Prescription For Seduction

She sat on the hard seat of the rocking chair, leaning forward to pass Brady his tea. He took the mug from her hand, his fingers meeting the tips of hers. A current moved up her arm from his touch. She pulled her hand away. Stop being silly, she told herself.

She straightened in the wood seat, balancing her mug on her thigh. She tried a tiny smile, added some small talk. “Anna Kelsey and Molly came in today.”

“Oh.” He leaned against the back of the sofa, resting his elbow on the upholstered arm, his mug held in his wide hand. He shifted toward her, stretching one leg diagonally across the couch so that his foot dangled. His other arm extended and stretched along the sofa’s back.

“They came in to choose the decorations for Jenna’s baby shower—a floral arrangement for the buffet table, some favors, balloons, that kind of thing.”

He nodded. She was boring him. “Anna mentioned she ran into you the other night outside the shop.”

He smiled, but the tiredness she’d seen earlier in his face deepened. “She was walking Martha home to Worthington House.”

“She said Martha gave you a hard time.”

He nodded again. “She’s trying to scare up another couple ready for a wedding present. The Quilting Circle must need a new project.” He leaned forward to set his tea on the chest, then sat back, stretching his arms over his head. “I told her the Spencer family has already done their share for a few years.” He settled into the couch. “I should’ve never sat down.”

He straightened, pressing his palms against the seat cushions. He shook his head apologetically, his eyes heavy-lidded. “I’ve got to go, Eden, before I fall asleep right here.”

“Of course.” She jumped up from the chair. “Let me just wrap up some cookies for you to take home.” She put the basket on the tea tray and carried it into the kitchen.

She opened a cupboard and took out another tin like the one Brady had returned this evening.

“You can warm them in the microwave and they’ll taste like they just came out of the oven.” She piled the cookies in the tin and pushed down the lid as she walked into the living room. “I gave you all the cookies I had in case you have to share.”

She heard a snore. “Brady?”

He had settled into the sofa, his leg propped up, his arm outstretched. His head had fallen back, his mouth parted.

“Brady?”

He snored again.

She should wake him. But as she was about to touch his shoulder, he snored. She snatched her hand away.

“Brady?” Her whisper was urgent.

He shifted onto his side and brought both legs up on the cushions. The side of his face pressed against the needlepoint pillow propped against the sofa’s arm.

She really should wake him. Her hand reached out again to lightly tap his shoulder. He shifted once more, only to burrow his body deeper into the cushions.

Eden retreated to the rocking chair. She rocked, watching him. His body was too long to stretch out fully and so was tucked, the knees bent, the arms folded across his chest. His snores were rhythmic now, a deep, full bass that sounded of authority even as he slept. His mouth had opened but was not slack. None of the strong lines, the flat planes of his face had softened. She rocked back and forth and wondered if this solid, self-reliant man ever rested.

His body turned again as if searching for comfort. His shoulders were as wide as the couch. One hand fell from its tight press to his chest. It lay against his leg, the fingers unfurling, reaching, the palm exposed, and that hand that had healed so many was at rest.

She couldn’t wake him now. She wasn’t bold enough to slip off his shoes, but she did take the crocheted afghan out of the wicker basket in the corner and unfold it, letting it fall across his body. Some fringe fell on his chin, across his opened mouth. She brushed the yarn away, careful not to touch him.

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