Bub arched his back, then, as if it was an afterthought, leaped down to wind his way through Brenna’s legs. She reached to give him one long stroke. “Sorry, darling, but I’ve a mind to pet someone else this morning.”

The man surely made use of every inch of bed. Well, he was about to share it, she thought, and unbuttoned her shirt.

If he’d bothered to build a fire the night before, it had died to ash. Kindling one now to chase the chill away might wake him. She had plans to do that by other methods altogether.

He was a quiet sleeper, she noted as she stripped down to the skin. One who appeared to nestle into dreams without a lot of rolling about. As she recalled, he slept deep as well—hadn’t she heard Mrs. Gallagher shout him awake dozens of times when she’d spent the night with Darcy down the hall?

So they would soon see how much time and trouble it took to wake him by other means.

It was exciting to watch him when he didn’t know, when he was defenseless, when he had no idea of what she had in mind for him. His face held both strength and beauty, and, she supposed, a kind of innocence now. But then, she’d always considered Shawn a great deal more innocent than herself.

He believed in things. Believed they would just happen along at the right time without a body having to take a hand in it, put their back into it. That’s what bothered her the most about him when it came to his music. What did the man think, that someone would just wander into the cottage and buy up the tunes he had scribbled on papers?

It wasn’t enough to write them. Why didn’t he see that? Bone-lazy, she supposed, then shook her head. If she kept thinking of that, she’d work herself right out of the mood. And that would be a terrible waste of a morning.

Naked, she walked to the bed, slipped under the covers, and straddled him. Her mouth fit over his. She intended to start the process with a reverse on the waking of Sleeping Beauty. But she didn’t intend to stop with a kiss.

He was steeped in dreams, all a blur of color and shape. A pleasant place to be. Sensation slowly weaved its way through. The warm flavor of woman that stirred the blood and roused the mind. Then the scent of her— subtle, familiar, so that the next indrawn breath thickened the pulse. And the shape of her, the feel of flesh sliding along flesh.

He lifted a hand, lost it in that wonderfully wild tangle of hair. Even as he murmured her name, she was shifting over him, surrounding him, taking him in. The first burst of lust exploded inside him while he was still half sleeping.

He thrust up into her, helpless, trapped in a web of need woven while he’d been dreaming. For the first time in memory he could do nothing to finesse control over his own body. Nothing but let himself be taken.