Chapter Fourteen

SHE DIDN'T KNOW HOW to face him the next day. If there'd been love between them, she might meet him this morning without this painful embarrassment. Still shy perhaps, but certainly not unable to face him. How was she to act now? Should she pretend as if nothing had occurred last night? As if his lovemaking had not broken her heart? Should she avoid him? Resist him? Thank him?

She did none of these things, just entered the morning room as she'd done regularly of late and said a brief and low good morning to him, pleased that she was able to meet his eyes.

His eyes.

He'd risen from the table upon her entrance, his probing gaze searching her face. His own showed to Nicole—for the very first time—some hint of uncertainty as he watched her with such intensity she was pleased to be able to not lose her footing as she strode first to the sideboard, and not directly to the table, and him.

She had determined only within the past hour that she might as well enjoy the benefits of this arrangement, to beget an heir. She had no plan to ever again admit any love for him, and certainly not to him, but couldn't not deny that his lovemaking had certainly exceeded any previous imagined conclusion to their always fervent, though never before fully realized kisses. She was possibly ridiculous to have accepted this pact to make a child, as not one part of her believed she might come out at the other end unscathed, baby or no, but then she was also not so absurd as to not appreciate that this circumstance afforded her surely the only chance she would ever have to be loved by Trevor, even if it were only her body upon which his attention was lavished.

She'd staunchly pushed aside a fleeting question this morning—how can he so tenderly make love to me, with such patience and restraint and gentleness, if he harbored no fond emotion at all toward her? She'd pushed that thought back to where she stored another similar and inaccurate assumption, that his one-time hungry and eager kisses had meant that he loved her and truly would have rather married her.

When she could remain no more at the sideboard, when she'd selected what she might never taste today, when she only stood staring blankly at the selection of jams, though she'd not opted for either the pound cake or the toast, Nicole turned and faced the table. Steeling herself, even as she thought she sensed her husband watching her covertly, she took her seat, a third of the way around the table from him. Nicole made a study of unfolding her napkin and placing it in her lap.

"What might you have on your schedule today?"

God's wounds! But she startled at the sound of his voice. Briefly, she closed her eyes and willed herself to calm down.

Raising her gaze to him—a bad idea, as his eyes were so captivatingly blue, and fixed upon her with a solicitous bent, superficially at least—Nicole answered in an unwavering voice, "Abby and Lorelei and I will be busy all this week, with cleaning for the Harvest Ball."

"So soon? Shouldn't it wait until the week of, and certainly when you bring in the staff from the city?"

"No, this will be a deep cleaning, the rooms we haven't attacked this year. The week of, then, the rooms will need only a cursory cleaning. ‘Twill be much easier this way." And it will keep me busy, and hopefully exhaust me that I might actually sleep anytime between now and then.

"Very well," he allowed. "I'm sure you know more about these kinds of things than I do."

As she had no intention of engaging him in conversation, even as it rather hung between them that she might return the question, and inquire of his plans, Nicole attended the two-days'-old newspaper. She hoped Ian might show himself soon, before the tension hanging overhead and all around required something heavier and more efficient than a simple butter knife.

As it was, he didn't wait for her to pose any question, but said, "I've invited Mr. Percival out here to the abbey, at your suggestion."

This piqued her interest, and she raised a brow at him.

"He demurred, said all could wait until I returned to London. But I think not. Now, while I'm here, is the best time to get right into it. He'll have numbers from the last twenty years, I should imagine. Ian and I are trying to figure out a way to re-open the mine. With everything Mr. Adams shared with us, we find it impossible to believe that it couldn't—with a frightfully sizeable initial investment—make money once it was up and running again."

Possibly, Nicole heard only some of that, likely comprehended even less. He'd moved his hand once while speaking and her eyes had followed its path, until he'd rested his hand again, wrist bent, just near his plate. She stared at his long, capable fingers, and recalled every tantalizing thing they had done to her last night.

"Hmm," she said absently, into the silence when he'd stopped speaking. She caught herself, and with surely red-stained cheeks, jerked her eyes to his, hoping to God he hadn't been able to read her wayward, but oh so enticing thoughts.

He swallowed. She saw the motion in his jaw and neck. Pinching her lips, she snapped the newspaper and returned her gaze safely there.

And when Ian finally arrived to partake of breakfast and have his morning meeting with the earl, Nicole nearly bounced out of her seat, and with a vague and mumbled statement about getting to work, excused herself and all but ran from the room.

