Colorado 01 The Gamble by Kristen Ashley

face in my hair and my body
froze as his hand slid up my belly and his fingers curled around my
breast.
    I sucked in breath and held myself still. He
didn’t move or say anything more.
    “Max,” I whispered and his name was barely a
murmur as evidently my voice was frozen too.
    Again, no answer except the heavy weight of
him settled deeper in my back.
    He was asleep but he hadn’t let go of my
breast.
    I could, and should, lurch out of his arms
and escape him and his house, maybe throwing a tantrum between the
former and the latter.
    He had no business detaining me, keeping my
car keys, bossing me around, crawling into bed with me while I
slept, even if he had nursed me back to health and made me
oatmeal.
    But I’d never been held like this, not in my
whole life, and I couldn’t ignore the fact that it felt good. So.
Very. Good. To be held, in bed, in the arms of tall, strong,
handsome man. Unbelievable.
    And it was more than that. I tried not to
think about it, to let it penetrate my brain but, in Max’s bed, in
his arms, I not only (obviously) wasn’t alone, I didn’t feel
lonely. I felt warm, safe, protected with his big body cocooning
mine. And it felt good.
    In fact, since I walked into his A-Frame,
except for the time I spent in the backseat of the rental, I hadn’t
felt lonely. Not in the times I woke up during my illness when Max
was there or even when he wasn’t and knowing he was close. Not even
yesterday when I was alone. It
had been a long time since I felt that safe contentment of knowing
my solitude would be fleeting, gone before the wretched loneliness
settled back in.
    And it was more than even that. His hand
at my breast, his leg cocked into mine, it felt sexy and it
made me feel sexy. I
hadn’t felt that way in awhile, a long while, too long and I missed it.
    Niles and I, when we first met, had a
healthy relationship in every aspect. But once I said yes to
marriage for some reason that changed. The sex came less and less
frequently until now it’d been months since we’d been intimate.
More than a few months. In fact, way too many.
    Niles and I didn’t live together. He liked
his modern three bedroom flat in Bristol with its view of the
river. He could walk to work from there and practically anywhere
else he needed to go.
    My place was huge, way too much space for
me but I liked my rambling, four bedroom semi-detached mainly
because it had been Charlie’s. But Niles couldn’t walk to work from
my place. He’d have to take a bus which he would never do. And taxis every day would
cost a mint. Unlike me, Niles was a
barrister and he made really good money not to mention his family
came from it. Still, a taxi every day was a bit much.
    Charlie had bought the house for song and
started to fix it up and when he was gone I’d made it my mission to
finish his work and I did. I couldn’t let it go because it had been
Charlie’s and because I’d put so much into it but Niles had no
interest in moving there.
    We were at a stalemate, Niles telling me
to put it on the market and move in with him, me resisting. And
while I was resisting I buried the feeling of resentment that if
Niles paid attention, if he listened , he’d know how much that house meant to me and I wouldn’t
have to resist.
    Furthermore, these days Niles and I rarely
saw each other during the week. Maybe to have a drink, sometimes
I’d go to his house and make dinner. But we spent most of our
weekends together usually me at his house again spending the night
just sleeping.
    But he didn’t hold me when we slept. We
didn’t make love. He didn’t curl his fingers around my breast in
the unconscious but still possessive way Max was doing at that very
moment.
    And even though I tried not to think about
any of that, told myself to move, to get out of there, to get away
from Max, that it was insane to lie in this man’s arms, I couldn’t
do it.
    Instead I laid in the dark, the moonlight
bright and coming through the A-Frame window,