“Sam?” he says sleepily. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“Why aren’t you in bed?”

“I want to sleep with you.”

My face warms. I meant sleep in the same bed, but the words hang in the silence between us, their dirty meaning outweighing my innocent intention. But I guess their naughty meaning is true too.

“Sweetheart, I think you should go back to your room,” he says, the thick sleepiness gone from his voice now.

“Why?”

“Sharing a bed with me is inappropriate.”

Careful not to jostle his elbow and hurt his wrist, I move closer to him until my breasts are pressed against his upper arm between us.

He tenses. I’m in a loose nightie with no bra on underneath. I know he can feel the soft weight of my breasts on his arm.

“Sam—”

“Do you love me?”

“Of course I do.”

“If I were sick, wouldn’t you do everything you could to make me feel better?”

“Yes, sweetheart,” he says in a low voice. “I would.”

I place my hand on his chest, the rapid thud of his heartbeat against my palm. I can’t see his face, but I move mine closer to where I think it is until my lips are near his ear.

“Well, I love you too, Jeff.” I trail my hand over his chest and down his stomach. His breathing deepens when I push his shirt up and skim my fingertips along the strip of skin just above his boxers’ waistband. “And I will do anything to make you feel better too.”