It was a good thing she’d had the foresight to hold on to him, because he tried lifting his head at that. “Yes. I routinely make out with my pillow. That’s what we Sleeping Beauties do.”

She moaned, letting him know she wasn’t about to let him put a wall up against what had to be one of the hottest make-out sessions she’d had in a long time—or, you know, ever. She also pressed her hips against his, doing a lot more than moan when the hard line of his groin hit her right in the sweet spot. Would it be awful if she gyrated against him a few times? Just a little?

“Lucky pillow,” she said, and this time, she was the one doing the kissing. She had to hitch a leg around the back of his thigh and tug on his hair to reach his lips, but it was well worth the effort when his mouth opened to let her in.

Harrison’s hand naturally found its way to her leg, his wide palm searing her skin through the see-through panel. The sensation of tingling, liquid heat didn’t abate any as his hand began moving in a determinedly upward direction, skimming along the rounded curve of her thigh until he was almost in derriere territory.

“Why, Harrison Parks,” she chided—as much as a woman could chide when she was climbing a man like a tree. “Do you also feel your pillow up like that?”

“Every chance I get. Fortunately, it’s not made of memory foam.”

Oh dear. Harrison had just made a joke. He’d made a joke while his body burned against hers. She wasn’t sure she could take this much novelty at once. The only solution, she decided, was to make a mad grab for the bottom of his T-shirt. As long as she was being shocked with revelations, she might as well get a glimpse of his abs too.

But he stopped her just as she managed to snake a hand against the flat, muscular plane of his abdomen. She caught a glimpse of the patch on his stomach where his pump attached, but that was all before his free hand pressed over the top of hers.

“I’m not some sad, solitary charity case, Sophie.”

She knew, in a second, that she’d pushed too far. Instinct told her to say something playful and light, anything to get him back to the serious business of kissing her, but she took a deep breath and met his gaze instead. His eyes were still steely, still gray, but they weren’t nearly as hard.

Swallowing heavily, she said, “Of course you’re not.”

His fingers tightened around hers, their hands near enough his waistband that there was no mistaking how much sexual urgency pulsated between them. “I’m serious. I know I’m not good at people, and I can come across all wrong sometimes, but I don’t want you to think I’m…” He frowned, struggling to find the right word.

“Desperate?” she ventured.