SHE COULDN'T SIT THROUGH dinner with him, she just couldn't. Taking the coward's way out, she sent a message via Lorelei that she thought she might be coming down with something and spent the dinner hour luxuriating in a long and welcome bath.

She had been quite busy today, and the physical labor had seen her perspiring at times, certainly in the parlor which faced south and saw the sunshine all day long. Poor Abby and Lorelei, she'd worked them straight through tea time, enticing them with the prospect of finishing the entire room in only one day that they might only labor five full days instead of six.

She'd sent Lorelei off to her own dinner and bath, reminding the girl that she'd seen to her own bath for almost a year here before the earl had come and shaken up their routine.

"But I cannot leave you, undressed, and unready," Lorelei had protested.

"Unready for what?" Nicole had teased with a smile, letting her head fall back onto the lip of the tub. "The fire is stoked, the room warm," she said, by way of persuasion. "There is my bath sheet and my nightgown. Oh, look, there's my brush." She smiled at the always earnest maid. "I'll be fine, Lorelei. I can see myself dried and dressed for bed, I believe. Go enjoy your free time."

Lorelei bobbed a curtsy and Nicole watched her leave. When she was alone again, she closed her eyes, hoping the water didn't cool too quickly.

She must have dozed, but some sound woke her. As there was no reason for any person, save herself or the earl, to be upon the second floor at this time of day, certainly since she'd dismissed Lorelei, she could only assume that it was Trevor, possibly finding his own rooms.

Good Lord! Hopefully finding his own rooms. Nicole stared across the room, watching the door handle, praying it did not begin to turn. Would he come to her again tonight? Was that normal? Did these things have a schedule.

She heard footsteps, and then a door closed, and Nicole relaxed. She was very thankful, at that moment, that she hadn't ever assumed the lady's room of the master suite, as that would have put Trevor very close to her, just beyond the connecting door.

Thinking it wise to curtail her luxury in favor of not possibly being caught unawares and awkwardly in the bath, Nicole rose and reached for the bath sheet, wrapping it around her shoulders as she stepped from the tub.

She conceded some thankfulness that she'd dried and slipped into her night rail and dressing gown before any knock might have come to the door. She brushed out the length of her hair, tying the damp locks in a plain ribbon, slid her feet into her slippers, and left her room, buttoning her dressing gown as she walked.

As she did so, she briefly considered and discarded this as an evasive tactic—being not found in her chambers should he wish to make another attempt at creating his heir.

Just now, she only desired a bit to eat, as her labors of this day and her decision to miss supper had her stomach now noisily asking to be fed.

The house was darkened, only a few glass-covered tapers lit here and there to guide any nighttime wandering resident. She knew Franklin and Abby kept very early hours, supposing their advanced years insisted upon this. Tiptoeing down the back stairs, she slinked quietly along the corridor and into the empty and barely lighted kitchen. Grabbing up a taper set into a handled saucer atop the mantle, Nicole lit this and disappeared into the larder at the far corner of the room.

She'd kept company with Abbey this morning, before they'd begun the cleaning, while the old woman had briskly and efficiently put together a lovely Shrewsbury cake, which the thought of, at one point, had indeed almost sent her into the dining room at suppertime. She spied it now, covered in a gauzy linen, in the cupboard next to the pound cake. Carefully pulling the dish out of the tall cupboard, she left the larder and plunked it down on the long table in the middle of the kitchen. She collected a plate from the shelves in the scullery and plucked a simple kitchen fork out of a short basket of utensils on the table. Plopping herself into the tall stool Abbey sometimes made use of to give ease to her back, she cut a small piece of the moist cake and returned the remainder to the larder.

She ate slowly then, glancing around the quiet kitchen, wondering if Lesser House would ever be returned to the once grand house it had been. Franklin had told her that at one time, while Trevor's great-grandfather had lived, this house was the main residence of Leven, and had employed more than fifty servants. He'd said at that time, there had been no less than ten scullery maids, and that they'd been possessed of at least two dairymaids, who'd kept chambers in a room off the dairy, which was located at the far outside corner of the kitchen, but rarely used now. Presently, the abbey's dairy—milk and cheese and creams—was delivered twice a week from a large farm just outside of town.

She couldn't say for sure that she would want Lesser House to be so...crowded. While she certainly had not grown up dreaming of living so far removed from London, she very much enjoyed her life here, and was perfectly at ease knowing she might spend all the rest of her days here.

