Page 47 of What Doesn't Kill You…

Suddenly he was wide awake and completely aware of why he felt pinned down. Violet Lee was sprawled on top of him, sound asleep and snoring lightly. Max felt amusement bubble as he looked down at her. She hadn't just angled herself over him. Oh no, she'd somehow climbed on top of him.

Her face was tucked in at his throat, while her body was plastered against the length of his. Her arms and legs were tucked in at either side of him on the bed. It reminded him of a photo he'd seen of a red panda sleeping on a branch. So much for her many orders telling him to stick to his side of the bed. Oh, how he wished he could take a photo. Or better yet, a video. That way he could capture the adorable little snores.

His grin was so wide it hurt his face, and he desperately wanted to laugh. But he was afraid he’d wake her, and he wasn't sure how she'd react when she woke up. There was a good chance she'd freak out, think she was being attacked, and disable him.

He really didn't want to be disabled.

What to do? What to do?

The urge to touch was too tempting to resist. Slowly, he brought his arm down from above his head and ran it down the center of her back, coming to rest well above her ass. After all, he didn't have a death wish. But he had been right about the pajamas, the silk felt like heaven and made him wonder how it would compare to the feel of her skin.

He shivered, then groaned, because the movement made him very aware of yet another morning problem he'd have to deal with—he was hard and sensitive. And seeing as his dick was currently pinned against Violet's lower stomach, it was only a matter of time before she noticed it too.

The situation would have been hilarious if it wasn't for the gun sitting within arm's reach of the woman on top of him. Logically, he knew he’d have to wake her. The problem was choosing the right way to do it. The way that would result in the least amount of fall out. Unfortunately, every scenario he came up with ended up with him cradling a bag of frozen peas to his junk.

Violet suddenly made a little moaning sound and wriggled on top of him, nestling her face deeper into the crook of his neck. Max had to literally bite his bottom lip to stop from groaning as she rubbed against him.

He was torn between ecstasy and anxiety. Having her pressed against him was a stolen delight and he wanted to revel in it, to sink into the feeling and lose himself in her scent and warmth. But he couldn't. Because Violet wasn't present. And as much as he never wanted the moment to end, it had to. Because, as he'd told Violet, his mother had raised him right. And a decent guy didn't take advantage of a sleeping woman—even if she climbed on top of him.

That didn't mean he couldn’t steal another moment before he took his life in his hands and woke her. He flattened his palm to the small of her back while he slowly turned to bury his nose in her hair. Silk engulfed him, and the scent of exotic blooms filled his senses.

His Violet.

The sense of rightness was bewildering because holding Violet was like trying to pet a wild animal. Yet, it did feel right. He felt settled. Like they fit. It was as though his instincts recognized her on an elemental level, in ways words couldn't express. And that alone would drive him crazy for the rest of his life, because he was a man of words and he would die trying to explain this feeling.

Catnip.

She was a description just out of his reach. A sensation he couldn't pin down. A question with shifting answers. A mystery on every level, emotional, physical and mental.

For one surreal moment, he wanted to throw in the towel on his investigation into Damien and chase Violet instead. She could become his new obsession. The enigma he spent a lifetime trying to pin down.

With a shaky breath, he inhaled her deeply. Making her a part of him. Then he removed his hand from her body, turned his face away from her hair, and concentrated on slowing his racing heart. It was time to wake the temptation in his arms.

Bracing himself, Max gently called out to her, "Violet, it's time to wake up."

The reaction was instant. She tensed then suddenly flew upwards. She balanced over him, on hands and knees, her hair falling around their faces in an intimate curtain. Her face was blank as her eyes blinked rapidly.

He knew the moment he came into focus because she frowned. "I told you not to touch," she said, sounding feral. "Was I not clear?"

Violet had woken disorientated. It wasn't a feeling she enjoyed. Usually, she opened her eyes and was instantly awake, knowing exactly where she was and who she was with—which was generally just herself. This time, there'd been a horrible second of confusion before she realized Max was smiling up at her. Two things ran through her mind in quick succession: Why was he under her? And where was her gun?

"Good morning," the smiling fool said, obviously unaware of how close to death he'd come. "For the record, I didn't touch you. You climbed on top of me."

His arm moved and he patted the bed, drawing her attention to the empty space she'd occupied the night before. She lifted her head and looked around. Sure enough, they were on Max's side of the bed, and she was…on top of him.

"How did I get here?" she demanded.

"I don't know. I woke up like this."

She narrowed her eyes. "Why would I decide to sleep on top of you? You must have done something."

"I swear," he said, his eyes dancing. "I did nothing. I'm the innocent party here. One minute, I'm lying in bed, minding my own business, trying to get some decent sleep. The next minute, I can't breathe and feel like I'm in a furnace. I open my eyes and you're plastered against me, snoring delightfully."

"I don't snore."

"Snuffling then," he said with a grin. "There were definite snuffling sounds."

He was infuriating. Violet pushed away from him and climbed off his side of the bed. That's when she noticed the tenting in his pajama pants. It was quite impressive, but that wasn't the point.