Copyright 2011, M.J. Fredrick
All rights reserved, Lyrical Press, Inc.

McKenna tossed onto her left side for the dozenth time, peering at the drawn drapes for some hint that dawn was approaching. Hard to tell, with the light pollution. With a frustrated growl, she sat up and dragged her hands through her hair, savoring the tug at her scalp. Maybe, since she had her laptop, she could work.

But her laptop was in the living room, and getting it meant creeping in there without disturbing Ethan. She’d lived alone so long she’d forgotten about disturbing someone else, if she got up at all hours to work.

But she could do this. She was stealthy. She just hoped he didn’t sleep with his gun.

She slipped out of bed and opened the bedroom door. The living room was as dark as the bedroom, since he’d drawn the drapes before bed. For a moment, she stood in the doorway, listening to his deep, even breathing, reassured somehow. When was the last time she’d listened to a man sleep? Too long ago. Which probably explained the thrill running up and down her spine and making her ache.

Pushing those disturbing thoughts aside, she drew in a deep breath, needing to be logical and figure out where he’d put her stuff, since he’d had to move the coffee table to make the couch into his bed. She waited for her eyes to adjust to the dim light and edged toward where she thought she saw the coffee table piled with her purse and briefcase.

Then she stubbed her toe on the end of the bed. Hard. Biting back a swear, she doubled over as Ethan sprang upright, grabbing her arms in a vice grip and tossing her onto the bed, pinning her to the mattress with his body. A moment passed before the shock cleared from her mind.

“Riggins, it’s me,” she squeaked, forcing air from her terror-tightened lungs.

His hands on her arms loosened instantly, but his hips still pressed against hers. The rough hair of his thighs tickled her bare legs, his naked stomach lay against her skin where her nightshirt had ridden up.
And he flipped off of her as quickly as he’d landed over her.

“Riggins.” Her voice was a croak, and she cleared her throat quickly. Her eyes had adjusted to the light well enough that she could see him on his back with an arm crooked over his eyes.

“I could have shot you.”

“What?” Her mind was still fuzzy from absorbing all the sensations of his body on top of hers.

“I sleep with a gun under my pillow. I could have shot you. What are you doing sneaking around?”

She propped herself up on her elbow and yanked her nightshirt down. Damn. He wasn’t going to kiss her or touch her or do anything to ease the tension in her body, now that he’d ignited it. “Trying not to wake you.”

“Why not?”

“I was getting my work.”

He glanced at the LED clock on top of the TV. “It’s three-thirty in the morning.”

“I can’t sleep.”

“And work relaxes you?”

“No, but since I’m awake anyway, I may as well use my time wisely.”

His stubble rasped in the quiet room as he dragged his hand over his face. “You need to go back to bed. Now.”

She opened her mouth to protest his tone, but realized the same tension that was making her cranky had to be driving him nuts. Sitting up, she snatched up her laptop case, and strode back to her bedroom with as much dignity as she could muster.