She smiled, almost wistful, thinking she'd be happier by far, if she had a child to love as well, imagining a cherubic dark-haired lad with perfect blue eyes, sitting in her lap on a night like this, enjoying late night pilfered sweets together.

"Now there's a grin that just begs a person to wonder what or who inspires such serene joy."

Nicole startled, turning to find her husband idly lounging in the doorway, from the same corridor that she'd come. Her own surprise aside, she recognized immediately that he appeared rather smart in his sumptuous dark banyan, the fitted robe being secured at his waist with a large metal button, the pattern a very subtle plaid in muted colors of gray and blue and green, and seeming to be lined in silk, if she saw correctly.

Her appreciation for Trevor's style of dress was forgotten as her own circumstance came to the forefront as he stared, rather meaningfully, at the crumbs on the plate before her.

"Lorelei said you were unwell," he said, giving her leave to ignore his initial statement, for which she was thankful, knowing she'd never have divulged such wishful thinking to him.

"I'm fine," she was quick to advise. "Perhaps I overdid it today. An earlier bath has put me to rights once again."

He inclined his head in receipt of this, his eyes passing over the plate again. "The Shrewsbury cakes?"

Nicole nodded, assuming he might now chastise her for her late-night scrounging, or at the very least, for not having summoned a servant to deliver any request to her.

But he surprised her, as she'd begun to think only Trevor could, by asking, "Is there more?"

Again, she nodded, lifting her hand and pointing a finger vaguely toward the larder.

Trevor came fully into the kitchen, while Nicole wrapped up her own dressing gown more tightly about her. He stopped near her, indicating her empty plate. "May I?"

"Of course," she said, sliding it closer to him. He picked up the plate and disappeared then, stepping into the other room. Nicole heard the cupboard door open, and then moments later, close and he reappeared, a generous slice of cake in hand. He sat on another tall stool, the one used most often by herself, and extended his hand for her fork, which she passed over to him, being far enough away that they each had to stretch slightly to transfer the utensil.

Though she wasn't sure why it should seem so, she thought it might be rude to abandon him while he enjoyed the cake. But remaining, while she hadn't any reason, seemed awkward as well. She placed her palms on the counter, about to shove away and stand, when he spoke again.

"I don't remember much about this house," he said, between bites. "But then I don't think we used it very often. At one time, my mother preferred the city."

Dropping her hands, she thought of the message scratched into the nursery wall upstairs. He had indeed been here, but mayhap only a bored child, who had time to carve words into wood. What little she knew of his mother suggested theirs was not a warm and loving relationship.

Nicole had only ever lived in one house with her mother. Sadly, her memories were few and far between, seeming to fade more as the years went by. "I don't remember my mother very well."

"I might wish I suffered the same affliction," he murmured, and then shook his head at such impolite words, though likely the sentiment remained. "You were very young when your mother passed," he surmised.

"Seven or eight, maybe," she answered, still grinning at his quip about his own mother, and the grin widened as a particular recollection came to mind. "When she died, grandmother came to us, of course. She was grief stricken, to have lost her daughter. We cried together for days. But I'll never forget the most amazing thing that happened. If I'd not been there, mayhap I'd not believe it. But there we are, in the parlor, with mother laid out before us while so many persons came to pay their respects. Grandmother and I sat in nearby chairs, my father standing close to accept all the condolences and comforts." She recalled as well that her father had balked at her presence, contending she was too young, but Nicole had pleaded with her grandmother to attend the laying out. As in almost all instances when her father came up against his mother-in-law, her grandmother had triumphed, which meant that Nicole had gotten her way. She giggled now, remembering so clearly the scene as it played out. "Lady Loudon, whom grandmother had never liked, arrived. She said pretty things to grandmother, but seemed off, too lively, as if it were not indeed a wake, but a ball she attended. Grandmother's aloof manner sent her away soon enough, and truly, I think she understood she was not well received. So, she walked away from us, but somehow lost her slipper," she told, and controlled her mirth just enough to finish the tale. "It was so remarkable, because she did not stop, but kept right on walking, leaving the shoe where it had fallen, right there in the middle of the room, the only thing separating us from mother's body. Grandmother and I looked at each other, and God help us, we burst out laughing. And we couldn't stop laughing. I suppose it was one of those instances when your emotions are so precarious, that you're just so easily set off. Whatever the case, Lady Loudon was, ever after, known as The Barefoot Ninny, or The Shoeless Marchioness, between grandmother and me." She stopped and her smiled lingered, even as she had no idea why she might have shared this bizarre story with him. Biting her lip, unsure how she felt now about revealing intimate stories with him, she stole a glance at him.

