While She Was Sleeping... (5 page)

“You’d already decided I’m bad news. I was curious how bad. Apparently impressively bad.”

“Melanie said to give you another chance. I was trying.”

“By assuming I’m a jerk?”

“You acted like one.”

“Okay.” He took another step toward her. He wanted to see her eyes, watch her face change. And, yes, he was a man, to enjoy the rest of her up closer. He never got to hold her gorgeous body against him the way he planned when he woke to her a second time. “So can we start over? Without preconceptions?”

“Well. I guess.” Her color rose; she took a step back. “If you’ll stop lying.”

Grrrrr.

“I’ll do my best.” He held out his hand. “I’m Sawyer Kern, Melanie’s roommate.”

Her grip was reluctant. “Alana Hawthorne, Melanie’s sister.”

“Nice to meet you.” Their hands lingered, then separated. He had no idea what to say to her now. They’d been together an entire night, argued like an old married couple; it seemed wrong to pretend they were just-met strangers. “Uh, so this is your room?”

“Since I was ten.”

He looked around. Decorated with the sweet femininity of a butch drill sergeant.

“Melanie took out my personal stuff. I guess to get it ready for you.”

Oops. Apparently he’d jumped to judge her, too. “How long are you staying?”

She smiled with all the warmth of a nurse proffering a bedpan. “Until I’m sure you’re not taking advantage of my sister.”

He wanted to laugh. He’d moved in to
protect
her sister. “I’m not interested in doing that. Just in escaping four boys and a dog’s worth of chaos. When they leave, I go back home, Melanie’s fortune, house and honor intact.”

“I know I seem overprotective, but her track record with men is…” She pressed her lips together. “Anyway, I just wanted to meet you before I move to Florida.”

At least she was loyal to her sister. That was one good quality he could focus on, to keep himself from strangling her…or something else, which he wished he could stop wanting to do. “I’ll sleep in the guest room while you’re here.”

“Oh, well that’s very nice of—”

“Unless—” he gestured to the bed “—you’d like to share again?”

Her hands went back to her hips. Her brows dropped as if they had weights.

“No?” He gave her his best charmer grin. Did she have no sense of humor? “Out of luck for a repeat, huh?”

“Completely.” She held herself as if she’d had her vertebrae fused. The challenge was irresistible.

“So…no chance even for a quickie right now?”

Her eyes darkened. Her fists were going to crack her hip bones if she wasn’t careful. “If you keep harassing me like this, I’m going to—”

“Tell on me?” He took another prowling step toward her. He was being a complete jerk, but she thought he was one anyway, and he was tired of trying to be nice. Something about her made him edgy and angry and excited and horny all at once. Didn’t he say he usually went for calm women? He should go downstairs right now, move the rest of his stuff up into the guest room and act like a saint so she’d trust him with her sister and leave.

And he’d never get to touch her again.

Another step. She glanced to one side, glanced back. Glanced to the other. Glanced back. Her lips parted.

Where was the outrage now? Swamped by hormones? Was he affecting her the same way she was affecting him?

Or did she just get off on guys who were jerks?

Sheesh. If he wasn’t getting more and more turned on by her, he’d be feeling contempt. He’d be thinking women like her were why nice, non-caveman guys couldn’t get a break.

Unfortunately, now that he was one step away from her, his inner caveman was acting up. He could see the sexy indentation at the base of her throat, her collarbones peeking from her scoop neckline, the shadow of cleavage—and no, he wasn’t just looking down her shirt because he had also noticed her eyes were wide and anxious again.

Worse, her proximity brought back details of his predawn sexual raid in startling clarity. The way she’d arched and moaned, the way her hips undulated with his rhythm, the way—

“What are you doing?” Her voice came out a cracking whisper. She didn’t step back or move away; her eyes held his. Where was Ms. Dragon Lady now? “I’m…” What
was
he doing? “…going to kiss you.”

His words snapped her out of whatever human form she’d taken.
“What?”

He winced. Did she have to make so much noise? “Did you not hear?”

“I heard fine. Now, you listen to me.” She had the gall to thrust a finger at him, as if he were nine and she was his den leader. “You’re here living with my sister, and you are
absolutely
not allowed to take any advantage of—Mmph.”

Kissing her was the most polite way he could think of to shut her up. Certainly the most appealing.

Her lips were warm and clung to his, and what was supposed to be a single me-man, you-woman kiss turned longer.
His hands moved, one over soft hair to rest behind her head, one over soft fabric to press her curving body against him.

