Page 61 of This Bitter Sweet Temptation
With a small noise of contentment, she settles against my chest.
That apple smell invades my nose, damnably enticing.
I silently curse it, and her, and this ridiculous position the old man put us in.
I carry her to the master, the only one with a mattress where anyone’s going to sleep tonight.
This would be so much easier if she wasn’t so soft, if her weight wasn’t warmth and supple curves.
If she didn’t smell this good.
If she didn’t feel so delicate, begging to be savaged.
Enough, you filthy fucking goat.
I try to shake the thoughts from my head as I lay her down carefully, tucking her under the covers.
Her bottom lip juts out.
For the briefest second, it looks like a pout, and it makes me think that maybe she misses my warmth.
Then she moves, folding herself up in the blankets, forming a little nest. Just like she did on the plane.
Dead to the world and, luckily, to me.
I hesitate, considering my next move.
As much as I don’t want to share a bed with this girl under any circumstances, I’m not risking a back spasm on that miserable fucking sofa.
With a sigh, I strip off my shirt and leave my shorts on, then slide into bed beside her, lying at the very edge, keeping ample fucking space between us.
I wedge a spare pillow between us for good measure.
And I think I stare at the ceiling for a whole two hours, ignoring her soft breathing and a thousand demon thoughts gnawing me raw.
I angrily shift my shorts a few times, disgusted with the hard-on from hell.
Like it or not, we have to trust Fairfax for whatever comes next.
The longer we’re trapped together like this, pure disaster is all but guaranteed. I can smell it in every apple-scented breath that hollows out my soul.
I lurch awake.
The bed beside me feels cold and empty, and it’s daylight.
I vaguely recall time passing slowly, Cleo’s oddly adorable snore, even if it could be distracting as hell sometimes. It took a lot of mental fortitude for me to ignore her presence and pass out.
Where the hell is she now? And fuck, the egg—
My eyes flick to the space next to me on the floor. I reach for the suitcase and feel the cold shell.
Still locked. Still secure.
I stand up and stretch, emerging in the great room to find Cleo swallowed by a large chair next to the window.
There’s something in front of her and a tall, green smoothie, plus two coffees that fill the condo with the smell of rich, black decadence.
Just how I like it.