He was smiling, watching her with something more than simply interest in her tale, with some unidentifiable emotion, but which seemed deeper and greater than anything a man only in need of an heir should be displaying. His compelling eyes crinkled just perfectly at the corners with his grin, the blue so steady and entrancing while he watched her.

Nicole ducked her head, thinking again that she might say goodnight and be gone.

"But what became of the shoe?" he asked, which effectively forestalled her leave-taking.

With a shrug, she admitted, "I do not recall. Likely, a footman or such scooped it up from the carpet."

"Do you know what the most remarkable thing about that is?"

Nicole shook her head, scooching back into the center of the stool, obviously not abandoning it just yet.

"That I once witnessed an uncannily similar happening. It was at a ball. I was on the sidelines, might have been my first year at such things. I was talking with my father, watching the dancers. And he and I both watched as George Goody did almost the very same thing. In the middle of the cotillion, lost his shoe, but kept right on stepping. First, Father and I imagined he did not disturb the progression of the dance and would fetch it after. But he never did, just left the thing to be tripped over and kicked around all evening."

"Did he leave just after that set?"

"No!" Trevor said, raising his hands, as if flummoxed by the man's choices. "He stayed all night, walking around like an idiot with only one shoe, making a show of walking on his toes, to keep his gait level with the other heeled shoe."

Nicole giggled, "Do you supposed there might be more of those people? Dozens or hundreds or thousands who might have in their wardrobe only one shoe of a pair, having abandoned the other when they imagined it was sillier to bend down and scoop up the lost item, rather than walking away from it?"

He nodded and chuckled, the sound like heaven to her ears. "As if being the idiot who walks away on one shoe is so much less awkward!"

"I used to love people-watching at balls," she admitted. "Just sitting and observing all the goings-on. You'd be amazed the things you learn about a person. I like to watch people's faces as they interact, from a distance, and try to discern if they were pleased or not to be speaking to a certain person."

"Eavesdropping with your eyes?"

"More or less," she said. "Truly, often it was so much more interesting than what people were actually saying to me."

"I'd never noticed that you were particularly unhappy at any social affairs," he commented, putting the last bite of cake into his mouth.

She was quick to agree. "I was not." She was now mostly thinking of all the ‘Trevor watching' she'd done at the most recent events, more than a year gone now.

"Do you miss that? The social-ness? Being with friends?"

It was a delicate question, one she was surprised he asked, as it opened the door to the reason she was not now, a part of the ton or the happenings, of which the blame could entirely be put into his hands. But their mood was light now, reminding her so much of all the time they'd spent together, prior to the kiss, that had seen them in marvelously similar circumstances, at ease, and enjoying each other's company. She missed that, to be sure, and so much more than any balls or soirees, but she was disinclined to bring this to his attention.

"Surprisingly, I do not," she said with a shrug. "Surprising, I say, because I did enjoy being social, and all the glamour and spectacle of it."

"But now you'll have your own ball here," he reminded her.

"I think I might enjoy the Harvest Ball so much more, this being so much less formal and stilted and not governed by ridiculous social rules, or at least less so, I would imagine."

A flickering light pulled both their gazes to a far corridor, where the light danced and moved along the wall as it neared, obviously lighting a person's way.

It was Franklin who showed himself, sans a dressing gown, wearing only his nightshirt and cap, complete with drooping tassel, holding the candle aloft. Nicole wouldn't have said his face showed surprise at finding the lord and his lady enjoying a nighttime snack, but she definitely thought she recognized the barest hint of a grin at his discovery. "I was thinking those must be fairly large mice, to be making so much noise."

Trevor and Nicole exchanged grins, with Trevor quick to say, "Apologies, my good man. We're probably naught but badly behaved children to you just now, eh?" At Franklin's lifted brow, noted even as he was bent so drastically, Trevor promised, "We'll try to keep the noise to a minimum from here on out."

With a slow nod, Franklin turned and retraced his steps, finding his bed once more.

Nicole covered her mouth with her hand, smiling, and guiltily so, that they'd woken poor Franklin. Trevor met her gaze with his own sheepish grin, two conspirators having escaped harsh punishment from the man in charge.

