Читать книгу While She Was Sleeping... - Isabel Sharpe - Страница 9

SAWYER KERN opened his eyes. Had he heard something or dreamed it? He frowned. The ceiling looked wrong. Where was his fan? Who had taken his ceiling fan?

He lifted his head, grimacing at the effort. What the—

The room wasn’t remotely familiar. Where the hell was he? How did he get here? He couldn’t remember a damn thing.

His head dropped back; he tried to focus his fuzzy brain, which didn’t want to focus at all. Was he still dreaming? He didn’t think so.

Party…okay, yes, he’d been at a party. His brother Finn threw a coed bachelor party for a friend at a local bar. Right. That was it. He’d had a few drinks. More than usual. Some kind of vodka he thought, mixed with other stuff. His head still didn’t feel right. Too big. Or maybe too small.

Wait. He hadn’t had that many, had he? He’d never been blacked-out drunk in his life. Never. Not even close. Spins a few times, that was it.

But somehow he’d ended up here. Wherever here was. He squinted, frowning, trying to concentrate.

Wait. Something else was coming to him. At the party. Last thing he remembered he’d been talking to a beautiful brunette. A very hot beautiful brunette. An artist. No, she was in insurance. No. Both? Neither? He remembered thinking she was being aw-fully friendly and he remembered not minding at all. It had been a while since a woman came on to him.

Then…yes, someone had offered him another drink, a different one, “specialty of the house.” Whatsisname, Finn’s friend from college, from the group which never managed to graduate mentally from fraternity days. The one Sawyer never liked or trusted.

Still, he’d accepted. One more drink wouldn’t hurt, that’s what he’d thought, but then he’d stop. How many total? Three? Four? Not more.

The brunette had declined, rolling her eyes. Sawyer had decided from something the fraternity jerk said that he and the brunette had a past, that her interest had ended but his hadn’t. What was her name? Deb? Debbie? Deborah? Something.

He’d had the drink, was chatting with Deb…whatever. And then…

Nothing. Nothing after that.

What the hell had he…Phil, that was his name. Phil. What had been in that drink? More than alcohol. Something that completely—

He heard the sound again. The one that woke him. A low sigh/moan, the kind a woman makes when she’s aroused.

Uh-oh. He turned his head and saw the outline of a shoulder against the barest glow from a streetlight creeping in around the shades. Speaking of the hot brunette. He must have gone home with her.

No. He looked around the room again; this time the details clicked. He’d brought her to Melanie’s. He remembered that much now. He’d known better than to drive, so he’d walked here. Melanie had already given him a key to the house.

Okay, regroup.

So…this incredible artist-or-insurance-agent brunette had agreed to come home with him even wasted to the point where he could barely function?

Wow. On a very shallow “guy” level, he was quite impressed with himself. She hadn’t had the “specialty of the house” spiked with God knew what, so her decision must have been based on actual rational thought. Or as rational as thought could get when hormones took control.

So, hey. He’d left thirty behind a couple of years ago, but he wasn’t dead yet.

His one-night stand stirred and rolled to her back, head turned away from him. Funny, he remembered her hair shorter. But then who knew what had happened to his mind last night?

And while he was at it, who knew what had happened to his body? Whatever it was—and from the hungry way she’d looked at him it promised to be good—he couldn’t believe he’d missed it.

He turned on his side, gazing down at what he could see of her. She smelled good. Womanly and fresh. He hadn’t noticed last night in the crowded room. Maybe she wouldn’t mind a replay of whatever they did when they got here. He was still under the influence of something, but this time he was pretty sure he’d remember the whole thing.

“Hey. Deb…bie…orah.”

“Mmph.” She moved again, turned toward him. The sheet slid off her shoulder to reveal the top few inches of a low-cut and very sexy clingy camisole which she filled out much better than he’d have thought from the slender frame he remembered. He hadn’t even undressed her? Had they been in that much of a frantic hurry? Damn, why couldn’t he remember?

