He chuckles and then slides his hand over my stomach again and pulls me into his chest. The heat of his skin sears through my shirt. My nipples go hard and press against the cups of my bra, reminding me that I still have it on.

“Crap,” I say.

“What? Am I doing something wrong?”

“No,” I answer. “I forgot to take my bra off, and I know it will be an issue if I keep it on all night. Do you mind if I take it off?”

“Have at it. I’ll cover my eyes.”

I scoot out of the sleeping bag. “I can take it off under my shirt.”

“Oh, you hold the power of the ‘bra under the shirt removal’ magic trick.”

“Is that the official title for it?” I tease.

“I think they’re still trademarking it. Other names could be in the works.”

I laugh and then remove my bra and shove it off to the side. Then I slide back down into the sleeping bag and up against his body. I wiggle in close to get comfortable and feel his hand on my hip, stopping me.

“Whoa, uh, easy there, Pips. Not too much wiggling, okay?”

“Am I too close?” I ask.

“No, but you keep moving that cute ass of yours up against my dick, and you’re going to realize just how close you are.”

My cheeks flame from the compliment. “Oh, sorry.”

“No problem. Just going to state for the record, if things in the morning are…happy to see you, I’m sorry in advance. I’m sharing a sleeping bag with a hot-as-hell girl who’s no longer wearing a bra. I did the best that I could.”

Oh, umm, was that just a compliment?

Hot as hell?

Does he really mean that?

Does it really matter?

Shouldn’t matter to me. I should just let it roll off my shoulders, but then again, I can’t remember the last time I was complimented in such a way.

“Um, don’t worry about it if it does happen. I’ll take it as a compliment.”

He chuckles, his chest rumbling behind me. “Please remember that in the morning.”

His hand shifts over my stomach as he finds his comfortable spot, and butterflies erupt in my chest from the caress. God, it’s really been that long for me. Hard to imagine that a small touch like that can erupt so many feelings inside me.

“Can’t remember the last time I was held like this,” I say, not wanting to hold that thought in.

“Really?” he asks, sounding surprised.

“Matt wasn’t much of a touchy-feely guy. And as distance started to crawl into our relationship, it drove him further and further away.”

“Shit, I’m sorry,” Wilder says, sounding truly sympathetic. “And one of your love languages is touch, right?”