Her smile faded, as reality crashed. Sadly, she realized this is what she'd expected, what she might have imagined their marriage would have been, had he not abandoned her on their wedding night. She'd not specifically dreamed of nighttime forays into the kitchens for nibbling, but she'd expected this ease, this type of fun.

Sad, indeed.

She stood from the stool. "I'll say goodnight, then, before we're scolded again," she said, as if Franklin's slight chastisement would chase her up to her room.

"I'm going up as well," he said and stood, guiding her out of the kitchen with a hand at the small of her back. They took the same back stairway they'd both used to come down to the kitchen, this being narrower and darkened, lending a greater intimacy to their ascent than likely would the wider, larger grand staircase at the front of the house.

When they arrived at the door to her chambers, she noted that it was ajar. She had not left it so, which meant that likely he had first tried to find her there. She swallowed, knowing there was only one reason for him to seek her out. An excitement flowed through her at the same time an acute dread was known as well.

She turned to him, her intent a quick but firm goodnight, deciding the dread far outweighed any possible anticipation. She'd sadly realized after last night that each occasion of lovemaking—no, it wasn't that, she had to remind herself; ‘twas no more than procreating—would likely rip a little piece of her heart away, until one day he left, and her heart was naught but tiny shards of broken sorrow scattered around the abbey.

But then he touched her, his finger grazing over her cheek before she could have uttered any words, and everything that wasn't his touch fled from her mind. Nicole closed her eyes against even this small onslaught, only his fingers caressing her face, imagining her thrill just now if only he loved her.

THE WORDS WERE RIGHT there, on the tip of his tongue, as they had been so often of late, but he bit them down. She was suspicious yet of him, bitter still and rightly so, that he was sure she would not happily receive any I love you from him.

But he would show her. He would worship her body to such a point she hadn't any choice but to know it was true.

He slipped his hand around her neck and moved closer even as he drew her near, covering her mouth with his. While he'd thought, when he'd sought her out earlier, that the night would be ruined as she was likely hiding from him, he now knew he would relive that glorious time spent with her just now in the dark and quiet kitchen, eating Shrewsbury cake and seeing her smile. Her eyes were mesmerizing as she'd laughingly related that amusingly horrific tale of the forfeited shoe, and it had taken him back to the day he'd brought her to the picture gallery so very long ago, when she'd charmed him so easily, when he'd fallen in love with her.

And now he was kissing her again, and her small hands were holding him at the waist, and wasn't this just everything he wanted right here in his arms? He propelled her backward, into the room, closing the door behind him.

His mouth shifted confidently over hers as his tongue dashed between her lips. She was sweeter than any cake and he murmured her name against her mouth, guiding her backwards still, further into the room. but he didn't push her down onto the bed and fall ravenously atop her, but turned them both, so that it was his calves the bed frame pushed against.

Divesting her of her flimsy dressing gown and then himself of his own, he wasted no time losing his own shirt, thrilling at her touch, when her hands immediately found his chest. She might well be innocent yet, but her passion was a glorious thing to behold. He was both flattered and ignited by her want to touch him. Loosening the ties of his breeches, he let these fall and kicked them off, one hand holding her close, his arm slid around her slim waist.

He pulled his lips from her and sat on the side of the bed, tugging her hand to draw her to him. When she stood just at his knees, he scooped up the length of her night rail, his hands at the back of her silky smooth legs. When her fingers reached the back of her thighs, he pulled her onto his lap, straddling him. She did not resist so surely a vulnerable position but gasped as his erection met her vulva.

He nibbled her lips and whispered as he continued to bunch up her nightgown, "You're not going to need this for the next little while," and helped her lift the nuisance up and over her head. No sooner had it disappeared than he lowered his face to her breasts, breathing in the scent of her arousal, more intoxicating than any perfume, the taste of her nipple in his mouth as provoking as the raspy little moan that seemed to only fall out of her. Her hands loosely touched his arms, while his own were busy with both her breasts until she set her hands with more industry upon his shoulders, and began to writhe against him, sliding back and forth.

"Tell me what to do," she begged huskily.

"You're doing it, love," he growled and crushed her to him, chest to chest as he took her mouth again, thrusting his tongue deep, holding her head against him.

And then, even as he thought it would prove too damn tormenting to withstand, he took her hand and guided it between them. "Touch me," he commanded tersely.