Unless…nothing had happened. Maybe he’d completely humiliated himself by not being able to perform under the influence of whatever jerk-Phil spiked that last drink with. He hoped he’d at least made something happen for her.

Maybe he hadn’t even been able to do that. Maybe that was Phil’s plan.

He cringed. This time he’d do everything right. His body was already reacting, just to her nearness.

“Deb.” He traced her plunging neckline with a gentle finger.

“Mmm.” She frowned and pursed her lips, which were gray in the dim light, but which he remembered as red and full, the kind you wanted to kiss the second you saw them.

“You’re beautiful,” he whispered. “Even more beautiful than last night when I could see you.”

That didn’t come out right. His brain was definitely still muddled. But another part of his body was wide-awake and full of a very clear purpose. She looked like a black-and-white movie star, her skin the creamy end of gray where it had been gold in the light, her hair jet-black where it had been reddish brown. Cream-gray breasts, black shadow between them. His lips found the spot; her soft, round flesh embraced his jaw.

She gave a soft moan that made him want to grab her camisole and tear it off with his teeth. Instead, he moved his hand up her strong, firm calf, over the swell of her hamstring to the firm rounding of her ass, which had filled out jeans in a way that could bring grown men to tears.

He still couldn’t believe this incredible woman had come home with him. Er, to his temporary home. With Melanie.

Uh-oh. He hadn’t cleared the bringing-women-home thing with her. He hoped she wouldn’t be upset. Not like it would happen all the time.

Debbie moaned again as his fingers explored underneath her soft low-slung boxers, and he decided to worry about the details later. Melanie was a big girl. She’d handle it. Right now he had a woman to wake up and enjoy.

He slid her straps down and his tongue found her nipple, which he investigated thoroughly, then moved to the other. His fingers found moisture between her legs, probed and teased up and down the crevice, still reaching from behind her.

Her head lifted briefly from the pillow; her lips parted. Her eyes stayed closed.

She had to be pretending. No one could sleep through being touched like this. And he could tell by her occasional gasps and irregular breathing that he wasn’t exactly boring her to sleep.

Unless she’d had some “specialty of the house” at some point later in the evening and was still blacked out while responding subconsciously to him?

Kinky. He loved it.

Though if she hadn’t come home with him in her right mind, it would be pretty ungentlemanly of him to take advantage of her senseless state now by making love to her.

Wouldn’t it.

Could he open the window and throw his conscience out?

Except…if he pleasured her, there was no taking advantage. He was dying to taste her, to keep touching her and torturing himself with her desire. She’d been so sexy to him just standing there at the party. Writhing and turned on in his bed? Ten times more.

Sawyer tugged aside the material of her very feminine boxers until she was bared to him. He burrowed under the covers, drew his mouth down her stomach, farther down, then lowered his lips to taste her.

Warm. Soft. Sweet. He took his time, moving slowly, circling here, thrusting there, enhancing his tongue’s rhythm with his fingers inside her, feeling the warm smooth walls grabbing, his cock begging to be in on the trip.

She responded with tiny whimpers that undid him, lifting her hips dreamily, lowering them in surrender, her motions sleepy and graceful.

He stopped his exploration, settled into a regular rhythm, gradually accelerating the pace and pressure, thrusting his fingers, swirling his tongue until he felt her tense, felt her orgasm grow and come on slowly almost as if he were experiencing it himself. She gave a muffled cry, her hips bucked once, held tight, suspended, then those smooth walls contracted tightly around his fingers.

Oh, man. He let her down slowly, his breathing harsh, so turned on it was all he could do not to plunge into her and let himself go. Her eyes were still closed; she frowned slightly, as if in confusion, arched so a breast spilled from the thin cotton.

Last straw. He pulled his fingers gently from her, knelt on the bed and grabbed his cock, manipulating it swiftly, watching her, focusing on her body, on her full breasts, on the way her nipples were still upright, pulling the areola close around them, then down to her waist, lower to where her dark curls lay, so recently against his chin…

On the edge and starting to feel like a pervert voyeur, he closed his eyes, imagining her sex still underneath his mouth.

