accommodate his need.
Monica chuckled as he walked away.
Monica dropped Trent off at Joe’s to pick up his rental car. The yellow Jeep made her laugh. “Not leaving anything to chance,” Trent had said.
With a list of errands to run and a physical therapy session to occupy her day, Monica knew she’d have plenty to keep her mind busy for the few hours she’d have by herself.
Trent had kissed her again as she dropped him off.
“I’ll pick you up at six,” he told her between kisses.
“You will?”
“For dinner. Wear something nice.”
She huffed out a breath, pretending disgust. “What, you don’t like my workout clothes?”
He ran a hand down her back and cupped her butt in his palm. The sparks his touch created were better than any Fourth of July.
“These clothes make my mouth water.”
She kissed him, tasted the water he spoke of.
“Are you asking me out on a date, Barefoot?” she managed once she came up for air.