Things We Hide from the Light: Chapter 17

“

o you went from a high-profile, roof-jumping assignment with a team and now you’re here?” Nash asked.

We were in my bed staring up at the ceiling. Nash was on the left side, closest to my bedroom door. Piper was curled up snoring in his armpit. I’d shoved a pillow between us to prevent any repeat performances of last night.

I hesitated, surprised by the desire I had to confess the whole truth, to tell him why we were both looking for the same man. But I squashed it. I’d already committed to the plan. I didn’t need to waste energy second-guessing myself. “I needed some breathing room to think things through. There’s a new job opening up. More travel. Longer jobs. It’s my dream job. But…” I trailed off.

“Does your family know what you do?”

“They think I travel the country providing corporate trainings. I prefer to live my life without carrying the responsibility of other people’s opinions. Especially opinions about how I should find a safer, easier way to make a paycheck.”

“Fair enough. What’s in the box of files?”

“Nash, this sleeping together thing only works if you shut up and go to sleep.”

“Just turning things over in my head.”

I didn’t like where this conversation was going. It felt like he was forcing me into little white lie after little white lie. And I was getting more uncomfortable by the minute. So I dug into my arsenal and deployed my favorite weapon: misdirection.

“I ran into Lucian today,” I announced, rolling to my side to face him in the dark.

“Here?”

Interesting. So the overprotective pain in my ass really hadn’t wanted Nash to know about our chat.

“No. Down in Lawlerville at a diner.”

“Lucian was eating in a diner? Are you sure it was him and not some doppelgänger?”

“He didn’t actually eat. He had coffee while I ate,” I told him.

“What did you two talk about?”

“Don’t tell me Studly Do-Right is jealous,” I teased, reaching over the pillow to tickle him. Nash captured my hand and brought it to his mouth.

“Damn right I am.” He nipped at the pad of my index finger.

“We talked about you. I think he’s worried about you.”

He was silent for a beat and I could feel his worry building in the dark. “You didn’t tell him anything, did you?”

“Of course not. You asked me not to. I assumed there’s a reason you told the stranger next door about your panic attacks rather than your oldest friend or your brother.”

“We’re not strangers,” he insisted, placing my hand over his chest and holding it there.

“Are we…friends then?” I asked. His chest was warm beneath my touch.

He was quiet for a long beat. “Feels like more than that,” he admitted.

“But what kind of more?”

Let’s see how you like annoying, uncomfortable questions, Mister.

“The kind of more that if I were in better shape, you’d be naked and there sure as hell wouldn’t be a pillow between us.”

“Oh.”

“Oh? That’s all you’ve got to say?”

“For now.”

An alarm rang shrilly, yanking me from a yummy dream about me, Nash, and some tasteful nudity that definitely seemed to be leading somewhere hot.

A low growl came from beneath me and for a second I worried I’d rolled over on the dog in my sleep.

But Piper was a lot furrier and much smaller than whatever my head was resting on. The alarm stopped and the growl turned to a yawn. A warm hand stroked up my outer thigh to my hip. Meanwhile, my inner thigh was cuddling the hell out of an erection.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I groaned.

“You jumped the fence, Angel,” Nash said, smug and sleepy.

I was lying on top of the pillow I’d shoved between us. My head and hand rested on Nash’s broad chest. My leg was thrown across his…er…penile area.

“This is getting downright embarrassing,” I muttered.

I tried to pull away, to do the roll of shame back to my side of the bed. But his arms banded around me. With one quick tug, I was sprawled on top of him chest to chest, groin to groin.

Holy hallelujah hotness.

“Least my pants stayed on,” he said cheerfully.

“It’s not funny,” I groused. I was not a cuddler, and no man, especially not one depending on me to be his emotional support whatever, was going to change that.

“Oh, honey, I agree. There’s nothing funny about where you’re sitting.” His hard-on twitched against me, causing my vagina to throw a temper tantrum at being denied by the shorts I’d insisted on wearing to bed.

I made a respectable attempt to get off him, but the ensuing flailing and friction only turned me on more.

Nash’s hands came to my hips. “Calm down, Angel.” His voice was gruff, and he sounded much less sleepy and much more aroused as those hands held me in place.

Meanwhile, I wedged my hands and arms between us to get as much distance as possible. My orgasm was on a hair trigger, and if he gave so much as one little thrust in that direction, there would be no hiding it.

“God, you’re gorgeous in the morning,” he said, pushing a piece of hair off my forehead. “Best way I ever woke up.”

It was the second-best way for me, yesterday being the best. But I sure as hell wasn’t going to share that nugget with him.

“Stop being sweet,” I said.

But those blue eyes, soft and dreamy, drew me in. I wasn’t fighting for my freedom anymore. I was hovering over him, eyes locked, mouths too close to make good decisions.

He brought his other hand up. His fingers danced along my jawline and skimmed into my hair. “Gonna kiss you now, Angelina.”

“Hell no.” That was what I should have said. Or “I think this is a bad idea and we should take some time to consider the consequences.” At the very least I could have said I needed to brush my teeth and then I could have locked myself in the bathroom until my lady parts wised up.

Instead I nodded stupidly and said, “Yeah. Okay.”

But just as he surged up, just when all I could see were those blue eyes coming in hot, just when my lips parted, the pounding at my front door started.

Piper startled at the foot of the bed and let out several shrill yips.

Nash frowned. “You expectin’ someone at 6:00 a.m.?”

“No. You don’t think it’s Mrs. Tweedy trying to get me to go to the gym, do you?” I wasn’t above hiding under the bed.

The pounding started again.

“She’s short. She knocks lower on the door.”

Not going to lie, I felt a twinge of relief that it probably wasn’t my elderly neighbor looking to kick my ass at the gym again.

“Stay here,” Nash ordered, sliding me off him and onto the bed.

“Like hell. This is my place. Whoever’s knocking is looking for me.”

“Then won’t it be a fun surprise for them when they find me instead?” he said, sounding less like a sleepy lover and more like a hard-edged cop.

I grabbed my robe and hurried after him. “Nash!” I hissed. “Maybe I don’t want whoever’s on the other side of that door to know that we spent the night together again.”

“Too late,” came the deep, annoyed baritone from the other side of the door.

Nash yanked the door open and Lucian, looking like he’d been up for hours already, strolled inside in another one of those bespoke suits.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I muttered.

“Do you sleep in a suit?” Nash asked him.

“I don’t sleep,” he quipped.

My vagina hated Lucian Rollins.

“What are you doing here?” I demanded.

“Taking your advice,” he said with a little sizzle to his tone. “Come on, Nash. We’re going to breakfast.”

“No offense, Lucy, but I was in the middle of something that I’d much rather be doing than grabbing eggs with you.”

Lucian shot me a look that would have incinerated a weaker woman. “You’re free to get back to it after I’ve said my piece.”

“I need coffee,” I muttered and headed for the kitchen.

“I warned you,” Lucian called after me.

“Yeah? And I warned you back.” I tossed him a middle finger over my shoulder.

“Warned her? What the hell is this, Lucy?” Nash demanded.

“We need to talk,” Lucian said. “Get dressed.”

“I’ll handle the dog,” I called. “You handle your pain-in-the-ass friend.”