Warmth was so close, she could feel it radiating toward her, offering a glimpse at comfort. Her foot moved toward it. Flickering in the back of her mind, an alarm bell tried to warn her. Too cold, too sleepy, her foot signaled to the rest of her body that relief was accessible, no waking and no getting out of bed required. She shifted closer, closer, stepping across her ice floe toward the tropical beach.
Soothing and rescuing, softly, it wasn’t the white sand warming her fingers and toes, but the rays of the sun itself.
Jealous of her hand and foot that had searched and found relief, her body demanded its share and she wrapped her whole front against the source.
Dreams melted into a cozy night at the beach. Rain pounded all around, but the umbrella deflected all of it. Drifting deeper into the delicious dream, she ignored the alarm that told her this wasn’t what she thought it was. She chose comfort. Stretched over the blanket that was laid neatly over the sandy beach, next to a toasty fire, she turned and found Cole lying next to her, looking up at the stars, turning as he found her watching him.
His sexy, sweet and curious smile warmed her more than the fire.
He shifted across the blanket and encased her in his warmth, drawing her leg over his middle.
She nuzzled into his neck, the temperature rising.
His hand cupped her side, dipping under the fabric of her panties, fingers grasping her bare ass. A groan rumbled low in his chest, the sound so vivid.
She spread her fingers over his chest. Needing more skin, she lifted the hem of his shirt, grasping her palm over his abdomen, heat infiltrating her veins, thrill and arousal stirring her to keep searching. Pressing tighter against him, she slid her hand lower.
Too hot.
Her breath quickened. Her body longed for more.
Too vivid.
Fuck. Shit. Hell. She froze in place, hand unmoving as she realized what had happened.
Carefully, she extracted her hand from down his pants and winced at her very inappropriate sleepy grope.
“Cole?” she whispered, glued to his side, too afraid to move while his hand was still splayed over her rear.
“Yeah?” he whispered back, more gravel than voice, and his fingers fisted on her hip before he withdrew and let his weight sink to his back. “Fuck,” he growled. “I am so sorry. I thought I was dreaming.”
“I’m going to kill Pippa.” She slipped her hand off his middle, cold before she even moved back to her side of the bed. On her back, she couldn’t seem to pull completely away, and stayed where their arms still touched, the backs of their hands stealing a moment where the rest of their bodies knew better, each small touch, each longing caress shared by the backs of their hands stirred her arousal to painful levels.
They both laid there for who knew how long, her heart thundering in her chest at how far she’d taken it before her consciousness took over. It was an effective way to wake up, but it would have been nice to wake up a moment before she ground her pelvis against his hip and dipped her hand down his pants.
She knew he wasn’t sleeping, his breathing rough and lurching like hers was, still trying to calm down.
She patted over to find her phone to check the time, but realized she’d made the journey across the bed and couldn’t reach it without moving even farther away. “What time do you think it is?” she asked, drawing her hand back under the covers.
He moved to check, but groaned as his arm argued with the movement. He rotated his body so he could reach without tweaking the arm wrong. “Three thirty.”
She sighed and stared at the dark ceiling, knowing damn well sleep wasn’t going to come easily.
He settled back in next to her, staring up at the ceiling like she was.
Nothing moved but the ocean, the wind, the endless rain.
At least she wasn’t cold anymore.
“Want me to close the window? Or turn up the heater?” he offered quietly.
“No,” she said, realizing it came out as more of a pout.
He laughed softly under his breath and turned onto his side, facing her. He hooked his arm around her middle and tugged her close, until she was on her side, framed in a snuggly spoon. Graveled but soft as the blanket, his voice lifted as he asked, “Better?”
She snuggled in and whispered, “And you thought hugs don’t fix everything.”
As the wee hours of the morning snailed by, she drifted into the occasional light sleep, but it never lasted long. When she needed to shift, she turned and buried her face in his neck, then to her back, and he adjusted with her each time, not letting her get cold again.
