He moved to the other side of the bed, not really feeling the cold anymore, but he saw her pointed chest and knew she was. Marc got another blanket from his kit and tossed it on the pillow next to her. "Put that one around your shoulders."
Angela didn't look at him as she drew on her courage. "Share it with me?"
Marc felt the need rise up, strong and hungry, as he sat back against the headboard. "I don't think that's a good idea, Honey."
He held the smoldering joint out and she took it carelessly, letting their fingers brush. Flames sparked, vanished.
Marc felt like he was sweating, body making it hard for him to sit. He shifted restlessly, waiting for it to go away like it usually did. He had quietly pleased himself from time to time when she was asleep, but right now, he felt like he hadn't in years, and he struggled to keep it out of his voice as he took the joint back. "You ready for tomorrow?"
Angela blew out a thick stream of sweet, pungent smoke. "As much as I can be."
Marc turned toward her, unable to stop his eyes from falling to her red lips. "You've learned a lot. I think you'll do fine."
She smiled at him, in a good mood despite the wrongness here, and she tried not to let the thuds and creaks outside the ranch home bother her as the wind gusted loudly. She was with Marc. They could handle just about anything together. "I had a good…teacher."
Sparks flew between them, the hunger alive, and Angela felt heat flood her stomach. The passion was new to her, almost like she'd never felt it.
When his eyes darkened, she felt a streak of heat that she knew he sensed by the way his grip on the joint tightened and the muscle in his jaw began to twitch. She should be scared, she knew that too, but this was Brady. Nothing would happen that she didn't want.
Marc moved off the bed and settled himself in the wide chair under the window, blowing out the candle closest to him. He left only one flickering flame in the far corner that gave off very little light, not trusting himself. He lit a smoke, body and arm now throbbing together, one pain, one sharp and sweet. What the hell was wrong with him?
Angela was asking herself the same thing. She wasn't some tramp and she was pushing him. Marc was a man, one with needs that hadn't been met for a long time, and here she was letting him kiss her, rub her, touch her breast. Her face flamed at that thought, and she heard him shift in the chair, as if he picked up on the image.