to the idea of exploring her attractions.
The quilt had slipped off her leg and from beneath the hem of her T-shirt, his T-shirt, he could see the shrapnel scars on her thigh. He replayed the story she’d told him in the night and remembered she was tougher than she looked. He ran his fingers lightly over the scars. They were raised and darker than her skin, reminiscent of a raspberry swirl in vanilla ice cream. A legacy of her past and a reminder that she was a survivor.
Abi stirred at his touch. Her eyelashes fluttered and her amber eyes opened. He could see her taking a moment to work out where she was.
He didn’t want her to panic. She brought out all his protective instincts, which were never far from the surface anyway. He knew he had a habit of wanting to look after women, to protect them, a desire that stemmed from his upbringing. His mother suffered from debilitating rheumatoid arthritis and his father had been her primary source of care and support and that sense of protectiveness was strongly instilled in him. There was something vulnerable about Abi and he didn’t want any more harm to come to her, not if it was in his power to prevent that.
‘You’re okay, Abi,’ he told her. ‘You’re in Summer’s bed.’
She woke properly and he could tell she was embarrassed to find herself draped across him. Not that he was complaining. She moved away from him, pulling her thigh out from between his legs and lifting her hand from his stomach, leaving a palm-sized patch of skin that felt cooler now she was gone.
Her eyes ran over his body, making his erection stand to attention even more than before. Her gaze moved from his bare chest down over his abdominals and further south. There was no way to disguise his reaction to her and he didn’t want to. As far as he was concerned, there was nothing wrong with letting her see what effect she had on him.
He saw her swallow and when she looked up at him there was a question in the golden depths of her eyes.
She pulled farther away and he resisted the urge to hold her close. He didn’t want to let her go but he didn’t want to frighten her either. He relaxed his arm around her shoulders, giving her space.
‘We didn’t, did we?’
He shook his head. ‘No. That would always be your decision.’ His words were more of a question than a statement. It was obvious to both of them that he was keen but he would never make a presumption about sex. Both parties had to be willing and he was curious to know her thoughts but she gave a tiny shake of her head.
‘I can’t.’
That was more hopeful than a ‘no’ and better than an ‘I don’t want to’ but it wasn’t a ‘yes’.
‘Can’t or won’t?’ he asked.
‘Can’t,’ she clarified. ‘We can’t. Summer is in the house. This is her room. What if she comes in?’
She had a point but her answer gave him hope. He suspected she might be just as willing as he was in different circumstances but he wasn’t going to push her, he wasn’t going to take advantage. He would bide his time, certain that it would come in the not-too-distant future.
He wasn’t sure exactly when he’d changed his mind, when he’d begun to feel like he wanted to pursue her, when he’d begun to think that women weren’t too much trouble, well, one woman in particular. Had it been last night, when she’d curled into his side, or the night of the party when he’d given her a lift and his car had been filled with the scent of fresh peaches, or the afternoon that she had collected Summer from school and he’d so badly wanted to kiss her?
He knew this attraction was fraught with danger. He knew there were all sorts of reasons why he should keep his distance—they were colleagues, she had issues, he had baggage, he was a single dad with a difficult ex-wife and his priorities should be on Summer—but it was hard to ignore the stirring of desire when he’d held her in his arms. It had felt good. It had reminded him that he was a man.
The throbbing in his groin was another strong indicator that all his manly bits were working but he’d have to relieve the tension himself. He would do well to remember to focus on other aspects and keep a lid on his attraction to Abi. He wasn’t planning on ignoring it altogether but he needed to slow things down. He couldn’t jump in, he didn’t know how she felt and he wasn’t sure if he was ready. There were lots of complicating factors. It would be a different story perhaps if they’d met in a bar or at a conference, if she didn’t already know Summer, if they didn’t work together, if she hadn’t spent the night in his arms.
‘Just so I know, in case we ever find ourselves in this position again, how would Jonty react? Is he trained to attack?’ His question lightened the mood, as he’d hoped it would. It let Abi back out of this situation but also made his intentions clear. He would slow things down but he wouldn’t give up completely.
‘Does he look like he’s about to attack?’ she countered, and Damien glanced over to where the dog lay, fast asleep, on his cushion, completely oblivious to what was going on around him.
‘People who need assistance dogs often need them for things like panic attacks, PTSD or epilepsy,’ she explained. ‘They might need help from paramedics or the public so it wouldn’t be useful if the dogs were trained to protect their owners and not let people close.’
‘Good to know.’ He smiled and stood up, disentangling himself from Abi. ‘But I guess it’s time for me to shower and take care of some business.’ His erection was plainly obvious in his boxer shorts and he still made no attempt to hide it. He left her lying in the bed and hoped he was giving her plenty to think about.
* * *
Abi stretched lazily as she watched Damien walk out of the room. She’d slept soundly and had woken up feeling relaxed and comfortable for the first time in months. It was amazing the difference having a warm, hard body in the bed with her had made. She had felt safe, and feeling safe had allowed her to sleep peacefully. She hadn’t had a recurrence of the nightmare, she hadn’t dreamt of Mark, but perhaps that wasn’t surprising given that a half-naked Damien had lain beside her.
He moved gracefully on his long legs and she wondered if he was a good dancer. He looked fluid and she could imagine him on the dance floor, could imagine herself in his arms. She felt a blush steal across her cheeks. Thank God he had his back to her and couldn’t see her devouring him with her eyes. His black boxer shorts left very little to her imagination. His body was lean and muscular, and she knew exactly how it had felt under her fingers, warm and firm. Her hand had been spread across his stomach, her fingers resting on the ridges of his abdominals. She was mortified to think that she’d been draped across him when she’d woken up but relieved to know that nothing more sexual had happened. It was clear that he wouldn’t have minded. Should she be flattered by that or nervous?
She felt both flattered and nervous but she was also hesitant.
She had ignored his obvious erection, or had tried to, but her hesitation had had nothing to do with the fact that his young daughter was in the house. Summer had been a factor but not the ultimate deciding factor. Abi had made a promise to herself. No more colleagues. No more men with baggage.
Summer’s presence was a reason but she hadn’t been the problem. The problem was Abi herself.
She was damaged.
She was still recovering.
But most of all she was afraid.
