Free Can't Say No by Jennifer Greene Page B

him. Like an abrasive, Hart had scratched the serenity she’d expected to find here—but she didn’t want him to go…not just yet. She wasn’t ready to face the darkness alone again—the night, the dreams, the terrible, vulnerable feeling of loneliness.
    Gram’s spirit was in the cabin, as she’d known it would be. And by day, Bree was feeling an increasingly strong belief that she hadn’t been crazy to burn her bridges, to chuck her job, her fiancé, everything that was familiar. She’d made some wrong decisions in her life; all she needed was the courage to turn herself around. But by night, fears eroded that brand-new, so-fragile courage. In her heart, she couldn’t rid herself of her guilt, of her conviction that Gram had died because of her wrong choices.
    And whether it was crazy or not, she wanted, very badly, to be held.
    A massive sigh echoed next to her, and she stiffened. “Nothing like sleeping next to barbed wire to relax a man. Not tired yet, honey?”
    Hart propped himself up on one elbow, gently pushing her shoulder down until she was lying flat on her back. A huge, shaggy head leaned over her, so close his wet, dark eyes were only inches away, so close the male smell of him surrounded her. “Want to know a very good cure for insomnia?”
    Bree shook her head. She was crazy, not stupid.
    “Honey’s the cure,” he murmured. “A spoonful at a time. You thought I meant making love, didn’t you, Bree? Put your hands on my shoulders,” he whispered.
    She shook her head again, alarmed.
    “Now, Bree.” He might have been scolding a recalcitrant child. He lifted one of her limp arms and locked it around his neck, then the other. With one smooth motion, he pushed aside the cotton blanket and lay down on his side, cocooning Bree in his arms.
    There was a great deal wrong with lying length to length against a man you didn’t like. And worse than that, he felt exactly as Bree had been afraid he was going to feel—warm and big and infinitely safe. Bombs didn’t move Hart—how on earth could anything harm her with him in the way? Like the stroke of a velvet feather, his palms slid down her shoulders to the small of her back, moved back up to gently push her cheek to the hollow of his shoulder, then back down again.
    He stroked…and he stroked. Arms loosely around his neck, face buried against embarrassment in the warm flesh of his shoulder, Bree closed her eyes and just…let it be. Her robe was tangled between them; vaguely she was relieved that he at least wore briefs. A little voice in her head kept trying to convince her there was something wrong here…but nothing felt wrong. If the sexual vibrations were powerful, her need to be held was infinitely more powerful. Snuggled close to Hart, she felt irrationally certain that she could take care of herself tomorrow if he would just handle the night.
    “Bree.”
    Her eyes fluttered open.
    Hart cleared his throat. “I don’t know if this is doing something good for your insomnia, honey, but it’s sure wreaking havoc with mine.”
    Instantly, she tried to back away from him. Just as instantly, his arms tightened around her. “I didn’t say I didn’t like it,” he growled. “Stay where you are.”
    She stayed, very still. For a minute or so. There seemed to be a perverse demon in her head, though, because after a minute passed she shifted her cheek, just a little. Enough so that her smooth, warm lips suddenly lay against the hollow of Hart’s throat, and rested there.
    Hart growled again. This time the sound rumbled from deep within his chest cavity. “Don’t tell me the woman’s decided to come out of hiding?”
    So amused, as he leaned over her, brushing his lips in her hair, rubbing his cheek on her smooth, soft skin. Bree felt, as usual, half inclined to kill him. Maybe she was having a tiny problem with cowardice about her choices right now; maybe there were some decisions she just couldn’t face yet. But to accuse her of hiding