The ticking of a clock. The raspy whirl of the air conditioner. The steady breathing of slumber.

The sounds would be missed in the light of day, drowned out, but in the dead of night they were free to dominate the house and Erin's mind. They did nothing to distract her from the situation at hand though, instead, like rip tides at sea, they simply brought her right back to where she didn't want to be.

Each tick was a monosyllabic word, the drone of the air conditioner was a bitter stream of speech, and, well, the body in her bed was the most potent reminder of her own mistake. (How many more times could she convince herself it was a mistake and not an aching need, some fault of character that kept bringing her back to this bed?)

She really shouldn't still be there. She had a son to take to playgroup in the morning and a babysitter to dismiss several hours too late. Not to mention a husband who was beginning to suspect something was wrong between them.

There were about a thousand reasons for leaving that bed and never returning, but her arm was trapped under a warm body and her hand was caught in thick, knotted hair.

She loved and loathed that hair. It was so deceptive, appearing smooth until she tried running her fingers through it, at which point they'd become trapped in the tangled mess, finding purchase where she wanted none. And Erin, unable to extract herself from it, would become a prisoner of Alex's body heat.

Even sleeping, she couldn't escape it. Disentangling herself was more than she was capable of.