The Prize by Becca Jameson Page B

asleep when he slipped out of my channel and carefully climbed off the
     bed. I listened to him in the bathroom, and then he was back, pushing my top leg forward
     and higher to wipe between my thighs with a warm cloth.
    I snuggled in deeper without a sound when he resumed his spot at my back and pulled
     the covers over us, my hands still clasped together at my chest, his hand returning
     to surround mine.
    “Sleep, hon,” he whispered into my ear, kissing me gently before relaxing into my
     back.
    In moments, I drifted off, the first time I’d fallen asleep so quickly in weeks.

Chapter Ten
    A noise yanked me from a deep sleep. Or maybe I imagined it in my dreams.
    I bolted awake, my adrenaline pounding as I fought to escape whatever was holding
     me down.
    I screamed, extracted myself from my bed, and scrambled to jump to the floor and yank
     open my nightstand. In less than two seconds, I had my Glock in my hand.
    “Meagan? Shit.” The man in my bed lifted his hands in front of him as he sat up. The
     faint outline of his body was all I could see as reality flitted back into my brain.
    Parker.
    Not some intruder.
    Not Michael Swarth.
    Parker.
    He didn’t move a muscle as he spoke. “Meagan, hon, it’s just me. Please. Put the gun
     down.”
    I lowered my weapon with shaky hands, standing before him naked and scared out of
     my mind. “Sorry.”
    He inched forward slowly until he sat on the edge of my bed, reached for the gun,
     and took it from me. He put it back in the drawer and closed it. And then he hauled
     me into his embrace between his legs, wrapping his arms around me and holding me close.
    His lips landed on my cheek, and he kissed me gently. “You’re okay.”
    No. I wasn’t. He didn’t know how not okay I was.
    When he lifted his face and tipped my head back to meet my gaze, his expression was
     serious. “Does this happen often?”
    I swallowed. “No.” It had been a long time since I reached for my weapon and actually
     picked it up.
    He searched my face for answers, finding none. “You’re dangerous to sleep with,” he
     teased.
    “Lethal,” I added, not kidding.
    “So you weren’t joking when you said you don’t have men sleep in your apartment.”
    I shook my head. “Did you think I lied?”
    “No. I just thought you meant recently or something.”
    “Never. Parker. I don’t sleep with men. Or anyone for that matter. You should take
     this as a lesson and break this off now. I’m not safe.”
    “That’s ambiguous. You aren’t safe to be around? Or you’re concerned with your own
     safety? Two very different things.”
    “Does it matter? Either way, you don’t want to be involved.”
    “Now you’re going to make decisions for me?” he asked.
    “Why not? You make decisions for me all the time.”
    “In bed,” he added. “Nowhere else.”
    “Your ‘bed’ encompasses a lot of territory.”
    He chuckled. “True. What I mean is I only want to dominate you where it pertains to
     sex, nothing else. I would never dream of telling you how to do your job or who to
     shoot. But I’d rather it not be me. Could we maybe keep the gun someplace else? Like
     the closet? Is that thing loaded?”
    “Of course it’s loaded. It won’t do me much good without bullets.”
    “I hate to point this out to you, but with the nightmares you obviously have, it’s
     not safe for you to have a loaded weapon at your fingertips.”
    “I’ve been perfectly safe for years. It’s not like I intend to shoot myself. It’s
     you who isn’t safe. And I never intended for you to sleep in my bed. You weaseled
     your way into this. Now will you accept that this isn’t going to work out between
     us?”
    He jerked his head back a few inches and narrowed his gaze. There was enough light
     streaming in from my bedroom window for me to see him clearly. “Because you have nightmares?
     Fuck no.”
    Growing agitated, I yanked myself from his grasp and stepped back. I didn’t care
     that I was