Wed In Wyoming. Allison Leigh
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closing the gap again.
She huffed a little, then sat up and pushed at him to move over. When he didn’t, she scrambled to her feet and stepped over him, reaching back for her bedding.
“Where are you going?” He rolled back onto his side and propped his head on his hand, watching her interestedly.
“Away from you,” she assured. She flung the cover around her shoulders like an oversized shawl and climbed onto the bed. “When lightning strikes you down, I don’t want to be anywhere near.”
Brody smiled faintly. “That’s good, because I was beginning to think you were afraid of sleeping with little ol’ me.”
She huffed. “Please. There is nothing little about you.”
“Babe. I’m flattered.”
She gave him a baleful look that made him want to smile even more. “You know they say the larger the ego, the smaller the, um—”
“Id?” he supplied innocently.
She huffed again and threw herself down on the pillow. “Blow out the candles.”
“I thought you’d never ask.” He got up and did so, turning the small, cozily lit room into one that was dark as pitch.
She was silent. So silent he couldn’t even hear her breathe.
“You all right?”
“It’s really dark.”
He wondered how hard it had been for Angeline to admit that. She damn sure wouldn’t appreciate him noticing the hint of vulnerability in her smooth, cool voice.
Two steps to his right and he reached the dresser. The small tin of matches was next to the pitcher and bowl and he found that easily, too. A scrape of the match against the wall, a spit of a spark, the flare of sulfur, and the tiny flame seemed to light up the place again. “I can leave one of the candles lit.”
“You said you weren’t a gentleman.”
He set the flame to one of the candles and shook out the match. “I’m not,” he assured.
“Then stop acting like one, because now I have to give you room on this bed, too.” She moved on the mattress, and the iron frame squeaked softly. She groaned and covered her face with her hand.
He laughed softly. “It’s just a few squeaky springs. I doubt any of the good sisters are holding glasses against these thick walls hoping for a listen. You act like you’ve never shared a bed with a guy before.”
She didn’t move. Not just that she was still, but that she really didn’t move.
And for a guy who’d generally considered himself quick on the uptake, he realized that this time he’d been mighty damn slow. “Ah. I…see.” Though he didn’t. Not really. She was twenty-nine years old. How did a woman—a woman who looked like her, yet, with her intelligence, her caring, her…everything—how the hell did she get to be that age and never sleep with a guy?
“Why are you still—why haven’t you ever—oh, hell.” Disgruntled more at himself than at her, he scraped his hand down his face. “Forget it. It’s none of my business.”
“No,” she agreed. “It’s not. Now, are you going to sleep on the bed or not?”
He snatched up the pillow from the floor and tossed it beside her.
She’s a virgin. The thought—more like a taunt—kept circling inside his head. Probably what he got for catching a glimpse of that sexy underwear of hers when he’d promised not to look.
He lay down next to her, and the iron bed gave a raucous groan.
“Not one word,” she whispered fiercely.
That worked just fine for him.
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