Пятьдесят оттенков синего. Наталья Косухина

washed them down, then set the glass on the nightstand.

      “Are you hungry?” she asked. “There’s milk and chocolate cake. Or maybe you’d rather have hot chocolate.”

      “I’m fine. You shouldn’t have to give up any sleep on my account.”

      “I’m not.”

      He snorted. “Sure you’re not. You’re up in the middle of the night all the time.”

      “More than you might think.” Her expression was hidden in the shadows, but it was impossible to miss the sadness in her voice. “Go back to sleep, Quinn.”

      “Sure. Just so you can come wake me up again.” Truth was, he was looking forward to it. He slid back down until his throbbing head rested on the pillow.

      She turned off the light in the hallway and he heard the soft click of the other bedroom door as she closed it.

      He fell asleep in the middle of wondering about her confessed insomnia. True to her word, she came back at three. The only other time in his life that he remembered anyone checking on him during the middle of the night was when he’d been in the hospital with appendicitis. At the time he’d been sure the nurse had woken him simply to give her something to do. Thinking about the kind of caring a man might attribute to Lily’s actions was dangerous thinking in the middle of the night.

      “Are you doing okay?” she asked. Perching on the edge of the bed, she touched his shoulder. That simple touch shot straight to his groin.

      He took her hand and kissed the back of it. “Fine.” Gruffly he asked, “What about you? Did you sleep?”

      “I was hoping you would have forgotten about that.”

      “So you didn’t.”

      She didn’t say anything, but didn’t deny it, either.

      “What are you thinking about?” he asked, taking one of her hands within his, rubbing his thumb against her palm.

      She sighed. “If there weren’t nights, this would all be a lot easier.”

      “What?”

      “Getting on with my life.” A long moment of silence stretched before she added, “I felt like I was just getting back on my feet after John died when I saw this guy murdered one night. I’d just gotten into my car and was leaving the parking lot, and there they were—these three men. One of them was on his knees and one of the others shot him in the back of the head.” Her voice had a soft, overcontrolled quality to it that showed just how close to the surface her emotions lay.

      When she paused, Quinn didn’t say a word, just continued to hold her hand. What could he say that wasn’t totally meaningless? But he ached with the fear that he knew she would have felt.

      “God, I don’t even know why I’m telling you all this.”

      “Maybe because I’m interested. Maybe because there’s something about the dark that feels safe.”

      “Sometimes I just wish there was someone to hold me during the night—” She broke off suddenly. Then, in a strangled whisper, added, “I’m not asking… I didn’t mean—”

      “It’s okay,” he said. “I didn’t think you were inviting yourself into my—your—bed.”

      “God, I’m embarrassed.”

      “Don’t be.”

      “During the day, I’m busy and I do okay. But at night…”

      “You have too much time to think.”

      “Yes,” she breathed. A smile was back in her voice when she said, “So, you’re doing me a favor. Giving me something to do during the long hours of the night, something other than my puny fears to think about.”

      “They aren’t puny, so stop right there,” he said, cataloging all she had been through the last couple of years—at least the obvious things. Her husband dying, witnessing a murder, walking away from a career, moving, and all the while keeping things normal for her daughter.

      Though his head was throbbing, he liked having her with him, liked knowing that in some strange way his being here was somehow helping her, too. She didn’t say anything more, just sat there with him, her hip warm against his side. And despite wanting to stay awake, to keep her company, he felt himself drift back toward sleep.

      When she came back at five, though it was still dark outside, sleep was the last thing on his mind. He’d been awake for maybe half an hour, anticipating the moment when she’d slip inside the room. Knowing she fought demons during the night somehow made her even more likable. Like? Who was he kidding? There was like and then there was like. What he was feeling at the moment had nothing to do with friendship and everything to do sex. Morning arousal didn’t usually have the direct focus of a warm, fragrant woman.

      She sat close to him on the bed, apparently oblivious to the danger, and brushed his hair away from his forehead. “Are you doing okay?”

      “Lie down with me,” he whispered, wondering where the hell those words had come from the instant he said them. Sure, he’d been thinking about it, but that was no excuse.

      Her breath caught, and he wished for more light than came from the hallway so he could see her expression. She looked away from him, then stood.

      Ah, damn. The apology he owed her remained stuck in his throat. She’d been nothing but kind, and she was bound to take his invitation as an insult rather than… Than what? he wondered.

      He closed his eyes and a second later heard the click of the door. He looked over at it and, to his astonishment, saw that she was moving toward him as if in a shadowy dream. He heard the soft swish of her robe, then sensed more than he saw as she let it drop from her shoulders to the floor. She pulled back the covers and slipped in beneath them.

      She scooted closer as he shifted onto his side, then she was in his arms, pressed against him full body to body. Hardly daring to breathe, he wrapped his arms around her. He had to be dreaming.

      No way had she just climbed into bed with him.