Donna Sterling - Sex And The Sleepwalker

“If I was dreaming about you, which I don’t remember at all, it had to be the first time. I haven’t given you a thought in years.”

He might have believed her if rosy color hadn’t climbed her cheekbones and she hadn’t averted her eyes. She was, without a doubt, lying. She’d dreamed about him before. Pleasure warmed him like fine whiskey. He wondered how often she’d dreamed of him, and if those dreams always involved sex. He hoped so.

But then another question occurred to him. “My God, Brynn…how often do you walk in your sleep? How many guests have you surprised like this?”

Her mouth opened and hung ajar for two or three heartbeats. “I’ve never done this before,” she cried, aghast. “I haven’t walked in my sleep since college. Well, except for once, when I ended up in the broom closet. Alone. Wearing pajamas.”

He believed her, and couldn’t have been more relieved—or more pleased that thoughts of him and him alone had stirred her to rise from her bed at night.

Then again… “If you don’t remember your actions after you wake up, how can you be sure? Maybe this happens more than you realize.”

“It doesn’t. I would know.”

He rubbed his chin and regarded her doubtfully. “I’m not too sure about that. You seemed pretty popular with those frat guys I met in the parlor. And if I understood correctly, they do come back year after year.”

Surprisingly, she didn’t hit him, storm out of the room or cut him to shreds with a razor-sharp comeback. Instead, she caught her lower lip between her teeth to suppress a smile. “Are you accusing me of being…promiscuous?”

He stared at her, not because of what she’d said, but because her emerging smile caught him off guard. A dimple now danced beside her mouth and cute little she-devils played in her eyes. It had been damn near a decade since she’d sparkled at him like that. “I didn’t accuse you of anything,” he murmured, feeling shell-shocked.

“But you implied it. You implied that I climb into my guests’ beds on a regular basis.” With a toss of her thick, tangled hair, she held up her hands, like a perp surrendering to police. “You caught me. I can’t deny it. I never know which bed I’ll wake up in.” She looked so pleased at the notion that Cade almost laughed. Almost. But the sheet had drifted lower across her breasts, ending just above her hardened nipples, and he was helplessly aroused. “I see more action than those girls on Sex and the City,” she boasted. “I’m one hot mama.”

Cade rested his bare shoulders against the head-board and studied her, aroused, amused, mystified and intrigued. “That’s odd, then…considering what you said when you climbed into my bed.”

A watchful stillness came over her. “What?”

He didn’t answer right away, enjoying the sudden intensity of her gaze. He still couldn’t believe she was actually sitting here beside him in bed, talking about sex, wearing next to nothing, while he wore only his briefs. The possibilities were endless. And he couldn’t help dwelling on them.

“Cade, what did I say?”

“Well, at one point, you mentioned something about your being a dud in bed.”

The chagrin that filled her eyes said more than words ever could. He’d clearly hit a raw nerve.

So, of course, he prodded a little more. “I believe you also said something about being frigid.”

Her color flared. “What I say in a dream means nothing.” She nearly choked on the words. “Just a lot of garbled nonsense.” She looked wounded and terribly vulnerable.

Why? Of course it was nonsense. He had no doubt about that. But, incredibly, it seemed that she did have doubts. “Don’t tell me someone’s got you believing you’re no good in bed!”

“Of course not. It’s none of your business, anyway.”

He strongly felt that it was. “Are you involved with someone now?”

“Yes, and he’s a wonderful man. An excellent lover.”

“Who makes you think you’re frigid.”

“No!”

Cade ignored her denial, amazed that she could believe herself sexually inadequate in any way. She, the epitome of desirability. The standard by which he measured all others. A standard no one else had met.

He was also suddenly, violently, jealous of anyone who had had her. Anyone who had known her intimately. It took Cade a moment to find his voice and form coherent words. “You’re not frigid, Brynn, or a dud in bed. Nothing could be further from the truth.”

That wary stillness came over her again, and she concentrated her attention on him like a ray of noonday sun through a magnifying glass. “And how would you know that?”

He released a surge of breath and realized he was angry. She was wounded. Unfairly wounded. And he wanted to punish whomever was responsible. And tend to her wounds…

Sliding an arm around her, he cradled her against his chest and brushed a tendril of hair from her face. “I’ve never known a woman more responsive than you,” he said, meaning every word. “One who made me hot with just a kiss. No one, Brynn. Ever.”

Her breath caught, her neediness apparent. “Really?”

“Honest to God. I can’t tell you how many times over the last nine years I’ve gotten hard just thinking about you, and the things we used to do. With only our hands…” He trailed his fingers down her arm to her slender wrist and rubbed his thumb over the center of her palm. His gaze then drifted to her lips. “And our mouths.” Desire coursed through him, hot and strong, making his voice gruff. “Don’t you remember?”

“Yes, I remember,” she admitted with a trembly exhalation.

“Things couldn’t have changed that much. At least, not between you and me.”

Her eyes darkened in that old familiar way, and the need to kiss her propelled him closer, until he breathed in the honied warmth of her mouth. But before his lips touched hers, she pulled back, pressing deeper into the pillow. “If you remember me so clearly, Cade, how is it that you didn’t quite recall my name?”

He pressed his lips together to keep from cursing—not at her, but at himself. He should have known that that silly, impulsive ploy would cost him. He’d just had to call her Brenda. “I was trying to slow you down a little. You were ready to throw me out on the street. As if we were enemies or something.”

“I hate to break this to you, Cade, but we’re not exactly friends. We didn’t part on a friendly note.”

He couldn’t deny that. The last few times he’d seen her on campus, she’d looked straight through him. “You’re right. We didn’t part on friendly terms. And it was my fault. I never should have given you that ultimatum.” Make love to me, Brynn, or we’re through. He winced at the memory. “I’m sorry for that. It was stupid and cruel, and I’ve wished a thousand times that I’d never said it.”

“Forget it.” Her voice and eyes remained cool, though. “No harm done.”

No harm done.

An odd urgency gripped him. He couldn’t allow her to hide behind coolness again—not after she’d smiled at him and very nearly kissed him. “I’ve never forgotten you, Brynn,” he vowed. “Not for a single day. And, believe me, I’ve tried.”

Surprise entered her eyes, and she searched his face as if trying to gauge his sincerity. The very fact that it mattered to her gave him hope.

He had to convince her. Had to convey his feelings. Had to close the distance between them and keep her here, in his bed. Make her want him again. Make her need him…deep inside this time.

Splaying his fingers along the delicate curve of her face, he kissed her.

It began as a gentle nudge of his mouth. A signal of intent. A silky, sweet “Hello, may I come in?” With a sigh—not of reluctance, but of pleasure—she opened to him. The kiss progressed slowly at first, into a simple inhalation of mingled breath, a savoring of scent and texture. A blossoming of erotic warmth. A sensuous sliding of smooth, tender flesh in a sumptuous, mutual tasting.