Frisked in Fondant: Tulle and Tulips, Book 6
she’d briefly forgotten about.
    “Do you have to say no to staying?”
    He watched her, one eye narrowed slightly more than the other. His fingers squeezed for her hips for the briefest second before he lifted them. “I’ll stay.”
    Gisella nodded, silently agreeing to his unspoken request to drop the sex talk. If it meant not being left alone she’d comply, but she wasn’t going to stop wanting him.
    She tossed the covers back and sat on the edge of the mattress. The uncertainty that was more like her returned. “If I ask you to lay with me, will you? I promise to keep my hands to myself and not mention sex.”
    “I’m not sure that’s going to help.” Still, he moved forward and toed off his shoes.
    Her heart lifted. Before he could change his mind, she laid down and moved toward the middle of the bed.
    Anticipation bubbled through her. A man had never been in her bed or held her while she slept. Even if Kyle kept his hands to himself, she’d allowed herself to ask for more than any time before.
    She’d trusted him.
    Uncertainty reared up again. She squeezed her eyes tight, trying to block it. The mattress dipped beneath his weight. She squeezed her eyes tighter. Would he move close enough to touch her? Would he wrap an arm around her?
    His warmth reached her back but his only contact was a hand on her hip. It was less than she wanted and more than she’d hoped to get. The touch was nothing compared to trusting a man enough to have him sleep with her.
    “Would it bother you if I turned over?” she whispered. “Laying this way hurts.”
    He lifted his hand, which she took as a sign of agreement. He really wasn’t a man for many words.
    When she settled, he returned his hand to her hip. His other hand was tucked beneath his head. Their gazes locked. Their knees brushed. Her blood rushed.
    She swallowed and looked at his chest. He’d taken his jacket and gun holster off. His T-shirt was almost tight enough to hide the wrinkles. It was definitely tight enough to suggest he was strong without being largely ripped. She wanted to be close to his strength. Asleep. Awake. Aware.
    Her cheek tingled at the memory of resting against his shoulder when he’d carried her. Her breath caught at the thought of him wrapping her in his arms and shielding her from harm.
    “Is something wrong? Is this not better?” The concern in his tone turned her to jelly inside.
    “What?” Wrong? “No.” Everything. “Just thinking.”
    His chin was dipped at a slightly downward angle and his gaze was hard when it landed on her bandaged neck. His voice was heavy with a hint of unsteadiness when he asked, “About?”
    “Too much.” Or at least it would be too much if she spoke them aloud.
    Kyle’s eyes offered peace, compelling her to stay still and meet his gaze. He captivated her. She tried to smile, but the hardness of his gaze halted the attempt. She realized it was worry darkening his eyes and her stomach quivered.
    A man she’d only had casual conversation with at a couple of wedding events had responded to her 9-1-1 call and was now in her bed proving himself to be one of the sweetest guys she’d ever met. If she wasn’t careful she’d fall in love.
    “Makes sense. Considering the night you’ve had.”
    Mild words to describe the second-worst night of her life. “Do you make a habit of sticking around crime scenes and getting in bed with the victims?”
    “You’re my first.” Heaviness halted his tone, turning it into something she didn’t dare disregard. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
    “Sure.” She rested her fingers on the edge of the bandage. “It’s just a scratch.”
    Kyle’s fingers covered Gisella’s. There was no tremble in his touch, but neither was there ease. Expectations of what he may say, what she may want to hear, tripped over themselves.
    “A scratch doesn’t need ten stitches.”
    “Butterfly stitches.”
    “Not enough difference.” His fingers didn’t tremble, but his voice

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