Ravish: The Awakening of Sleeping Beauty - By Cathy Yardley Page 0,14

so there’s no reason to wake me if there’s any change in her condition. I’ll just watch the tapes the following day.”

“That’s probably a good idea,” Carrie agreed. “It seems like every time I wake you up, you never get here in time, anyway. It’s like she waits for you to fall asleep.”

“It does seem so, doesn’t it?” he said, and laughed nervously. “Good night, Carrie.”

“Good night, Doctor.”

He nodded, hurrying out of the room. His palms were sweating. He hastily got to his own guest room and shut the door, locking it. Then, briefly, he leaned back against the hard wood of the door frame, closing his eyes.

He’d been fighting the urge to go back to bed since noon. Not because he was tired—although he was, desperately so. A night’s worth of dreams often left him more exhausted than a day’s worth of work. No, he wanted to get back to bed so he could get back there, to his dreams.

Back to her.

He’d dreamed about her every night for the past two weeks. If this kept up, he was going to have to call Aaron, he knew that. But for now, he thought that perhaps his subconscious was simply working overtime to provide him with a sort of background for his latest patient project. Normally, he never got to “know” his patient, except from apocryphal data, anecdotes from family members, and case files.

This was one of the biggest cases of his career. If he was creating a character study in his mind to get closer to her…well, where was the harm, right?

You’re justifying, his conscience commented critically. Like an addict.

He ignored that, stripping quickly, dousing his light, and scrambling beneath the covers. He tossed and turned fretfully, excitement making his body tremble slightly. He felt ridiculous—and impatient.

Finally, when darkness enveloped him, he welcomed it.

“Rory.” Her name was on his lips before his eyes were open, and he felt her body press against his.

She held him tightly, her head tucking under his chin. “Jacob.” He could hear the smile in her voice before he saw it curving her lips. He kissed her happily. “You’re back.”

Back from where? The comment was odd, but it wasn’t enough to distract him from the fact that he could feel her naked skin beneath his fingertips. “I couldn’t wait to see you,” he found himself saying, stroking a wayward lock of hair away from her face.

She was always so warm, so inviting. It felt as if her entire world revolved around him. He nuzzled at her neck, breathing in the floral, spicy scent of her.

“Jacob,” she purred, and the mere sound of her voice was enough to have his muscles tensing in familiar excitement.

“Aren’t you getting tired of me?” he teased, nipping at her earlobe.

“Not remotely,” she answered fervently. Then she paused, and he could read the hesitation in the way her body stiffened. “Are you? Getting tired of me?”

He guided her hand down to his cock, smiling when she giggled. “Does that answer your question?”

She kissed him, hungry, her mouth hot and mobile against his. They stayed like that for long minutes, simply tasting each other, their hands exploring as their mouths savored the sensations of friction and wet heat, lips, and tongues.

He pulled away. “Sweetheart, you’re going to kill me with sex.”

He hadn’t realized gray eyes could sparkle, but hers did, bright with mischief, when she said, “I wouldn’t be so addicted to it if you weren’t so good at it.”

He leaned back in the bed. “I can’t remember ever feeling like this before.”

“Turned on?” she joked, giving his cock a light, playful squeeze.

He smiled back. “Happy.”

The comment must have surprised her, because she let go of him, then put her arms around his shoulders, embracing him tightly but not seductively. “I’m glad,” she whispered, and he felt an expanding feeling in his chest. “You make me happy, too.”

For the next few minutes, they sat on the bed, holding each other, hugging each other tenderly. It was the closest he’d ever felt to anyone. He closed his eyes, clutching her tighter, as if he were afraid he’d lose her.

Finally, as if afraid of his own emotions, he cleared his throat. “You know, I think we need a little change.”

“A change?” she echoed, when he disengaged, getting off the bed and standing up. “You mean…you don’t want to…” She gestured at the rumpled sheets.

His grin was wolfish. “Oh, I ‘want to,’ all right,” he said, reassuring her. “I just thought maybe we should leave this