Page 82 of Marrying the Billionaire

We have plenty of time in store. Everything doesn’t have to happen exactly this minute, no matter that my body says otherwise. And despite the tiredness of my eyes, sleep is still out of reach for a long while.

“Shit.”

The muffled whisper wakes me, and my first instinctive thought is that it’s an intruder until I register the deep voice. “Archer?”

“Sorry,” he whispers from somewhere near the foot of the bed. “Go back to sleep.”

I rub my eyes, but it’s always impossible to see anything in here once the blackout shades are in place. “What time is it?”

“Two.”

And he’s just now getting home? “Have you been at work this whole time?”

The mattress depresses next to me and I reach out, the fabric of his dress shirt soft against my fingertips. “Yeah. I had to fight with Dad to let everyone go. We weren’t accomplishing anything else this late.”

There’s the quiet clink of his watch as he places it on his nightstand, then the rustle of his shirt as he unbuttons it, his skin warm as I help him remove it.

“Seriously, go back to sleep. I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“It’s fine,” I yawn, so wide my jaw cracks.

He finishes undressing and slips under the covers, scooting toward me. “Come here.” He wraps an arm around my middle and spoons me, his delicious warmth permeating me, his big body against mine reassuring on every level. He presses a chaste kiss against the back of my neck, sighing deeply, something about the way he does it making it seem like he finds comfort in me too.

As much as I was looking forward to being in bed with him, my eyes can’t stay open, and I snuggle into his warmth, drifting back to sleep.

What seems like moments later, a steady beeping wakes me, loud in the quiet of the room. What the hell is that?

I go to sit up, but an iron bar is holding me down against the mattress, and it’s not till I run a hand over it that I realize it’s Archer’s arm. How much does muscle weigh?

“Archer.”

He’s dead weight, unmoving, even as the alarm increases in volume over by his side of the bed.

“Archer,” I repeat, trying to shift out from under him, but he only constricts tighter around me in response.

Okay, as much as I love being wrapped in his embrace, I can’t stand that alarm. It’s the kind that only gets more annoying the longer it goes on.

I somehow maneuver myself across his chest and reach my arm out as far as it’ll go to press the red X on the screen. The sound ceases, and his phone exits out of the alarm app to whatever he must have last had open, my breath catching as I stare at it.

It’s a picture of… us. The one from last week where we were kissing. The one that wasn’t at all appropriate to post on social media. Was he looking at that on his way home or something? I’d assumed he’d deleted it since we couldn’t send it to Angelina.

But he kept it. Even a week ago.

Joy bubbles within me and I turn my head to look at him, just able to make out his outline in the dim light from his lit phone screen.

I trace a hand down his jaw, his stubble prickly, and he shifts slightly under me, releasing a sleepy sigh. I should let him sleep a little longer. It’s only been four hours since he came in. He must be exhausted. There’s no way I’m letting him get up to exercise for an hour.

I wiggle over to my side of the bed, his arm still dead weight atop me, and reach for my own phone, setting an alarm for seven, then drift off and back awake in cycles, unable to truly rest for fear I’ll oversleep.

I eventually give up and simply savor this moment lying here with his body wrapped around mine, safe and secure in his hold. I run a hand along the light dusting of hair on his forearm, traveling up to shape the defined muscles of his bicep, loving the freedom to touch him however I want.

Turning in his arms, I face him, his bare chest right there, and caress him, starting at the broad shoulders and heavy pectorals, working my way down to the flat ridge of his abs, his body radiating heat.

He lets out a deepmmmsound, but I can’t tell in the darkness if he’s awake yet or not. I whisper his name, the only response I receive being a slight shift of his hips, pressing further against me. I press back for just a moment, imagining what it’ll be like the first time we’re truly together, our bodies intertwined, exploring each other, free to do things in a way we haven’t before. Him sinking into me, his hands roaming my body, bringing me to those heights only he’s capable of.

My alarm goes off and he finally loosens his grip on me enough for me to easily roll over and shut it off.

“Is it six?” he asks, his voice hoarse.

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