"Why are you so stiff?" Angela questioned as she lay on her side while facing Gael who lay next to her with his arms folded across his chest as though he was making sure they would stay in place.
"What do you mean?"
She scanned him up and down and waved her hand on his form. "You're like a stick. Unmoving. Do you not like this room? The bed?"
'Damn it,' he thought. He didn't dislike anything. No. That's a lie. For the past ten minutes since he got comfortable in bed while she got ready and then joined him afterward, he stayed still. He hated the fact that they were sharing a bed, and yet he had to keep his hands to himself. So this wasn't exactly a joyride. This was torture.
He'd been dying to get her to come with him and stay in his house, only to restrain himself? This was ridiculous. Gael didn't know whether he should pat or curse himself for being a good boy.
