Page 66 of Sinfully Yours

His laughter rumbles low in his chest, but he pulls me closer, tucking me against him like he has no intention of letting me go anytime soon. His arm drapes over my waist, his fingers skimming the dip of my spine, lazy and slow. I exhale, letting myself sink into it.

This shouldn't feel so good. So natural.

But it does.

Liam presses a kiss to my shoulder, his lips lingering just long enough to make my heart stutter. "Regrets?" he murmurs against my skin.

I hesitate, but only for a second.

"No."

Because how could I regret this?

The way he looked at me. The way he touched me. The way everything about this—about us—felt inevitable.

He exhales softly, like my answer settles something in him. "Good."

I close my eyes, letting exhaustion pull at me. I can feel Liam's steady breathing against my skin, the rise and fall of his chest beneath my palm. His warmth is lulling, his presence steady, and for the first time in a long time, I don't feel like I have to be on guard.

I let out a slow breath. "If you keep touching me like that, I'm going to fall asleep."

Liam chuckles, his fingers still tracing absentminded patterns along my back. "That's the plan, Bennett."

I barely manage a reply before sleep drags me under.

* * *

I wake up tangled in him.

The morning light is filtering through the curtains, casting a soft glow over everything. Liam's arm is wrapped around my waist, his body warm against mine, his breathing slow and even.

And me?

I'm panicking.

Because last night was supposed to be a mistake. A very enjoyable, mind-blowing, earth-shattering mistake, but a mistake, nonetheless.

Except… it doesn't feel like one.

I bite my lip, staring at the ceiling, my mind racing.

This was never supposed to happen. We were supposed to be pretending, keeping each other at a distance, using this arrangement to handle Vanessa and the threats without actually getting involved.

But last night wasn't pretend. It was incredibly real. I swallow, my throat suddenly dry, and carefully—so, so carefully—I try to shift away from him.

Liam makes a low sound, somewhere between a sigh and a hum, and tightens his hold on me.

"Where do you think you're going?" His voice is rough with sleep, his lips brushing against my shoulder as he speaks.

"Nowhere," I lie, because there's no way in hell I'm admitting that I was seconds away from running out of my own bed like a coward.

His arm flexes, pulling me even closer, and I swear, the man is a damn furnace. "Good," he murmurs, pressing a lazy kiss to my temple. "Because I wasn't done sleeping."

And just like that, my heart does something stupid.

Before I can figure out how to respond—before I can even start processing the way my body melts at the weight of him around me—his phone buzzes from the nightstand.

Liam groans, dragging a hand over his face. "Who the hell?—"

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