He’d just learned something. Calm women, the kinds he liked, the kinds he’d always dated, were calm when they kissed, too. Not this set-me-on-fire passion. He broke the kiss for a second, then went right back in, not able to get enough.

Surprisingly strong arms shoved him back. Startled, he let go and immediately regretted it.

“You—you—you…” Outrage again. But she hadn’t moved a step away from him. Not even half a step. Ms. Dragon Lady talked a good chaste game, but wanted to be ravished. He wanted to roll his eyes. His type of woman was straightforward, honest, no games. “That is
absolutely
beyond anything I’ve ever—Mmph.”

He’d learned something else. It was easier to keep kissing her than stand there and be lectured. Given that her shrieking seemed always at the ready, he might have to do a lot of kissing this morning.

Except the more he kissed her, the more he wanted to do a lot more than kiss her, and the more it annoyed him on behalf of nice guys the world over that she responded to him when he behaved like a caveman and shrieked at him when he was polite.

This time the arms were even more surprisingly strong, and once she’d pried him off her, she actually took a step back, then another, then folded those strong arms across her heaving chest, face flushed. She finally meant business.

“Stop. Just stop.”

“About time.” The muttered words came out louder than he intended. Her eyes widened and for a second she looked hurt and he felt like a toad even if she did deserve it. But the moment of vulnerability clicked off in a second and her mouth opened for more screaming. He hurried to cut her off—with
words this time. “I meant that you seem to enjoy being…coerced.”

That didn’t help, either. Around women like her he needed to learn not to say whatever was in his head.

“I’m just going to tell you one thing. You are not staying in this house and I’m going to do everything in my power to bring Melanie to Florida with me, out of your depraved company.”

Depraved company?
Did she stay home and read Gothic novels all day? Now he was frustrated, horny and completely disgusted. “That was two things.”

“What?”

“You said you were going to tell me one. You told me two.”

“How can you possibly pick on that after—”

“Because you refuse to listen or—”

“—you
kiss
me, when—”

“—let me finish my sentences.”

“—you and Melanie are dating seriously.”

He frowned. Had he heard that correctly? “What?”

“See?” She tossed her thick below-shoulder hair scornfully. “It doesn’t even occur to you that it’s a bad idea to come on to your girlfriend’s sister?”

“Huh?” She had him at a complete loss. Again. Women were the most mysterious beings on the planet. “Melanie and
me?
”

“She’s had enough pain in her life being betrayed and tossed around by men. Give her a break. Just pack up and leave before you hurt her.”

Okay. A small lightbulb, just a small one. “Your sister and I are not—”

“Come on, Sawyer.”

“No, listen to me, Alana.” He went to grab her arm and she sidestepped him. “Just stand there and listen. We are not dating, not seriously, not casually, not at all, nothing. We’ve
never…ever. Not even half—not even a
sixteenth
of what you and I did.”

Her blush came back. “Why should I believe you?”

“Uh…” He pretended to think it over. “Because I’m telling the truth?”

“Melanie said you were the guy for her. The One.”

“The
who?
” Was there something that happened to women in childhood that turned them into total aliens?
Would
plasma slime work on them? He needed to consult with his nephews.

“So excuse me if I don’t trust you. At all. You seem like a pretty typical Melanie choice.”

He thought of Fast Freddie. “I take it that’s not a compliment.”

She shook her head, but sadly. Whatever else, she did love her sister.

“Think about it, Alana. If Melanie and I are dating seriously, why aren’t we sleeping together?”

“I don’t know. You snore?” She wrinkled her nose at his skeptical look. “Okay, maybe not that. But—”

“Alana.” He held up his hands and, by some miracle, she fell silent. “I swear to you. Your sister and I are not dating. I don’t know why she told you that. Here’s another tidbit for your truth file. Melanie planned to ask someone else who works at Habitat for Humanity to move in with her. A dubiously rehabbed meth addict known as Fast Freddie, who makes ‘speedy delivery’ jokes and has a facial tic and questionable hygiene. I thought I’d make a better roommate, so I stepped in.”

She closed her eyes. “Oh, God.”

“What?”

“That sounds like something Mel would do.”

Wow. She actually believed him. A miracle. “So are we straight here?”

She frowned, but did seem derailed from her total con
demnation of Sawyer—and why did he care? “I’ll have to talk to Melanie.”

“That’s fine.”

“And it doesn’t change the fact that you…did what you did to me last night when I was asleep.”

He shook his head. Why bother even trying? “Yeah, that was because of my unfortunate drug habit. You’ll be glad to know you could have been a rock and I still would have gone for you. Probably would have woken up all bent out of shape, though.”

