Titus: Book Two of the Cantrell Brothers Series

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Anna was sweating. Her quilt was too heavy, and she couldn't move. For one brief second, she thought she was dying. Dying somewhere in a place that was hotter than the sun and more confining than a straight jacket. She tried to open her eyelids, but she was just so tired. If dying meant being able to just sleep for a little longer, she would wholeheartedly accept its coldhearted offer.

So, she accepted and pressed back into the heat that wasn't so suffocating now. Like a lover's protective arms, that warmth was wrapped around her, tight enough that she couldn't get out but loose enough that she could roll over if she wanted to.

She wanted to.

Flipping over so that her body did a complete one hundred and eighty degree rotation, Anna turned into something hard but pressed into it anyway. Her arms were confined within her blanket, and like a bug wrapped up in spider's silk, she could only wiggle closer until her face pressed into something soft, bristly, and smooth at the same time.

“Mm...” she mumbled appreciatively, her lips brushing against something salty and completely male.

If this was a dream, it was one hell of a gift – one that she was content with staying in for awhile. The wall that she came to realize as a man's powerful, hairy chest felt familiar, like she had already been here before only hours ago.

Anna forced her heavy eyelids to lift, wanting to not only feel Dream Man but also see him, too. Her eyes first saw very muscular arms wrapped around her upper shoulder and then traveled up thin lips that were slightly parted and blowing out hot breath against her forehead. A blonde goatee was around that mouth, connected to very faint five o'clock shadow on a strong, pronounced jaw.

And then she saw the whole picture. It was Titus. Dream Man was Titus, and Titus was Dream Man. She recoiled, trying to get out of the grasp that she had found so intimate just seconds ago. But he didn't let go. Instead, he brought her in even closer so that she couldn't do anything but let him clasp her body to his.

The temperature of the room shot up by at least thirty degrees, and she was starting to get sick with the heat. Frustration came as its own burn, causing sweat to become bullets on her forehead and all over her body. It took some doing, but eventually, Anna got the quilt to become undone and pushed it all the way down her legs until only Titus was caging her.

She pushed at his arms, his chest, even going so far as to kick him lightly in the shins, but she didn't want to wake him, and if not waking him meant being stuck here for who knew how long, then she'd wait for however long she had to – even if it meant keeping her stomach from releasing its contents.

She waited and waited and waited, watching as the sunlight came up and flickered through the blinds and listening to the ranch house's occupants moving around while they made breakfast. Titus finally came to when somebody pounded on the door. His only response was to groan and scrunch up his nose, which, she had to admit, looked absolutely adorable on his wide, aged face.

“Titus,” she said. “Wake up.”

One eye popped open, and then another. His pupils dilated with the light, seemingly looking past until they came into focus and landed right on her. He smiled. “Hey. Sleep well?”

His voice sounded different, much more craggy and sated. She had never heard it from him before, but she sure as hell had heard it from Hunter whenever he had woken up and had pressed her into the bed while he kissed her senseless. Simply put, this was Titus's bedroom voice. She could tell. It did funny things to her belly – funny things that weren't supposed to be anywhere near her when she was with Titus.

Especially when they were in the same damn bed, and his arms were still embracing her. She didn't like hearing that voice. It wasn't meant for her. No, that deep voice that resembled gravel was reserved for somebody else – anybody else – but her.