I lower my face to her neck and draw in another breath, bringing in the scent of baby soap from her skin. Jesus.
Reluctantly, I pull my head back. My hands run all over her back and her arm. Eventually, as she calms, I find myself including her bottom and her thigh.
Her breathing evens out finally, and she suddenly stiffens and jerks her face up to meet my gaze in the dim light. She scrambles to get off my lap, but I hold on to her. “You’re okay, sweetie. You had a nightmare.”
She freezes and looks at me again. Her blue eyes are wide as saucers. “I’m so sorry.”
I frown at her. “No reason to apologize. It was a nightmare. You were screaming.”
She winces and looks away, her palms on my chest, keeping us separated.
I hate it and slide my hand from her back to her cheek. “You want to talk about it?”
She shakes her head.
“Do you have nightmares often?” I’m wondering if this is because of what happened to her last night or if she has a lifetime of ghosts who haunt her in her sleep.
“Sometimes, but not like that.”
I reach for her wrists and gently tug her hands from my chest so that I can pull her against me again. I could hold her like this for hours if she’d let me.
I’m relieved when she relaxes against me once more, intentionally now that she’s awake. She even flattens her hand on my bare chest and smooths it around to my back. “Thank you,” she murmurs.
I don’t point out that I’ve asked her to stop thanking me. Just this once. “You’re welcome, sweetie.” My hand runs up and down her back again, inching toward her bottom. The tank top is thin, and when she’d leaned back, I’d caught a glimpse of her hard nipples straining against the fabric. I swallow my reaction to the memory.
I have to let her go before I take things too far. For the first time since meeting her, I feel this ridiculous hope that perhaps she might be interested in me as more than just her savior. I shouldn’t. It’s too soon and she’s hurting. She might not even remember this in the morning.
I ease her off my lap and lay her down so that her head lands on her pillow. She finally uncurls her body as she lands on her back and blinks up at me, biting her bottom lip. Before I lose the last thread of my self-control, I pull the covers up over her sweet body.
I do so slower than I should, letting my gaze take in the smooth skin of her thighs, the white cotton of her panties covering her pussy. Her tank top has ridden up several inches, gracing me with the flat planes of her belly before my gaze lingers on the small mounds of her breasts and the erect points of her nipples poking against the shirt.
It takes a lot of willpower to pull the covers up to her chin. She’s still blinking at me, that full lip between her teeth. I want to pluck it free. I want to lower my lips to hers and kiss her until she moans. I want to flatten my hands on her body and run them up and down, learning every inch of her. I want to cup her breasts and stroke my thumbs over her nipples. She’d release that lip if I did so. I know she would.
I do none of those things. Instead, I glance at the second pillow next to her and remember the stuffed animal I retrieved from her apartment. I pat her hip. “Be right back.”
I pad from her room and head for the kitchen where I’ve left the bag of her things on the counter. I grab the bunny and then make another illogical rash decision. I rifle through the few articles of clothing I grabbed from her apartment and lift up the one and only dress I’d found. It’s a simple sundress. Hardly worn. I doubt it was new to her when she got it, but it’s still in better shape than any other clothes she owns. Most are threadbare and unraveling.
I hold the dress in front of me. Am I making the right decision here? It’s the wrong time of year for something like this. It has spaghetti straps. I wonder why she even owns it considering all the rest of her wardrobe consisted of jeans and