He stifled a groan, held his other hand at the ready, and came into it in strong hot bursts, the image of her body burned into his memory so deeply this time he was sure if he lived to be one hundred, it would never be erased.

Wow. He pursed his lips, exhaled. Wow.

“Debbie.”

No response. He smiled, got off the bed and headed for the bathroom. This had been an unusual, er, episode, unexpected and slightly twisted. But for some reason he was hurrying through his cleanup, anxious to get back to her. Was that the ultimate guy thing? Feeling warm and affectionate toward a woman who couldn’t talk back? Who wasn’t even conscious? Didn’t they make some movie about a guy in love with a sex doll?

Nice. He chuckled, washed his hands, drank a paper cup of water, found a bottle of generic ibuprofen for a headache that wasn’t all that bad, then noticed tiny printing in permanent marker—Joe’s pills.

Never mind.

In the room, he covered Debbie carefully and crawled in beside her, hoping when she woke up she remembered who he was and why she was here. Because he was about ninety-nine percent sure that in the morning he’d want to do it all again and more, this time with her full erotic participation.

ALANA SMILED, awake, but only barely, and not nearly ready to open her eyes yet. Mmm. She’d slept like a log, and what a won-derful dream. An incredibly sexy stranger had gone down on her right here in her bed. She could remember so clearly the warm feel of his tongue and the insistent push of his fingers inside her. The guy knew exactly what he was doing. She’d love to meet someone like that in real life, no offense to Sam, her old boyfriend, who wasn’t big on, um, oral traditions.

The imagined feeling had been so amazing and so vivid she’d actually climaxed. Usually when she was aroused in a dream she’d get ri-i-ight to the brink, then wake up before the final rush, frustrated and horny. But last night, mmm, no problem all the way from A to Z. If that’s what those new sleeping pills did, she’d take them every night.

She managed to get her eyes open a slit, enough to see sunshine pouring in around the shades in her old room. She used to lie here as a child and imagine herself—

Her body went rigid.

Oh my God.

Someone just moved behind her.

Hardly daring to breathe, she turned over…

Gah! She flung herself over the edge of the mattress, turned and stared, panting, hand to her chest. There was a man in her bed. God, last night…what…how could she…who…

She dragged the spread from the bed and wrapped it around herself. The blood rushed from her head; she bent over before she passed out, keeping her forehead low.

What. The. Heck.

Was that not a dream?

She was going to be sick.

Had a complete stranger actually taken advantage of her while she was asleep?

She coughed a few times to get the blood solidly back in her brain, then raised her head slowly and carefully, forcing her breath down deep so she wouldn’t hyperventilate.

Bastard. Whoever he was…

“Hey.” She gave the mattress a good kick to jiggle Prince Not-At-All Charming awake. “Hey.”

His eyes opened. She kicked the mattress again. He turned and squinted in annoyance. “Why are you kicking my bed?”

“This is my bed.”

“Uh.” He looked around in confusion. “I don’t…”

“Who are you?”

He stared as if she’d lost her mind, then shook his head. “Oh, no. You did have that drink.”

“Whah?”

“The one you told me not to have, Phil’s ’specialty of the house.’ It does something to your brain.”

She stared blankly. Oh my God. A complete psycho. Clearly one of Melanie’s friends. “I was not drinking last night.”

“The bachelor party for Dan? Thrown by my brother, Finn Kern?”

“I don’t know anyone named—”

“We talked for a long while.” His eyes narrowed. He had the gall to look her up and down. “Though, actually, you do look different than I remember.”

“I have no idea who you are.”

“Sawyer Kern? Ring any bells?”

“Sawyer!?” She gasped, practically inflating with outrage on her sister’s behalf. This…this predator was Melanie’s The One? The guy who was different from all the rest?

“I guess you do remember.”

“You…you’re Melanie’s…”

His eyes narrowed. “You know Melanie?”

“I’m her sister.” Oh, Melanie. Alana had been stupid enough to hope this guy would be different.