“Oh!” Her face grew pink with fury, then what he said must have hit her, and she burst out in an actual giggle.

He grinned and her face grew pinker. “However, today, an unusual day, I have not yet injected, ingested or inhaled any foreign or illegal mind-altering substances, and I have to say I prefer you to any rock I’ve ever met.”

She snorted again, but something shifted between them.

“Truce?” He held out his hand.

“Well…” She took it and gave him a firm shake. “For Melanie’s sake.”

“Good.”

“But stay away from me.”

He smiled into her eyes and watched her pupils darken and dilate. He hadn’t let go of her hand yet, and she hadn’t pulled hers away.

He had the distinct impression that she wanted him to stay away from her exactly as much as he did.

A
LANA POURED
Comet onto a green scouring pad and went at the white porcelain sink as if she were training for the Olympic scrubbing team. Her life had been peaceful and calm for a long time. Moving to Chicago had been a huge upheaval, but the subsequent six years, once she settled in, had been rewarding and enriching. She’d met Sam when his sink backed up and she surprised him by being the one who showed up to fix it. Their friendship had proceeded slowly and naturally into romance. She’d made other friends in the building, at her gym and book group, and enjoyed an active social life. Chicago had provided plenty of culture. Life had been good.

Even her breakup with Sam, though difficult for him and guilt-laden for her, hadn’t put her through too much devastation, which validated her decision not to marry him. Mostly a matter of breaking habits and coping with sadness and regret. Though if Alana had still been involved with him, she might not have found it as practical to plan a new life in Florida.

She rinsed the sink, stared critically and shook in more Comet. Now her life was in transition again, so it was not too surprising that she was a little—okay, maybe a lot—stressed. The nagging restlessness in her relationship that came to a head when Sam proposed, and the same in her job during this
past year after they broke up had been unsettling. Gran’s fall had been even more unsettling, especially having to guess at the details—Gran claimed minor injuries to one leg, but she’d say that if she shattered every bone—then all the exhausting planning and packing for the move, then Melanie’s meltdown and now…

She scrubbed harder.

Sawyer.

He was the most infuriating, funny, charming, infuriating, sex-y, sex-ual, sex-ist
infuriating
man she’d ever met.

Did she mention infuriating?

More Comet, more scrubbing. There were gray streaks on the bottom of the sink where pans had rubbed, and stains, probably coffee or tea, maybe something tomato-ey. All of them were doomed.

If Alana’s apartment showed dirt or clutter, it was a guarantee that she was relaxed and happy. When you-know-what hit the fan, she cleaned. Even when she was little, if Mom hadn’t come home when she said she would, if she’d had one of her bad days, one of her wild days, brought yet another man home, Alana would tidy the house, arrange her toys, make her bed and Melanie’s, drag out the vacuum cleaner and the full array of cleaning products seldom touched by their mother, and she’d subjugate her pain and fear to creating cleanliness and order.

Which was why this sink would blind users by the time she was done. Because second only to Sawyer’s unforgivable behavior yesterday morning had been hers. She didn’t know what had disabled her common sense, but while her brain had been extremely clear about staying away from him for Melanie’s sake, and for the sake of female pride everywhere, her body had entirely other thoughts. Alana had acted like the worst type of no-means-yes woman, something she’d never done in her life, not even in high school when hormones and
inexperience could easily cause that conflict to tip the wrong way.

Not Alana. She’d said no with ruthless sincerity to junior-year boyfriend Jake and senior-year boyfriend Ted no matter how crazily her lust was acting up. In college she’d said yes, but only to Alan, and only after an appropriate amount of dating time. After college, she and Sam had proceeded with degrees of intimacy appropriate to their deepening relationship.

Yesterday morning? With that man who lied and teased and came on to her completely inappropriately? She’d acted like a seventeen-year-old virgin, still into movie-star fantasies of men, who is faced with her first real one. Attracted, repelled, wanting, knowing she couldn’t have. Or shouldn’t. On edge like she’d never been before, excited, shooting sparks, so out of her mind that she fell, splat, victim to his magnetism and hadn’t cared. Had. Not. Cared! Since when had she not cared about moral issues? Since never. Since she had a mother who didn’t. And now a sister who didn’t. Someone in their little family had to, and that had always been Alana.

At least she’d stopped at kissing Sawyer, though my God, the man could redefine kissing.

Alana chose a new spot on the sink, ignoring the light sweat spreading on her body that didn’t have enough to do with the exertion of cleaning and too much to do with the heated memories.