She responded wonderfully, wrapping her teasing fingers around him. Trevor straightened, allowing just enough space between them that she glanced down at what she beheld. With his own fingers wrapped around hers, he showed her how to move her hand even as he supposed he might expire on the spot. He removed his hand and put his palms onto the bed behind him, letting his head fall back while she tormented and pleased him with her untutored but so damn clever fingers. Her hips started moving again when she realized she could pleasure them both by rubbing him against her.

He withstood it as long as he could before straightening and returning his hands to her hips. Chuckling hoarsely, he groaned, "I see what you're doing there."

Her own grin answered. "Is this wrong?"

He shook his head, his forehead against hers. "Jesus, no. But it will speed things along."

"And then you'll come inside me, and I'll feel that...whatever it was, again?"

"That's your orgasm and that's the plan."

"Does it not always work?" A hint of worry tinted her voice.

"No, love. It will always work with us. I promise." Jesus, had he ever known talking during sex to be so wildly exciting?

He removed her hand before he embarrassed himself and tugged her tightly against him, so that he was poised just between her folds. "Do you want me inside you, Nicki?"

She nodded, whimpering.

"Say it."

"I do." She continued to rub herself, finding the sweet spot. She tossed her head back and breathed raggedly, "I want you inside me now."

He obliged, sheathing himself inside her, nearly crying out as she did at how tightly and hotly she welcomed him. She needed no tutoring now, but rode him perfectly, up and down, her knees finding leverage on the bed. Trevor could not take his eyes off her, the slim light of the moon through the window blessedly showing him her figure and face, her long curls bouncing against her shoulders as she rose and fell. He grabbed her bottom, imprinting his fingers, and nipped at her bottom lip with his teeth.

Nicki arched her back, thrusting her breasts at him, caressing her own nipples with each swipe against his chest. She bit her bottom lip when he could no more reach it. Trevor ground out an ungentlemanly curse for the voracity of his need, pumping into her as she began to make sounds that alerted him of her coming orgasm. Each little whimper provoked him further, stirred greater need and desire, until she covered his cheeks with her hands and kissed him fiercely, driving her tongue at him, moaning into his mouth and then going completely still while she cried out with her release. She actually sobbed, or it sounded as if she did, but he could not stop, even as her head lolled against his shoulder and her swollen lips touched his skin.

"Oh, but I'm dying, I think," she murmured and Goddammit, if he didn't almost weep himself. But she was so brilliantly wet and throbbing around him, still lifting and lowering her hips for him—and yet she was spent and breathless, so that Trevor stood up, carrying her with him while her arms looped lazily around his neck. He pivoted and pushed her onto her back on the bed, having almost come out, that when he thrust deep once more, she cried out again. And he continued to love her, pushing harder and faster, watching her beneath him. Her eyes were shiny in the near darkness, her breasts swaying exquisitely to the tempo of his thrusts, her hair a halo all around her head. Her hands reached for him, pulling his shoulders down, bringing his mouth to hers. She kissed him again, more, saw him home, until he came.

"Ah, Jesus," he grunted and sighed, slowing his rhythm while his own release crashed over him, dizzying him, killing him, it seemed, while at that exact moment he thought, with no small amount of joy, All my life, I will have this with her. He stopped eventually, collapsed on top of her, though yet held the bulk of his weight off her. Every inch of his body was on fire, for her, because of her. He closed his eyes and just reveled in it, let it consume him.

When he was sure his arms were about to fold, he shifted, and rolled to her side, onto his back. He stretched one hand out to touch her still, laying it across her belly, needing to feel her.

With his forearm thrown over his face, while he recovered and relived every sensation, he worked to steady his breathing. He wanted to catch his breath and start it all over again. My God, but it had never been like this before. Nothing even came close.

Next to him, Nicole rolled onto her side, facing away from him, so that his hand slipped up and over her hip and then fell away from her. Suddenly recalling that last night, she'd fairly quickly hinted that he should leave, he moved again, turning on to his side, wrapping his arm around her.

He didn't want to leave her.

Burying his face into her neck and her hair, they were silent and unmoving for many long minutes. When finally her little voice came to him, "Trevor?" he felt no guilt at all about pretending to sleep, even going so far as to almost snore against her ear.

She was still for a moment, until she temptingly wiggled her bottom against his groin. But she was only settling in, and not trying to entice him, he determined, aware of a tenseness leaving her, her limbs and shoulders going slack as she nestled against him. And then her hand settled over his, sliding down over his wrist until she intertwined her fingers with his. Trevor allowed only a small but pleased grin to crease his lips before he did, actually, fall asleep.