“Alana?” He hoisted himself to sitting, rubbed his face as if trying desperately to make himself wake up the rest of the way. She refused to notice that his chest was broad and magnificent. Or that his lips were full and masculine and had been between her…never mind. “What were you doing at the bachelor party?”

“I wasn’t at the party.”

He appeared to process that for a while.

“So I didn’t pick you up there, bring you here and then forget.” He chuckled, shaking his head. “I knew I couldn’t have been that out of it.”

How could he find anything about this situation funny? “You came home and crawled into bed with me. In this room.”

“I drank something pretty strong and didn’t notice you.” He turned his deep brown eyes on her face. “That is, I didn’t notice you at first…”

His smile became suggestive and secretive. Alana took a step back, clutching the bedspread, feeling a massive blush coming on even while thinking, Oh, great, not just a womanizer, a blacking-out alcoholic womanizer. Her sister never did anything by halves. “I took a sleeping pill and didn’t wake up until this morning. Just now. Not before. Slept all night. All of it.”

He grinned at her confusion. “You don’t remember…anything?”

“Of course not. I was asleep.”

“Hmm, I better fill you in, then, because I remember a whole lot of what happened around 3:00 a.m. You were lying there, and I—”

“No. Don’t.” She waved furiously, stop stop stop, then had to grab the bedspread covering her before it fell.

“Huh?” His face was pure innocence. “You don’t want to know? I should think that would be pretty important.”

“I…” Enter massive blush. “I know that you were…I mean, you were definitely…there, but…”

“But?”

“I, er, thought I was dreaming.”

One eyebrow went up over a mischievous eye. “Sweet dream?”

“Not in the slightest.” Her voice shook; her blush deepened.

“Hmm, that’s not how I remember it. You practically lifted off the—”

“We are not going to discuss this.”

“No?” He raised his hand like a schoolboy with a question, rumpled and sexy in her childhood bed. “I need to say something.”

Argh. “Go ahead.”

“I was drunk, you were drugged, we both have excuses. Let’s just start over.” He patted the sheets next to him. “Come back to bed.”

“What?” She could not believe she’d actually heard him say that. “You know I’m Melanie’s sister and you want me back in bed?”

“Geez.” He clutched his head and glared. “Melanie told me you were strung like a piano wire. Could you not shriek quite so loud—”

“I’ll shriek as damn loudly as I want to. I knew you’d be like this. Like all the others. That’s why I came.”

“That’s why you came? I thought my technique had something to do with that.”

She was not amused. At all. His wink did nothing to her. At all. Even though it was atrociously sexy. “I arrived here to protect her. And you, you jump into bed with me and do God knows what. And by the way, piano wires are strung tight so they can play at their best.”

“If you say so.”

“Now please get out of my room so I can—”

“Your room? Melanie set this room up for me. She had no idea you were coming, or if she did, she didn’t tell me.”

“Oh, well, no. She didn’t know.” Alana frowned. Something about this made no sense. “But…why aren’t you in the master bedroom with her?”

His eyebrows raised again. “Why would—”

“Alana!?” Melanie’s blond head poked around the door, expression incredulous. “What the hell are you—”

She saw Sawyer in the bed and gasped. “Oh my God.”

“No.” Alana put both hands out toward her sister.

“You slept with Sawyer last night?” she shrieked.

Sawyer helped the situation not at all by clutching his head in his hands and groaning, which made him look guilty and contrite instead of hungover and tired of shrieking.

“Melanie, this is not at all what it looks—”

“Give me a break.” She came out from around the door, wearing a wrinkled short skirt and top she’d obviously slept in, and took two menacing steps forward, hands jammed on her hips, hazel eyes flashing. “Okay, I’ll tell you what it looks like, Alana, and you let me know how on target I am. You slept with Sawyer last night.”

“No, I didn’t. I swear.” She realized that she was standing there with bed-head, wrapped in a bedspread, mostly bare shoulders showing, and that Sawyer was still half under the covers, clearly just awake and naked from the waist up, so her words wouldn’t carry much weight. “Sleeping, okay, sleeping, but that’s it, and that wasn’t on purpose. He got into bed with me. I didn’t even wake up.”