Were he and Melanie an item or not? Not that it mattered. Alana was staying away from Sawyer no matter what. Or at least she was going to make sure she tried a hell of a lot harder than she had yesterday. No means no means no! She’d practice if she had to.

But if they weren’t dating, then Melanie lied saying they were a couple, which would hurt. She and Alana saw eye to eye on very little, but Alana had always trusted her to be honest. For so many years, they had only each other.

Alana would have to ask. Melanie hadn’t come home after work yesterday, which she often didn’t, and Alana was in bed by the time she made it back, so Alana hadn’t been able to—or been willing to, given that the day had been confusing, to say the least—confront her sister. The second Melanie came downstairs this morning, assuming Sawyer wasn’t around, Alana was going to pounce and not let go until she got the truth from
somebody
around here.

She went to work on the metal drain stopper, determined to make it sparkle again. Today she’d try to sort this all out so she could make definite plans to move on. She should make sure to call Gran and Grandad later to check on Gran and keep them up-to-date.

“G’morning.” Melanie bounced in, wide-spaced hazel eyes bleary with sleep, her blond hair a ratty mess around her head, wearing only a wrinkled pink Bratz T-shirt that barely covered the necessities. She looked absolutely adorable.

“Morning, Mel. Sleep well?”

“Mmm.” Melanie started a huge yawn, then bit it off. “God, Alana, what are you doing?”

“There was all this…stuff staining the sink, and I thought I’d help…”

Melanie rolled her eyes and pulled open the refrigerator, which could use a scrub, too, now that Alana looked. Something purple had dripped down the front, and there were dried bits of green—lettuce?—on the bottom that could use wiping.

Uh-oh. She was really upset. But as long as she didn’t start wanting to wash windows, she was sane. If the glass cleaner came out, it was time to call in professional help.

“You ever stop to think that all your efforts here might seem like a criticism of the way I live?”

Temper flared. Alana lobbed the scouring pad into the sink. “You’re welcome.”

Melanie got out the plastic jug of orange juice and let it thud unnecessarily hard on the counter where they ate.

Alana took a deep breath. This was not how she wanted their sisterly interaction to start this morning. Or any morning. They couldn’t seem to help setting each other off. Which was most of the reason Alana had moved away to Chicago.

“Sorry, Mel. I’m cranky. And you know me, cranky equals cleaning.”

“I knew that. I shouldn’t have taken it personally.” She poured herself juice, sloshing a bit and of course not wiping it up. “What’s going on?”

Alana cleared her throat, and then realized in an odd flashback, that was what their mother had done before she approached a difficult subject. In a Pavlovian response, Melanie’s hand carrying the juice glass froze halfway to her mouth.

“Uh, I had a kind of strange talk with Sawyer yesterday.”

The orange juice glass lowered. The sleepy green-brown eyes turned cautious. “Yeah?”

“He says you’re not dating.” Alana made sure her voice was gentle, no accusation implied. “That you’re not involved at all.”

Melanie’s glass hit the counter with a sharp crack. She mumbled something.

“What?”

“I said not involved
yet.
”

“But…I mean…has he shown any interest?” She held her breath, shocked at how desperately she hoped Melanie would say no.

“He’s the kind of guy you always told me I should want. And I do. I finally found a good one.”

Alana nodded carefully. What she was walking on would make eggshells feel like bricks. Melanie hadn’t answered her question directly. If Sawyer had shown interest, she’d lose no time throwing that fact in Alana’s face. Which meant when he’d come on to Alana, he was single. She wasn’t going to
take that thought any further just yet. “Why didn’t you tell me the truth?”

“I did. I told you I’d found the guy I’d like to spend the rest of my life with. That’s the truth.”

Alana felt a twitch of irritation at the hair-splitting. And a traitorous kick of jealousy she was ashamed of. “You didn’t think I’d assume you were together already?”

“I didn’t think you’d come barreling up here to check my story before we’d had the chance to get to know each other.”

“Okay.” Alana gave in, moistened a sponge and wiped up the juice spill in front of her sister, not looking at her in case she was rolling her eyes again. “You said you’d known him a solid month. I thought that meant—”

“I didn’t say solid.”

Alana turned back to the sink, rinsed the sponge, picked up the scouring pad and went to work again on grout turned brown with mold. Otherwise she was going to want to smack her sister. “Okay. You probably didn’t say ‘solid.’ So maybe you didn’t lie and I’m sorry if I accused you. But you certainly misled me. On purpose. How come, Mel?”

