She bent to retie her tennis shoe and caught a glimpse of Angus's face. "He is very protective," she told him. "In a very Nietzschean 'that which does not kill us makes us stronger' sort of way. At least there won't be twenty feet of snow here."
"It bothers me that...I can't touch you--naked skin to naked skin--without a little help from her."
"Ah," he said. "So let's try a little play time and see if, with my cooperation, instead of hers, you can get results."
She blinked at him. "What? It's four in the morning. You're going to have to speak in shorter sentences that make more sense."
He lay flat on his back, lifting his chin in a submissive pose he'd only ever offered to his father before. "Here I am," he said. "Stuck tight." He flopped his hands as if his wrists were tied to the mattress. Wiggled his feet. "What are you going to do with me?"
<3 Charles. OMG. I <3 him.
"Someone told me you don't like to be touched," she told him.
"Not usually," he admitted. "But I love your touch. Touch my anytime. Any place. Anywhere." It was heartfelt and honest...
"Pet me," he told her. "I like it."
"I've had a really bad night," she said. "Any chance we can get some sleep?"
Charles kissed her, a long, involved kiss that took no prisoners. When he was finished, she licked her lips, and said, in a voice that was a little breathless, "Does that mean no?"
"I would slay dragons for you," he told her. "I suspect that finding an unoccupied bedroom will be easier."