“You know, that’s the nicest thing a woman has ever said to me.”

She glared at him. He was smirking, the jerk. He’d cheated on Melanie with a member of her own family and thought this whole thing was amusing? “You’re not helping.”

He put his hand up to block his mouth from Melanie’s view. “You want me to tell her what you can do in your sleep?”

“Shh.” She looked around. Any weapons? Blunt or otherwise?

“What are you whispering about?” Melanie shrieked. Shrieking must run in their family. Alana had never noticed before.

“State secrets.” He turned to Melanie. “Alana is correct. She slept all night. I thought she was someone else when I woke up.”

“You mix up women in bed?” Alana snorted. “Impressive.”

Melanie looked crestfallen. “I didn’t realize you were that type when I asked you to move in, Sawyer.”

“No, I meant…” He sighed. “I’m just saying. If I knew she was your sister, I never would have—”

“Stayed.” Alana nodded at her sister. If he said anything about what he did to her, she’d show him what shrieking could sound like. She’d have a talk with Melanie later and bring it up only if Melanie needed proof the guy was a sleazeball. Why hurt her more? “If he knew I was me, he would have run. Far.”

“That’s for sure.” He rolled his eyes. “Very far.”

Alana ignored him. She was damn glad she’d delayed her trip to Florida and showed up here, because her sister definitely needed saving from Sawyer. If Melanie thought this guy was even close to someone she should get serious about…

Melanie’s face crumpled; she hid her face in her hands. “I can’t believe you did this.”

Alana and Sawyer exchanged glances. Sawyer pointed to himself, then to Alana, then shrugged, hands up. Which one did she mean?

Alana pointed emphatically at him. Give her a break.

“Why did you come here?” Melanie raised her tear-stained face, mascara already smudged from sleep making black tracks down her cheeks. “I told you not to.”

Alana gaped. She was in trouble? Oh, that was just special. “I came so I could—”

“And now look what you’ve done.” Melanie gestured to Sawyer.

“What I’ve done?” He poked himself in the chest. “You’re mad at me?”

“You slept with my sister.”

He put his hands to his ears. “I did not realize she was your sister.”

“Ha!” Alana turned on him. “Like that makes any difference?”

“I’m sorry, did I take some vow of chastity I’m not aware of?” He had the gall to look bewildered. A sociopath, devoid of a conscience. Add that one to the other two and you got Womanizing Alcoholic Sociopath. The triple crown. Except don’t forget unemployed, which made it a home run, round all four base flaws.

Alana strode across the room, nearly tripping on the bedspread, took Melanie’s shoulder and steered her to the door. “C’mon, Mel. Let’s get out of here. Give Mr. Kern lots of privacy to dress and hardly any time to get the hell out of here.”

She led her sister down the hall, more angry and shaken up than she’d been in a long time. She hated that she’d been so vulnerable and had responded so thoroughly to Sawyer instead of punching him in the jaw and throwing him out of the house.

The worst part? Standing there just now, wanting to throttle him for the way he’d taken advantage of both her and Melanie, a stupid hormonal part of her had been taking in his muscled body, warm and alive against the white sheets, his vivid brown eyes and strong, handsome features. No matter how much her brain said jerk, jerk, jerk this other part had only managed to come up with mmm-more.

She needed to buy a marital aid. The largest they had. A plug-in that would dim the lights for blocks and give her an orgasm the size of Cleveland. Then her ridiculous libido should be happy and stop bugging her about a man who wasn’t worth her toenail clippings.

In a way she was glad this fiasco had happened, because it made her job so much easier. Sawyer had shown his true colors. Hello, I’m a horse’s butt. End of story. He was history. Even Melanie had to see that.

Now Alana could go back to her original plan, head out later on today with a clear conscience, having done her big-sisterly duty here. In two days she’d be in Orlando and could start her granddaughterly duty there.