Total pages in book: 105
Estimated words: 97656 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 488(@200wpm)___ 391(@250wpm)___ 326(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97656 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 488(@200wpm)___ 391(@250wpm)___ 326(@300wpm)
The raw question hangs between us, and for a second, I don’t know how to respond. My breath catches, heat flooding into my body even as my thoughts scatter. I open my mouth, close it again, heart pounding so hard I’m sure he can hear it too.
My laugh is nervous. “Do you?”
He shifts closer, voice dropping an octave. “Yes.”
His honesty lays bare my own cowardice, and something warm and bright bursts in my chest. A laugh slips out of me. Soft at first, then brighter. The tension breaks, just like that, and I feel the tension slip away.
“Can we talk for a minute?”
“Sure.”
I scoot towards him on my side, and his arm slides around my waist, pulling me in until my back is flush against his front. We fit together like we were made for it — little spoon, his bigger body curving protectively around mine. His chest is warm and solid against my back, one arm heavy across my stomach, the other tucked under my pillow so his fingers can brush lightly against my shoulder. I melt into him, every inch of me relaxing for the first time tonight. He’s so warm. So powerful. The steady rise and fall of his breathing, the faint thud of his heartbeat against my spine — it all wraps around me like a blanket I didn’t know I needed.
I feel safer than I have in years.
“I’m worried about tomorrow,” I whisper.
“Don’t be. You’ll ace it. And if you really want to rattle them, offer them a check.”
“What? Why would that rattle them?”
“Because you will be rubbing it in their noses that your husband has more money than theirs.”
I giggle slightly.
“Remember, I don’t care what anybody thinks of me. So you’re welcome to make me the villain of the piece.”
I turn my head to stare into his face. It is shadowed. “I don’t want to do that. I want to protect you.”
I hear him inhale sharply, then his arms tighten around me. “Let’s not have sex. Let’s just lie here until we sleep,” he says, and his voice sounds choked.
“Okay.” My eyes drift shut as I listen to his heartbeat, steady and strong. I count the rhythm until everything else fades. The worry about tomorrow, the weight of the phone call with my sister, the constant noise in my head — it all quiets. There’s only him. Only us. Only the warmth of his body curled around mine and the quiet hope that maybe I don’t have to carry all of it alone.
Sleep comes easier than it has in a long time.
Chapter Fifty-Three
VIOLA
Iwake up slowly, the kind of lazy drift where the world comes back in pieces. Sunlight is pouring through the windows, bright and clear, cutting across the dark sheets in long, golden stripes. For a second, I just lie there, warm and heavy, the pillow still carrying the faint scent of him. Then I realize the bed is empty.
Ricci is gone.
I reach out anyway, palm sliding across the cool space where he should be, and something sharp twists in my chest. I miss him. Immediately. The feeling is so sudden it almost startles me, but it’s real. I slept better than I have in years, deep and dreamless, wrapped in his warmth.
We didn’t have sex last night. We just… slept. Curled up together like it was the most natural thing in the world. Part of me wishes we had. At least then I could have woken up to him still inside me, or with his mouth on my neck, or his hands sliding over my skin. The thought sends a slow, warm pulse low in my belly, and I press my thighs together under the sheets.
I sit up and glance at the clock. I have definitely slept later than I usually do. He knew I was stressed about my meeting with the lunching ladies, so he let me sleep in. The thought makes me smile.
I get up and pad across to his bathroom. The air still smells like him, that subtle cologne he wears. I step into his shower without thinking twice, turning the water hot until steam fills the glass enclosure. His products are lined up neatly on the shelf: body wash, shampoo, the same scent that clings to his skin every night. I use them all, deliberately, letting the lather slide over my body while I close my eyes and breathe him in. When I step out, towel wrapped around me, I smell like him. The thought sends a little thrill through me.
Back in his room, I wander around a little, inspecting the space that still feels so new to me. His closet is open, and I stop in front of it, fingers brushing over the rows of clothes. I’m surprised by how much variety there is. I’ve only ever seen him in intimidating, sharp black suits, but here are cashmere sweaters in deep charcoal, crisp white shirts, a few softer pieces in navy and deep green. I try to picture them on him. He must look breathtaking in them. I feel a strange little spark of curiosity about what it would be like to see him in one of these softer colors. The thought makes my stomach flutter. In my other life, I always wore black, it was my simple, safe, protection, but standing here surrounded by his things, I realize I’ve missed so much.