Page 101 of If Love Had A Manual

This woman has rendered me mute.

Because this is what peace looks like.

It’s dangerously domestic, painfully perfect, and I can’t even pretend it doesn’t strike me right in the center of a space I thought was hollow, filled only by the spaces reserved for Rosie.

How fucking wrong was I?

Lena lifts her head, spotting me leaning against the doorframe as her mouth tilts into a tired smile. “I’ll put her down in a minute. I just wanted an extra cuddle.”

“Looks like Rosie isn’t the only one getting cuddles here.”

She smiles again, softer now, eyes fluttering closed. “She gives great cuddles.”

“You didn’t have to stay,” I tell her, keeping my voice low. “It’s your weekend off.”

“I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be.”

She’s right. Rosie needs her. Hell, I need her.

“Let me change, and I’ll take over. You’re exhausted.”

“Mmkay,” she murmurs, already halfway under.

I duck into my room and strip off my clothes, but my mind betrays me the second my shirt hits the floor. I see her again—back against the door, dress hitchedup, her mouth on mine. I curse under my breath and yank on sweats and a clean tee like it’ll wring the memory out of me.

When I return to Rosie’s room, I discover both girls asleep, so I ease Rosie out of Lena’s arms and settle her into her crib.

“Sorry,” Lena whispers from behind me, sitting up on the rocker.

I turn to face her before grabbing her hand. “Come on, you can take my bed.” She’s about to argue, but I cut her off. “You’ll fall asleep at the wheel.”

“I’ll take the couch.”

“No, you won’t. No arguments. Bed. Now.”

She follows without more protest, too tired to argue as I guide her into my room.

Eyes widening, she looks around. “I’m finally getting the VIP tour.”

I chuckle, grabbing a T-shirt from the dresser. “You’re trying to tell me that your snooping never led you in here?”

“You have a very low opinion of me, Wesley.” The back of her knees hit the bed, and she collapses onto the mattress.

I tug her up again. “Come on. You’ll sleep better without this.” My pulse jumps as I gesture to the tight black dress still hugging her curves.

She raises her arms, too exhausted to feel shy, and allows me to slide the dress up and off.

Jesus.

She’s all lace and curves, eyes closed, completely trusting.

And no fucking bra.

This woman.

My heart pounds wildly, hands itching to touch her again.

Covering temptation as fast as I can, I quickly slip the T-shirt over her head.

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