“I want to sleep in your bed."Her thighs tingled. "You must really like my mattress."He grinned. I never heard it called that, but yeah.”

“(Isabelle) “You can do whatever you’d like at my house.”He raised his eyebrows and grinned.“Within reason,” she added. “If I find you in my bed with a woman, you’re a dead man.”He grinned bigger.Her stomach knotted. “Did I say that?”He continued to grin.She had said it. Must be the fatigue. Three hours of sleep didn’t cut it.He stepped closer. Oh, boy.“Izzy, the only woman I want in that bed is you.”

“Right now I want you naked against me," Dean says. "I want to wake up cold because you’ve hogged all the blankets. I want to feel your leg between mine, your hair in my face, your arm flung across my chest. I want to find myself on the edge of the bed in the morning because you’ve sprawled all over the mattress. I want to sleep with you.”

“She smiled as she poured tea into his cup. “I hope you find your rooms comfortable?”“Quite.” He took a too-hasty sip of tea and scalded his tongue.“The view is to your liking?”He had a view of a brick wall. “Indeed.”She fluttered her eyelashes at him over the rim of her teacup. “And the bed. Is it soft and… yielding?”He nearly choked on the bite of cake he’d just taken.“Or do you prefer a firmer bed?” she asked sweetly. “One that refuses to yield too soon?”“I think”—he narrowed his eyes at her—“whatever mattress I have on the bed you gave me is perfect. But tell me, my lady, what sort of mattress do you prefer? All soft goose down or one that’s a bit… harder?”It was very fast, but he saw it: Her gaze flashed down to the juncture of his thighs and then up again. If there hadn’t been anything to see there before, there certainly was now.“Oh, I like a nice stiff mattress,” she purred. “Well warmed and ready for a long ride.”

“Matt?""Yeah?"A barely there sigh escaped her lips. "I really want to sleep with you, but...""Damn," he said. "That was a great sentence right up to the 'but'." -Amy and Matt”

“He keeps doing that.” “What?” She laughs. “Kissing your forehead.” “Yeah . . . he does.” I can’t stop my grin. “Does it bother you? I can hear your smile, you know.” “Not really. It doesn’t, like, mean anything. It’s just . . . it’s Ryker.”