Page 77 of The Marriage Deal
I lift my shoulders in a shrug. “I’m just tired.”
I don’t give Briggs a chance to say anything else as I grab a nighty from one of the drawers Briggs had given me, slipping into the bathroom and closing the door behind me. I brush my teeth and splash water on my face before I stand in front of the mirror, trying my best to gather the courage I need to re-enter the room with Briggs.
“You can do this,” I tell my image in the mirror as I straighten my shoulders. It only accentuates my breasts and I let my shoulders fall again as I curse under my breath.
Then, big girl panties firmly in place, I strut my ass to the door and swing it open to find a big bare chest right there.
“Oh, sorry.” Briggs side steps. “I was just about to ask if you were okay.”
“I’m fine.” My voice doesn’t sound fine. The weight of Briggs’ eyes on me tells me he heard it too. The not fine bit in the rattle of my words, that is.
Thankfully, he doesn’t mention it.
I hurry from the awkwardness of the run-in with the man to the bed. Seeing the sheets turned down does nothing to ease the flip-flopping of my heart in my chest.
This is ridiculous. I shouldn’t be this worked upover sharing a room with a man. It’s not like I haven’t shared a room with a man before.
Geez, I’m being silly. Utterly absurd.
I slide between the sheets and force myself to snuggle down in the bed. I can’t deny that it’s a really nice bed. The sheets are softer than any I’ve ever slept in, and the mattress is like a cloud. I decide the way to know if someone truly has money is by the feeling of their bed. Because this bed is nothing to sneeze at and these sheets are sublime, perfection, transcending…
I’m still working on synonyms for Briggs’ sheets when he appears in the bathroom doorway. He flicks off the light, but the moon that spills in through the open window ignites every line of his muscled chest. And my eyes feast on all those inches as he moves.
I shiver again, holding my breath as he rounds to the other side of the bed. There’s a rustle and I wait for the weight of his big body to dip into the mattress—but it never comes.
Something thuds on the ground, and I sit upright to see the man has dropped his pillow to the floor and is spreading out a thin blanket.
“You’re joking.”
His eyes snap to me. I can’t see them in the dark, but I can feel them. “I told you I would sleep on the floor.”
“That’s ridiculous.” I pat the bed next to me, ignoring the haphazard way my heart strums anunsteady rhythm in my chest. “The bed is plenty big enough for both of us.”
“I’m good.”
“Briggs,” his name is a tumbled sigh. He freezes at the sound. “Please.”
“I don’t want you to be uncomfortable, Lilah.”
“I’m not uncomfortable with you.” The words are the truth. I say again, “Please.”
Briggs stands still for only a moment before he bends, swipes the pillow from the floor and moves back to the bed. My heart is so loud, I can hear it between my ears like thunder. I wonder, a little unnerved, if he can hear it, too.
He places the pillow back onto the bed. “Are you sure?”
I nod, then force, “Yes.”
He tosses the extra blanket onto the foot of the bed, then he pulls back the sheets and slides into the bed beside me.
I fall back against my pillow, nearly choking on the heart that tries to climb up my throat. After a few minutes pass, Briggs says calmly, “Relax, little lunatic. I’m not going to touch you.”
My body is singing with nerves—and yet his words disappoint me far more than they should. “I know.”
“Go to sleep.” Briggs settles on his back. One hand is tucked behind his head, the other resting easily on his belly.
I curl onto my side, facing him. I can’t sleep, eventhough I give it a really good effort for a solid five minutes. I break the silence when it feels too loud. “Your mom still wears her wedding rings.”
He tilts his head to the side. “Yeah.”
