Last night they were holding hands.
Just hands!
Not limbs tangled like a messy romance novel cover.
She tried to shift away as quietly as possible, prying his arm off her waist like a bomb squad disarming an explosive.
But fate had a wicked sense of humor.
In her frantic movement, her knee jabbed into something under the sheets… firm and undeniably his manhood.
Logan gasped.
His body arched slightly, breath catching hard in his throat. "Shit… Jean…!"
Jean froze. Her entire face flamed red.
Her gaze snapped to his face.
Eyes wide open now. Very much awake.
And very much aware.
She scrambled back, nearly falling off the bed. "I… I didn't mean to! That was an accident!"
Logan, still gasping, squeezed his eyes shut and groaned. "Yeah, no kidding."
Jean sat at the edge of the bed, covering her face with both hands. "God… Kill me."
He chuckled weakly, voice hoarse with sleep. "Well, if that's how you wake your husband up every morning, I could get used to it."
