Page 110 of Cherish my Heart
He shifts, just slightly, pulling me closer until our legs tangle and my head rests over his heart. It’s beating steady, calm. But I can feel the emotion underneath it—the trembling kind, the beginning of trust.
“I don’t know what kind of man I’m supposed to be,” he says, almost to himself. “But if I get to wake up beside you, I think I’ll be okay.”
My eyes sting, but I don’t let the tears fall. I just hold him tighter. “Then we’ll figure it out. Together.”
His arms tighten around me, his lips pressing to my forehead in a whisper of a kiss.
“I think,” he murmurs, “for the first time in my life, I don’t feel like I have to run.”
And in that moment—skin to skin, heart to heart—it’s not just a confession.
It’s home.
CHAPTER 53
ABHIMAAN
I don’t know what’s happening to me.
I should feel weird. Or at least uncomfortable with how okay I feel. But instead… I’m just lying here, blinking at the ceiling, with the weight of her arm slung across my chest and her leg thrown over mine like she’s trying to pin me down in some ancient martial arts move.
Her hair is a mess, strands clinging to my jaw, tickling my skin every time she exhales.
And still, I don’t move.
I’ve been lying here for—what?—twenty minutes, maybe more, with a stupid grin stretched across my face. And not because anything particularly funny happened. Just... because she’s here.
On me. Next to me. With me.
Last night keeps playing in loops in my head. The way she looked at me. The way she held me like I was something worth holding. The way she didn’t rush or pull or expect anything. It wasn't just sex. It wasn’t even just intimacy.
It felt like… being chosen.
Her breath is soft now, mouth parted slightly, and if I close my eyes and focus hard enough, I can feel the slow, steady rise and fall of her chest against my side. She’s warm. Heavy with sleep. Still so damn beautiful.
God, what has she done to me?
I lift my head a little to look at her, and there it is again—that flutter in my chest I’ve never had before. Not even close. I’m not supposed to feel like this. I’m not wired for it. And yet, one look at her, and I feel like someone’s rearranged the entire blueprint of me overnight.
Somehow, she’s fast asleep in a half-Taekwondo, half-koala pose, and even though it’s mildly suffocating and borderline ridiculous, I wouldn’t change a thing.
But if I want to surprise her with breakfast, I need to get out of bed… without waking the sleeping bear.
I carefully try to slide her arm off my chest. Big mistake.
She groans in protest and tightens her grip, her leg pressing down harder across my thigh. I bite back a laugh.
“Of course you’re a blanket thief,” I murmur quietly.
After some maneuvering—which involves more strategic planning than a military op—I finally manage to sneak out from under her without causing a major earthquake. She mumbles something in her sleep, frowns, turns, and then immediately hogs the rest of the blanket.
I shake my head, grinning like a lunatic.
What the hell is wrong with me?
I pull on a T-shirt, still smiling like I just got away with something illegal, and pad quietly into the kitchen.
She deserves the best. Always. But especially today.
