Driving Her Crazy - By Amy Andrews Page 0,16

positioned himself.

Bad. Word. Choice.

The diamanté from Sadie’s thong glimmered in the light and tantalised his peripheral vision.

Sadie’s gaze was drawn to it too. Oh, no! She hadn’t meant to leave it hanging there. She’d just forgotten everything the second itsy-bitsy decided to show.

What the hell must he be thinking?

‘Right,’ Kent said, pushing the rounded knob of the stick towards the spider. ‘Time to move along.’

‘What are you doing?’ she snapped again.

‘I’m not killing the spider, Sadie,’ he said as he gently swept it towards the open window.

Sadie gasped as the spider scuttled onto the end of the stick. She took a step back as she opened her mouth to warn Kent but in two seconds he’d dropped the stick from vertical to horizontal, the end with the spider poking out of the window. Once it hit the great outdoors the spider didn’t need any encouragement, practically leaping to its freedom.

Kent pulled the stick inside and took two strides to the window, pulling it shut. ‘There. Happy now?’ he asked as he turned around.

Sadie felt a sudden release of tension from her neck muscles as relief buzzed through her system. She might even have smiled had not her thong been dangling from the curtain rail just behind his head. It made her aware of their state of undress. Of his ripped naked chest. Of his perfect mouth surrounded by fascinating stubble.

Of how it would feel to kiss him.

She nodded instead, focusing only on him. ‘Thank you,’ she said, one hand at her throat, the other still clutching her clothes. ‘I’ll be able to sleep easy now.’

Kent grunted. With a vision of her in that towel and a pink thong, he certainly wouldn’t be.

He walked out of the bathroom, brushing past her on the way out. ‘Just get dressed, Sadie Bliss,’ he muttered and headed back to his beer.

When Sadie emerged from the bathroom a couple of minutes later the television was on and Kent was reclining against the bed head, still in just his jeans, his feet bare. Both his legs were out in front of him, his right ankle crossed over the left. He held his beer tucked close to his body, resting against his groin area. He was channel surfing.

He turned the volume down a little but deliberately didn’t look at her as he said, ‘I can turn it off if it’s going to keep you awake.’

She shook her head, ignoring the nice delineation of abdominal muscles and the fascinating trail of hair bisecting them. ‘No, it’s fine. I sleep like a log.’

Sadie lifted her backpack to the ground and pulled back the sheets. Uncaring that her hair was wet and tomorrow it would be a wild tangle, she slipped between them, enjoying their fresh clean feel and smell. Not even the rock-hard mattress spoilt the moment.

She half moaned, half sighed. ‘God, that feels good.’

Kent, still looking resolutely at the television screen didn’t bother to reply. It was bad enough her low moan completely destroyed his concentration.

‘Night,’ she said, pulling the sheets up to her chin, rolling away from him as she obeyed the dictates of her brain to shut her eyes and sleep.

Kent took a swig of his beer. He couldn’t believe that anyone could just fall instantly asleep. He turned his head to look at her, the steady rise and fall of the sheet seeming to indicate that Sadie Bliss could.

How he envied her that. He hadn’t had a decent night’s sleep since the accident. Before that even. Living in war zones was not conducive to the recommended eight hours. And these days he barely got by on four or five.

A knock heralded the arrival of his food and he was grateful for something to do to fill up the long hours ahead.

Kent was relieved when Sadie finally moved five hours later. He was beginning to wonder if she’d lapsed into a coma. If it weren’t for her regular deep breathing and the occasional soft, snuffly snore, he’d have checked her pulse hours ago.

He, on the other hand, was still well and truly awake. He’d eaten his steak, drunk two more beers, ordered them some breakfast on a card he’d hung on the outside doorknob, gone through his camera gear again, fiddled with the air-conditioning thermostat several times trying to find a happy medium and consulted the map at least half a dozen times.

He’d watched some B-grade movie and reruns of eighties sit-coms for hours. And now he was flicking between channels, avoiding the twenty-four-hour news stations