Page 53 of Reclaimed

“I needed this, starshine. More than you could ever know.”

14

Isla

A warm heatpresses along the length of my back. My eyes flutter open, greeted by the sliver of sunlight streaming through the cream, gauzy curtain covering the singular window in my bedroom. The intoxicating mix of citrus and spice reminds me Aiden is still in my bed. By the steady rise and fall of his chest, he’s fast asleep.

My heart squeezes. Good. He needed a good nights’ rest. For days, I could hear him out on my couch, tossing and turning, sometimes keeping me awake as I’d try to find the courage to invite him in, while at the same time searching for a way to keep him at bay. Last night I had enough. That couch isn’t made for sleeping on long term, and add in his shoulder injury, he had to be in incredible pain. But in true Aiden Powell fashion, he’d grin and not say a word. Always sacrificing himself so the people around him can be comfortable.

It doesn’t have to mean anything, him sleeping in my bed. Even though I can’t remember the last time I woke up like this. Contented. Warm. Wrapped in a strong arm. His fingers laylimp against my soft belly, against the still unnoticeable growing bump. And for a moment, I let myself picture what it could be like if the baby were really his.

I close my eyes and snuggle back into his heat, feeling his thighs crooked behind mine. His hips give a sleepy thrust and I freeze.

My breath hitches, and I let out a tiny gasp.

His erection is pressed up against my ass. And he’s hard, so incredibly hard. A steady pulse begins between my thighs, so close to where he’s touching me.

Extricating myself from the situation takes herculean strength because his morning wood sent my hormones into overdrive. The throb is so incessant that I need to bite back a needy whimper and palm my clit to relieve the ache. The brush of the heel of my hand nearly trips me into an orgasm, and I rip my fingers away. Not here. I can’t do that next to him.

I throw on my cherry robe from the back of my door and slip out into the hall. The cool morning air sends a shiver through me and thankfully chases away some of my arousal. I focus on the feeling of the cold hardwood beneath my bare feet as I make my way into the kitchen.

Chevy greets me by the coffee machine, butting into my hand for his good morning pets. I can’t say I’m thrilled about a cat walking all over my counters. If I truly cared, I’d move the stool in the corner so he couldn’t reach with his three legs, but I make an exception for the little gentleman. I didn’t grow up with pets, mostly because my parents didn’t believe in the concept, but that doesn’t mean I never wanted one. If I had to choose a pet, Chevy would be my number one pick.

I give him a scoop of his food and refresh his water before I start the pot of decaf. True to his word, Aiden’s kept his caffeinated cups out of my house. Something I’m grateful for.I still mourn the taste of a morning cup and the jolt it brings. Though this natural waking up bullshit is growing on me.

I’m gathering ingredients for this morning’s pancakes when I pause at the sound of my bedroom door opening. A second later, the bathroom door clicks closed. I roll the tension from my shoulders, and set out my utensils. Focus on cooking. Ignore Aiden Powell getting wet and naked down the hall.

It’s not like last night has to mean anything. It was just sleeping. I was doing both of us a favor. Me, to stop hearing him rolling around all night. Him, a better place to sleep that won’t hurt his shoulder as much. That’s it. It means nothing.

Even with his erection pressed against my ass this morning,it means nothing.Biology and all that.

As the shower runs in the background, I blow a strand of brown hair from my eye and get started measuring and whisking. When the pan sizzles, I portion out the batter into perfectly round circles, and flip when the bubbles begin to pop.

I whip up a second batch just to keep myself busy. By the time I hear Aiden’s footsteps down the hall, I’m mixing the raspberries, lemon, and sugar for the raspberry compote to go on top.

“Smells delicious, starshine,” his deep rumble sounds from behind me.

“It’s almost ready.” I glance over my shoulder and drop my spoon.

He’s in his towel—again. His muscled chest glistens with missed droplets, and the way his wet hair is slicked back on his head makes me want to run my fingers through it. As if he can hear my thoughts, he leans forward and shakes his head, dragging his fingers through the soaked strands.

“You’re dripping,” I protest.

“So are you.” He flashes me a crooked grin.

“I am not,” I bite out, feeling the slickness as I clench my thighs beneath my robe.

“Your raspberry sauce.” He points behind me, his voice filled with humor. “It’s running down the side of your pan.”

I flush the color of my sauce as I spin back around and retrieve my spoon, throwing it in the sink. Utensils rattle as I yank open the drawer on my left and find a new one.

“It’ll be ready once you’re dressed.”

“Can I do anything to help?” He leans closer. The scent of his body wash overtakes the sweetness of the raspberries.

“No,” I mumble as I close my eyes and breathe him in.

“Thanks for cooking breakfast, starshine.” His mouth touches the top of my hair and then he departs down the hall.

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