Against All Odds

Chapter 11

I opened the fridge, extracted some milk, and then somehow located a clean glass in one of the cabinets. I planned to warm it and sneak a banana from the neglected fruit basket on the counter, and return to my room, when a gargling snore reached my ears.

I peered over the kitchen island and into the dark lounge, taking in the silhouette of Stella sprawled in the corner of one of the massive l-shaped sofas. She was propped up by the cushions, tilted to the side as her head rested on her arm along the back of the couch, her laptop open on the same seat she had fallen asleep on, illuminating her with soft blue light.

Her phone lay on the cushions where her legs were tucked under her, and I supposed this was why I didn't get a response from her. Eyeing the odd angle that she slept, the way her mouth was parted and emitting unnatural sounds that garbled around at the back of her throat, I couldn't imagine that she was very comfortable. I made the decision then to abandon my midnight snacks in favour of returning Stella to bed.

I came to stand before her on the couch and something within me was loath to rouse her and disturb her sleep. It also made something infinitely masculine bolster my pride at being able to carry her to bed, though I hardly knew why. I had never carried anyone before, so the territory was new and unfamiliar, but how hard could it be? Men did it all the time- in movies, at least.

I think?

I bent, sliding my arms under her body. The snug-fitting spaghetti-strap top was riding up her waist to expose her navel, drawing my gaze to her large breasts straining the material, her nipples tight. No bra.

Christ, this was a mistake.

She stirred slightly, her mouth closing as she mumbled indecipherable gibberish, and then her head lolled into my bicep where she made a soft sound that squeezed the muscles in my chest. My arms curled around her body, adjusting her position to secure her better and allow her legs to hook over my forearm, and then I straightened.

Dear God.

A pained grunt left my lips with an expulsion that was probably heard throughout the house. Something in my lower back popped, sending a spasm of pain through my spine, and I staggered sideways only to catch my leg on the hard bottom of the couch.

Stella's eyes flew open a moment before I toppled onto the couch with her in my arms. She yelped upon making impact with the sofa, her hands grappling with my neck and shoulders, and I only just managed not to tumble atop her.

We lay there for a moment, half on half off the couch in a tangle of limbs and body parts, her eyes bewildered on mine, and then she said, "What the hell are you doing?"

"I was going to take you to bed," I explained sheepishly, chagrined that I had failed at something incongruously romantic and, worse, she had caught me.

Stella seemed to flush at that, her cheeks blotching with a blush even in the dim light from the kitchen. "That's sweet, but you could hurt yourself."

I believe my masculine pride was suitably wounded at her words, if it could be any more. I gave her an indignant look. "I wasn't prepared, that's all."

"Killian, you do not have to feel bad. It's OK."

I snorted at that, and now it simply became a point of contention. I didn't like what her words were insinuating. She may think of herself as a bigger girl; I only thought of her as irresistible. If I had to prove it to her, I would. With a pointed look, I untangled myself from her and the couch, and deliberately curled my arms under her again.

"Killian-"

But this time I was more prepared and able to brace myself, and when I picked Stella up in my arms I maintained balance commendably. She swore into my neck and folded her arms around me tightly. "I swear to God if you drop me-"