Page 46 of All Superheroes Need PR
I hear him coming closer. Feel his heat. The backs of his fingers graze my cheek. He whispers, “Look at me.”
I struggle to comply. He doesn’t really give me a choice. I wrap my arms around myself, feeling so exposed, and finally dare to meet his eyes. His brows are drawn, his expression one of absolute consternation. He isn’t giving me anything, not ceding any ground.
“I’m not gonna do anything you don’t want to, but we both need sleep. Couch won’t do. If you don’t want me here, I don’t mind getting a hotel.”
I bite my bottom lip. I’m too scared for this ... It’s a big step ... for me ... and we’re not ... anything. He’s myfakeboyfriend, and after our last conversation, I wasn’t sure he’d even want to keep up with the charade. I wasn’t sure I’d want to either. And now ...
“We could try it ... just once,” I whisper.
He rubs his jaw. “Yeah?”
I nod.
He grins, one eyebrow lifted, then surprises me when his tone turns harsh. “On one condition.”
“Wh-what?”
“That you never mention another man to me again.”
I get the chills. His voice is laden with threat. “It was only one guy two times,” I whisper, but he cuts me off by pressing the rough pad of his thumb to my lips.
He leans in close, and I can feel the vibrations of his chest as he growls, “Then he’ll only die twice.” He gives my chin a little pinch. “Come.”
“Wait,” I say, stumbling after him as I try to put myself back together in the absence of his touch. “I have a condition too.”
He smirks. “And what’s that?”
“I know you’re exhausted, but I’m sorry, you’ve got to shower and take out the needles dangling off of your legs first.”
Rollo scowls, but he begrudgingly turns toward the bathroom. “Fine. I shower. You get ready for bed. I’m going down hard, and you’re coming with me.” He disappears into the bathroom without waiting for my answer.
I get him a towel and a fresh toothbrush, but I don’t have any men’s clothes. My brothers have never stayed the night, and I don’t have, uh ... gentlemen callers. I loiter in my library, skimming the titles of books like I don’t know them all by heart. I wait until I hear the shower turn off and then wait a little longer. I have no idea what he’ll do, but he doesn’t shout at me to ask me to get him anything to wear, so I have to assume he’s found an appropriate solution. Maybe he’s just rewearing his boxers?
... Or maybe he’s just in my bed buck-ass naked.
I stare down at the bed—my bed—and thealienspread out all over it. I have a king bed because I’m a diva, but he still takes up so much of it. The blankets that were perfectly made are now totally rumpled, like he’s been sleeping for forty hours even though he must have only just passed out. He’s got one leg straight, covered in blanket, and one hooked at the knee, spread across the middle of my bed, totally naked and exposed up to the groin, which is only just barely covered by a flimsy corner of one thin sheet.
“Don’t bite,” he says, making me jump. “Can feel you having a nervous breakdown, and it’s distracting. Get your ass over here and sleep.”
I snort but still find myself turning off the hall light, padding across my bedroom, and sitting down on the edge of the bed. I’m wearing my pajamas to make up for his lack, but it still feels like I’m naked when I lie on my back and stare up at the ceiling in the dark. It’s so dark in my room, thanks to my blackout curtains, that it makes his presence feeleven more menacing. He’s so warm. His heat snakes across the sheets, and ...
I squeak as his hand circles my upper arm and pulls. He drags me over the bed, and, ass-naked as he is, he cups my body with his, lining us up big spoon to little spoon. His body smells like my shampoo, and like smoke and like ... him.
“Relax.” His fingers press firmly into the nape of my neck, massaging down the muscles of my shoulders, down my outer arm. He’s got the blankets drawn up over us both, and as his hand reaches my hand, he laces our fingers together. I find a strange ease in him being close. Feeling him, I don’t have to worry about what he’s doing on his half of the bed. Ironic, since this isn’t exactly what I’d callnot doing anything, a promise he made that I’m not so sure he plans to keep ... or if I want him to.
Chapter FifteenVanessa
Is he ... dead?
He’s been asleep for almost fifteen hours. He woke up once to go to the bathroom. I could hear him thumping around while I sat next door in my office, typing out an email to my C-suite team that was as close to angry as I got. How could they have scheduled Monday for his official Champions photo shoot? He isn’t even fully healed!
Just a few minutes ago, I heard him moving around again. It’s almost nine in the morning, and we went to bed at six last night. I can’t decide if I should wake him or not. Ordinarily I’d say no, but he must be hungry. After hitting send, I head downstairs as carefully as I’m able and return with energy bars and a couple bottles of water. I debate knocking but then decide that it ismybedroom and I’m not going to walk on eggshells in my own private space. I do that in public spaces enough already.
I push open the door, make it to the bed, and set down my items, and while I had every noble intention of sneaking back out so long as he isn’t awake—which he definitely isn’t—I don’t.Pervert. Instead, I’m a bit ... enchanted.
My gaze passes over the alien in my bed, twisted like a snake among my rumpled sheets. Lying on his stomach, he’s taking up almost all ofthe king bed. His arms are out to the sides, his legs just like they were last night when he first collapsed onto my mattress—one straight, one hooked at the knee. His back rises and falls so slowly, and it’s sopretty, even covered in scratches. He’s got a larger one over his left shoulder blade that took some stitching, but otherwise, the rest are scrapes that already look more healed than they did yesterday. Not that I was ogling him or anything ...
Not that I was noticing how the brown of his skin is so ... so ... robust. Like he’s got a light on within. I huff-chuckle. I suppose he does. Maybe a dragon was the wrong symbol for him. Maybe we should have called him Ra like the ancient Egyptian sun god. We could have given him a falcon for a logo or a sun crest. Too bad a second rebrand isn’t in the stars for us, not with how he’s dominating the headlines. Not even Taranis’s recent work repowering a New Orleans power grid during a catastrophic storm could take top billing over the Wyvern’s recent heroics. The news cycle will eventually cycle him out, but for now the Wyvern, myboyfriend, is all anybody wants to talk about, and if I do my job right, it’ll stay that way for a few more weeks. Myfakeboyfriend.