Her sister sighed, but not in exasperation. “Because I was excited about meeting him and jumped the gun…as usual. Because I thought you’d feel better about moving to Florida if you thought I was settled with a good guy, which I finally have a chance to be, with Sawyer. Because you worry about me and everyone more than you worry about yourself and I wanted you to take a break, at least on my behalf.”

Alana turned and met her sister’s eyes across the kitchen. “Is that really why?”

She shrugged and grinned lopsidedly. “I care about you, too, you know.”

“Aw, Mel.” Alana swallowed hard. “Thank you.”

“Am I the only reason you’re cleaning? When you start on grout, it usually means something more serious.”

“Oh. That. Well.” How could she tell Melanie Mr. Dream Guy made another pass at her? That Alana had responded? She couldn’t. More to the point, she didn’t need to, because that was over, done with, not going to happen again. “I was confused about you and Sawyer. And, yes, worried. You know me.”

“Don’t worry. He is remarkable. Really. Did you know he’s Dalton Brewing?” She grinned triumphantly at Alana’s shock. “Uh-huh. Sawyer is a direct descendant through his mom, though his dad was no slacker, either. Big-shot CEO. Major cash in the family.”

Alana stared stupidly. Sawyer, the consummate player bum, came from money? “Why didn’t you tell me this before?”

Melanie grimaced. “I had some adolescent idea that I wanted you to trust me no matter who the guy was.”

“Aw, Mel…”

“I know. I have to earn the trust. And I will. You’ll see.”

Alana murmured encouragement, feeling uneasy. She hated hearing her sister talk about her as if she were an ogre parent. But maybe she acted like one. She’d certainly felt often enough as if she had to be one. “Is that why neither of you is worried about the ‘between jobs’ thing?”

“Yup. He doesn’t need a job to begin with.” Melanie fished a cottony piece of white bread out of a plastic bag and dropped it into the toaster. “You should see his house in Whitefish Bay. Only a block from the lake and about a bajillion bedrooms.”

“Ah.” Alana smiled weakly, feeling sick. She’d treated him like a loser down to his last dollar.

No, wait, he’d acted like one.

Why?

She rinsed the now bright-white sink and dried her hands. The answer was obvious. And painful. Because she’d assumed. Judged. Jumped to conclusions about his character and motivations. And in return for that favor, he’d played her like a banjo.

Ouch.

“He was a successful lawyer, but had health issues, so he chucked it.” Melanie grabbed the barely browned piece of toast from the toaster and smeared it with sweetened peanut butter, leaving the crumb and peanut-butter gobbed knife sticking out of the jar. “He promised himself he’d take six months off to rest, then start on something less driven. I guess his dad and brothers are all workaholics and Sawyer felt like he was turning into all of them.”

“Oh.” What else could she say? Money didn’t guarantee good character, but this man wasn’t who she thought she’d met. Lawyer meant graduate degree. Most of Melanie’s boyfriends thought junior year of high school was plenty of education. Her sister would have it made if her plans went through and she and Sawyer ended up together. Not that money was the most important thing, but security…she and Melanie would never, ever take that for granted, even after so many safe, good years with Gran and Grandad.

“Sawyer has three older brothers, Finn, Tom and Mark.” Melanie bit into the toast, crunched happily, looking excited and starry-eyed. “Guess what author his dad was into?”

“Huck Finn, Tom Sawyer, Mark Twain.” Alana drank the last of her coffee and decided she’d better eat something to settle her churning stomach. Not peanut butter and tissue paper-white bread. “Do you have any bran cereal?”

“Do I
look
like someone who has bran cereal?” Melanie pretended to be insulted. “You want prune juice, too, granny? Guess what. Don’t have that, either.”

Alana stalked to the cereal cabinet. She liked high-fiber breakfasts because she stayed full longer and had less trouble keeping her weight in check. She wasn’t like Melanie who could eat sticks of butter all day long dipped in chocolate batter and deep-fried and not gain an ounce.

“Lucky Charms? Cocoa Puffs?” She stared in exaggerated horror, pushed boxes aside. “Oh, thank God, Raisin Bran.”

“Raisin Bran?”
Melanie frowned, mouth full of peanut butter. “Better check the expiration.”

“December of this year. It’s fresh.” Alana got down a blue-rimmed bowl, pulled open a drawer for a familiar spoon. It felt good being in this house again; it felt like home. “Maybe one of your old boyfriends was a closet bran-eater.”

“Maybe.” She shrugged as if she thought it extremely unlikely. “So when are you leaving?”