Page 60 of Keeping the Score

The team flies home late Thursday night. Rather than disturb Tilly in the middle of the night (althoughshedisturbsusall the time) she and I stayed at Ford’s place, and I put her down in her little cot in the bedroom. I watch TV for a while, yawning, tryingto stay awake, and after Tilly wakes up around one-thirty and I feed her, I put her back down. I want to go to sleep, too.

I eye Ford’s big bed. I could lie down there. Would that be weird? I sit on the edge and look around. Without a baby to distract me, I take in the details—a framed picture of his parents on the dresser, a pair of running shoes near the closet, a book on the nightstand. I reach for the soft throw blanket on the end of the bed and pull it up and over me as I lie down. I burrow my face into the pillow. It smells like Ford, that warm leather and spice scent. Oh God. It’s turning me on. I squeeze my thighs together, close my eyes, and try not to think about his big hands and hard-packed abs.

I’m awakened by a low, husky voice saying my name. “Andi.”

“Mmmm.” I cuddle into the bed deeper. I don’t want to wake up.

“Hey.” My shoulder gets a gentle nudge. Then the bed moves as a heavy weight settles on it.

I blink my eyes open and my head jerks up.

Ford is next to me. On his bed.

I stare at him in the shadows. “Oh. Hi.”

“Hi,” he whispers. “You fell asleep.”

“I did.” Still disoriented, I ask, “Where am I?”

“In my bed.” His low voice and those words make me quiver. Then he adds in an even deeper tone, “You’re sleeping in my bed.”

Those words… that tone of voice… are erotic as hell.

We gaze at each other. He has his head propped up on one elbow, his big body close enough for me to reach out and touch. The light coming through the door highlights his cheekbones and mouth. He watches me and it feels like he’s burning me up with his eyes.

I inhale his scent again, deeper now he’s here with me. Every nerve ending on my skin is electrified and a yearning ache blooms between my legs. My nipples tighten into hard nubs.

I want him so much. I’ve wanted him so much. It feels essential… unavoidable. I pull air into my lungs slowly.

His lips part as he gazes at me. My eyes linger there and my mouth opens slightly, too, with intense desire to taste him, to feel his lips, his beard stubble, his breath.

“Andi,” he breathes.

“Yes.” I blink slowly.

He lifts a hand and his fingertips touch my face. Am I still asleep? Am I dreaming?

“Ford…”

“Yeah.” The corners of his mouth lift, his gaze moving from my mouth to my eyes. I look into those depths and see that he wants me too.

I lift my hand, curve my fingers around his hand at my cheek, and draw it slowly down. He pulls in a sharp inhale and then I press his hand to my breast.

“Jesus,” he whispers, his eyelids going heavy.

My heart thuds against my ribs. My breast swells and pushes into his palm, and he cups it, gentle but firm. A small noise escapes my mouth. “I want this,” I murmur.

“Fuck.” His mouth is soft and vulnerable, his eyes dark, and he molds my breast again. I move my hands to his chest and lay them there, feeling his heartbeat as violent as mine. “Are you sure?”

“I’m sure.”

His mouth moves closer to mine and I barely move my head so that our mouths meet.

My fingers curl into his dress shirt beneath the open suit jacket.

Our kiss deepens as he opens his mouth over mine and his tongue licks inside. His taste is heady, and I’m already sleep-addled. The room shifts around us and he moves, easing me onto my back, moving over me, one hand sliding into my hair, the other cupping my breast and squeezing, rubbing my nipple with his thumb through my T-shirt and bra. I ache to feel his weight on me.

“Wait.”

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