Free Addicted to Love by Lori Wilde Page A

the floor.”
    She felt her heart slip and slide right down into her shoes. “No. No way.”
    “Those are the rules,” he said. “You’re in my custody. Unless you’d rather go back to the jail.”
    “I can’t let you sleep on the floor in your own home,” she said. “I’ll take the floor.”
    “Hey, when I was in Iraq I dreamed of sleeping on my own floor. It’s a privilege.”
    Was he teasing her again?
    Part of her — the stupid, starry-eyed part — almost told him they could share the bed
It Happened One Night
–style. Just the thought of reenacting the classic movie made her heart race with romantic notions. Rachael pressed a hand to her forehead. God, she was a hard case. Totally brainwashed by fairy tales and lippy billboards and the fanciful mush of moonlight and violins and grand gestures.
    Lies. It was all a pack of lies.
    And yet, she yearned for those fairy tales.
    What she needed was a support group. Like alcoholics had. Or overeaters or gamblers. She needed help to talk herself out of these crazy romantic cravings.
    Brody got up from the table, moving a little stiffly. “My bedroom’s downstairs. You can use the adjoining bathroom. I’ll put out one of my T-shirts for you to sleep in and I keep a new toothbrush in the middle drawer, just in case of unexpected visitors.”
    Rachael wondered what that meant. Did he have a lot of unexpected, overnight guests?
    What do you care?
    Right. She didn’t care. His overnight guests were none of her business.
    Thirty minutes later, she emerged from his bathroom, scrubbed clean after her unsavory day in jail. Tomorrow was a new day, an opportunity for a fresh start.
    While she’d been in the shower, Brody had made a pallet on the floor near the door, boxing her in. If she had the urge to make an escape, she’d have to do it through the window. But she had no inclination to run. She might as well be here as anywhere. She’d vandalized the sign. She’d take whatever lumps the judge dished out when she was arraigned. She just hoped Jillian would get to Valentine in time to stand in as her lawyer. She didn’t mind facing the music. She just didn’t want to do it alone.
    Brody was sitting up with his back against the door. Apparently he’d used another bathroom. His hair looked slightly damp from his shower and he had on a pair of pajamas that thankfully revealed very little of the hard body she knew lurked beneath. Knew because she’d felt his muscles when she’d straddled him after they’d fallen off the ladder together.
    She was standing in the doorway between the bedroom and the bathroom wearing his University of Texas T-shirt, the hem skimming just above her knees. She watched his gaze drift slowly over her and she realized the light from the bathroom was shining through the material of the thin cotton shirt. He could see straight through it to the outline of her body beneath.
    He moistened his lips.
    Rachael gulped. Quickly, she reached back and flipped off the bathroom light. Brody let out an audible breath.
    The bedcovers were turned back. He’d done that.
    For her.
    The thought made her go all soft and squishy inside.
    Stop it!
    She slid into bed, pulled the sheets up to her neck. Listened to the blood strumming through her ears.
    “Lights out,” he said and flicked off the overhead lamp, dousing them in darkness. In the silence, in the inky black of night, she could hear him breathing. It was a rough, deliciously masculine sound that sent chill bumps up her spine.
    The bedside clock ticked, counting off the seconds until dawn. The pillow smelled of fabric softener, Egyptian cotton, and Brody. The mattress was neither too soft nor too firm. It was just right. She rolled over onto her side. The box springs squeaked.
    Brody coughed.
    Was he as aware of her as she was of him?
    The silence elongated. Awareness stretched from her to him and back again. Then quietly, unexpectedly, he said, “I have a question for you.”
    “What’s