Chapter 15
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
MONTY
I wake to complete warmth. It radiates all around me, a soothing heat that nearly lulls me back to the depths of slumber until my mind sharpens just enough to tell me none of this is familiar. Not the firm cushion against my back or beneath my side. Not the scent of the blanket covering me. Not the feel of the arms wrapped around my torso. Not the soft body flush against mine. Not the feel of the silk beneath my palms.
I open my eyes and find a dark apartment, lit only by the moonlight streaming through the windows, but it isn’t the dingy single-room unit I downsized to two years ago. No, this is Daphne’s apartment, as evidenced by the ceiling of twining branches, extending from the tree trunk at the center of the parlor. I’m lying on my side on her settee, covered in a blanket. My clothes are strung on a line over the parlor stove.
Which means I’m fucking naked.
And the woman in my arms…
I look down, but she’s hidden beneath the blanket, nestled against my chest. My awareness sharpens to every part of me she touches. The feel of her breath against my skin. Her arm slung over my waist. One of her legs tangled with mine. Then my focus shifts to my own body. The arm that dangles off the settee, her head propped upon my bicep. My heart that pounds against her cheek. My hand splayed over…something.
I move my fingers slightly, feeling only flimsy silk. The curvature beneath it doesn’t make it hard to guess I’m palming Daphne’s ass. A rather ample, perfect ass, I must say.
—If I were an asshole. I would only say that if I were a complete and utter asshole, which I’m determined not to be with her.
She makes a soft sound in her sleep, then wriggles against me, drawing new awareness to the pair of breasts pressed to my torso. Damn it all, the way my cock stiffens—or stiffens more because apparently I’m already hard—does nothing to support my I’m not an asshole bit. My pulse races, my blood rushing through my ears. I lift my hand from Daphne’s ass and tug the blanket down, finally revealing the sleeping face of my friend. The sight of her parted lips and the squish of her cheek against my chest does something painful to my heart, but I don’t let myself linger on it. Not when I haven’t a fucking clue what’s going on or how we got like this.
I shift to the side and extricate my arm from under her head. Her eyes flutter open as I pull myself up partway. Our legs are still tangled, as is the blanket we’re covered in. The latter slips down her body as she arches in a tired stretch, revealing that lacy bralette I was introduced to last weekend. I avert my gaze as she props herself up on her forearms.
She makes another sleepy moan that turns into a yawn. “You’re awake.”
“Daph…” I swallow the strain in my throat. “What did we do?”
“What did we…” Her echoed words are languid and end in another yawn. Then she looks down at herself with a surprised smile. “Oh, right. I must have shifted in my sleep.”
“Shifted.”
“I laid on your chest in my unseelie form. You were shivering so I thought it might help you warm up.”
Her explanation conjures memories. Running in the rain. Her smile. Her laughter.
Me feeling unwell on our ride home.
Daphne forcing me to come inside.
Us undressing.
My fingers undoing the buttons on the back of her dress.
Me feeling feverish and lying on the settee.
That’s the last thing I remember.
“We slept together,” I say, a nervous edge to my voice. “Naked.”
She gives me a withering look. “That’s what you’re worried about? Monty, I’m not going to make it weird this time. I get it now. Sleeping together isn’t the same as sleeping together.”
It takes several moments for me to understand what she’s referring to. Then I remember. She once napped on my chest when she was a pine marten. She was so humiliated in the morning, as if I’d stolen her virtue. In return, I was cold and dismissive of her feelings. Because those feelings frightened me. They meant she saw me differently than I’d thought. She saw me as someone who could sleep with her in the carnal sense. Someone she could feel self-conscious around.
Someone she could have feelings for.
Which I don’t deserve. I don’t deserve anyone’s fucking feelings, nor am I capable of providing what any kind of lasting lover needs.
So I panicked.
I did what I always do.
I carved distance between us with sharp words and cold behavior.
Something I’ve since promised myself I wouldn’t do with her again.
I take several steadying breaths before that same panic can convince me to say something I don’t mean. There’s no reason to. I’ve already placed a much kinder boundary between us. I’m serving as her matchmaker. I’m helping her find a husband by Lughnasadh.
A bolt of anger shoots through me, but before it can grow, Daphne draws my attention back to her.
She sits up straighter and gives a consoling pat to my shoulder. “We did nothing that counts, all right? It meant nothing.” Her words sting despite her placating tone and the gentle smile on her lips. She’s parroting exactly what I said to her when this happened during the tour. Yet I don’t get the feeling she’s being facetious.
I suppose I should take some solace in her not holding a grudge against me, but…ouch. We didn’t do anything that counts? It meant nothing? She warmed me up and held me close when I was feeling ill. That fucking meant something.
“I’ll make us some tea.” She rises from the settee, the blanket falling the rest of the way down her torso, her hips, her legs. Now I see the silky undershorts I palmed in my sleep.
I force my gaze above her shoulders and reach for her wrist before she can walk away.
Her eyes widen as she whirls back to face me.
For a moment of pure madness, I imagine tugging her toward me until she’s straddling my hips, then cradling the back of her head, guiding her face to mine until our lips meet in a tender kiss. A kiss that grows heated as my hands rove her bare skin, cup her breasts, and tug those silky shorts down?—
I shake the vision from my head. What the fuck is wrong with me? That’s not why I touched her.
She frowns down at the wrist my fingers encircle, as if wondering why the hell I did reach for her.
“Thank you,” I say in a rush, “for taking care of me.”
Her expression softens. “It’s what friends do.”
My mouth mirrors her grin, and I relinquish my hold on her wrist. Tension uncoils from my chest. “I suppose you’re right.”
She takes a step back only to halt at once, her expression shifting back to a frown. Before I know what’s happening, she stands before me, plants one knee on the settee beside my blanketed thigh, and leans down. Then her hands find my hair, her fingers running through my tresses.
My fevered imaginings return all over again, and I picture pulling her into my lap once more. Is that what she’s about to do? Is this happening? And do I…stop her? Why the fuck would I stop her?
Her fingers rake through another section of my hair, and I have to bite back a moan that nearly escapes. Blazing hell, what is she doing to me? I close my eyes and ball my fingers into fists at my sides, refusing to touch her until I know for sure?—
“It’s still damp. Sorry, I did a terrible job drying your hair.” With a chuckle, she ruffles my tresses until they fall into my eyes and then saunters toward the kitchen.
My chest pulses as I struggle to catch my breath. For my mind to catch up with what just happened. She was…checking my hair to test if it was dry, not running her hands through it for pleasure’s sake.
What is wrong with me? These things I keep imagining doing with her. The way my body responds to her. I run a hand up my forehead, slicking back the hair Daphne disrupted.
I’m aroused, that’s all. I haven’t bedded a lover in at least two years. That normally isn’t a problem, because my sex drive isn’t normally so out of control. All I’ve needed before is a quick wank, a cold bath, and a reminder that taking lovers brings too much risk. Hearts to break when they want too much from me, even after I’ve stated what I can and can’t give. Pain when I start to crave more than I can give. Secrets that could be discovered.
This time, the reminder does very little to calm the erection that has raged in my lap since I woke up with Daphne in my arms.
Her voice calls out from the kitchen. “Do you want to have tea on the roof?”
I should say no. I should get the fuck out of here.
But that’s just the panic talking. I know what I must do. I know how to calm this madness and keep my friendship from derailing beneath my lust.
“Sure,” I call back as I leave the settee to take my clothes from the line. “I’m going to use your washroom first.”
Where I can beat my unruly cock into submission.