Page 60 of Billionaire Grump's Baby

This damn editor better be worth it.

21

LUKE

Iwake up tangled in Hazel. She’s half sprawled on top of me, her leg tucked between mine, while she uses my chest for a pillow. My arm is wrapped so tight around her, I half wonder if I moved her here in my sleep.

Waking up like this—her weight on me, her scent all around me—feels sinfully good. Part of me wants to roll her under me, wake her up, and finish what we started.

God, last night.

I know I should regret it. If I was a better man, I would. But the truth is, my only regret is what we didn’t do.

My cock stirs at the memory.

Don’t go there, I tell myself sternly.

Once I got enough blood in my brain to think clearly, stopping was the only possible choice. Even if we weren’t stuck together for six months, even if she weren’t Cooper’s sister...Hazel is the kind of girl who deserves something real. Something that’s way more than a one-night stand.

And I can’t give that to her.

I try to ease her off me, glancing at the clock as I do. 9:12 a.m.

I frown. “Hazel. What time is your meeting again?”

“No,” she mutters, curling into my chest. “Sleeping. Go away.”

I shake her shoulder gently, then more firmly. “Hazel. It’s after nine.”

She shrugs me off and sits up halfway, blinking in the daylight. Then her eyes fall on the clock.

“Shit!” she leaps out of bed, scrambling for her bags from yesterday. “I don’t have anything to wear! And I’m late!”

“You could wear your wedding dress,” I yawn.

“Not funny. Oh! Wait.” She strips off her T-shirt, then grabs the black shirt I wore yesterday and slips it over her. On her it looks more like a tunic than a shirt, but when she belts it at the waist with the tie from her hotel bathrobe, it doesn’t look half bad.

Of course, it leaves me with nothing to wear but a suit jacket and slacks. “You can’t borrow that. I need a shirt too.”

Hazel ignores me and grabs her phone, presumably to summon a rideshare. “Argh, there’s a fifteen-minute wait till the next cab. I’m going to be so late.”

She blinks rapidly, trying not to cry.

Something about Hazel on the verge of tears reaches into my chest and grabs my heart.

“I’ve got my car. I’ll drive you,” I say.

“Really?” The hope in her eyes is painful. “Even though I’m stealing your shirt?”

The thing in my chest twists even tighter. I don’t want to think about it.

“Come on,” I say, rolling out of bed and grabbing my slacks. “Let’s get you to your damn meeting.”

* * *

Fifteen minuteslater we screech to a halt in front of Hazel’s restaurant. I had to drive the wrong way down a one-way street, but I got her here only two minutes late.

I spot Sarah sitting at an outdoor table with an objectively attractive blonde man.

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