Matched To Mr Right. Kat Cantrell

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       Nine

      Dannie awoke at dawn tangled with Leo. Her husband, in every sense.

      Muscles ached and begged to be stretched so beautifully again. Above all, her heart longed to hear him say “Dannie” with such raw yearning as they joined. Like he had last night, in that smoking-hot voice.

      The bedroom-sharing plan deserved an award.

      Leo was still asleep, but holding her tightly against him with his strong forearms, her back against his firm front. The position seemed incongruous for someone so determined to remain distanced. But in sleep, his body told her what he couldn’t say with his mouth.

      He craved a relationship with her, too. The yearning bled from him in waves every moment she spent in his company. It was all over the good deeds he did behind the scenes, which she no longer believed were designed to avoid emotional investment.

      He just didn’t know how to reach out. And she’d gladly taken on the job of teaching him.

      As he guided her toward her full potential as his wife, she’d done the same, pushing him to keep opening up, giving him what he needed. She’d keep on doing it until he embraced everything this marriage could be. The rewards of being the woman behind the man were priceless.

      She hated to disturb him, but his front was growing firmer by the moment and it pressed hot and hard against her suddenly sensitized flesh.

      Heat gathered at the center of her universe and her breath caught.

      Involuntarily, her back arched, pushing her sex against his erection. She rubbed back and forth experimentally. Hunger shafted through her. Oh, yes.

      Then his whole body stiffened and his hands curled against her hips, forcing her to be still. Awake, and obviously not on board with a round of morning love.

      Wiggling backward, she deliberately teased him without words.

      “Daniella,” he murmured thickly. “Stop. I forgot to set my alarm. I have to go to work.”

      “Yes, you do.” She wiggled again, harder, and he sucked in a ragged breath. “Ten minutes. I’m so turned on, I’m almost there already.”

      Cool air rushed against her back as he rolled away and left the bed without another word.

      Her heart crashed against her ribs as he disappeared into the bathroom. The shower hummed through the walls.

      Nothing had changed between them.

      Last night had meant everything to her. But she’d vastly overplayed her hand. Instead of viewing it as a precious stepping-stone toward a fulfilling marriage, Leo seemed perfectly content to sleep with her at night and ignore her the rest of the day.

      Exactly what he’d warned her would happen.

      She had no call to be disappointed. She’d given him what he needed and hoped it would be the beginning of their grand, sweeping love affair. It obviously wasn’t. She’d dropped her dress, pushed him into making that final move and, for her effort, got a round of admittedly earth-shattering sex. She’d even given him permission to do whatever felt right.

      At what point had she asked for anything more?

      Since the I dos, she’d put considerable effort into preventing screwups, convinced each successful event or household task solidified her role as Mrs. Reynolds.

      It never occurred to her the real screwup would happen when she invented a fictional future where Leo became the husband of her dreams.

      Flinging the covers up over her shoulder, she buried herself in the bed, dry-eyed, until Leo left the bedroom without saying goodbye.

      Then she let her eyes burn for an eternity, refusing to let the tears fall.

      Her stupid phone’s musical ringtone split the air. Leo.

      Bolting upright, she bobbled the phone into her hands. He was calling to apologize. Tell her good morning. That it had been a great party. Something.

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