Page 65 of Desperate Games
That danger.
That impossible want.
I clutch the towel tighter and whisper, “Where am I supposed to sleep?”
He looks down at me for a beat too long. Then shrugs nonchalantly.
“In the bed, Mrs. Falco.”
And holy shit, that does something to me too.
Chapter Eighteen-Remy
I wait until her breathing evens out—soft and steady—before I finish pretending to work at the small writing desk I have set up in the corner of my bedroom and slip into bed beside her.
Our bedroom now.
The thought is innocent enough, but heat fills me the second I think it.
She’s lying there on her side, the blanket bunched around her waist, dark hair curling against her cheek, face relaxed in a way I haven’t seen since that last night we were together.
Back when I thought we almost had a shot at something real.
We can still have that, my inner monster whispers.
I hope like hell he’s right.
She looks so peaceful in slumber.
Innocent.
And fuck, she looks soft.
So goddamn soft it hurts.
I shouldn't touch her. I know I shouldn't.
But I do.
Just a little.
I slide in behind her and gently wrap an arm around her middle. Not possessive. Not demanding. Just needing to feel her.
The second I do?
She sighs in her sleep and moves closer—turns into me like it’s instinct.
Like I belong there.
And she belongs right there with me.
Her body fits against mine perfectly, her ass brushing my hips, her head tucked under my chin. I feel her settle.
Feel her trust me in this unconscious way that’s more honest than anything she’s said awake.
It kills me.
I fucking love it.
