Page 44 of Fall For Me
I make a surprised noise.
Liam’s head snaps toward me, irritation flashing across his features. “What now?”
“Have you read this one?”
“Yes,” he grits out.
“How come?”
“Lila gave it to me. She says I should read more romance to get a better understanding of women.”
“Ah.” I press my lips together to suppress a grin. “So this is where all your charm comes from.”
He doesn’t reply. Just turns his page aggressively.
I ignore his irritation and crack open the romance novel. The first chapter draws me in, and I get lost in the fiction, forgetting about my bleak reality.
I read. He reads. The only sound is the occasional whisper of paper against paper. The tension in my shoulders dissolves the more chapters I get through. My breathing slows. The words on the page blur as my eyelids grow heavy.
I forget about Matt. About the lawsuit. About tomorrow’s complications and the five-year sentence I’ve agreed to serve. I forget about the man beside me, his sweatpants, his glasses, his hands on me.
I forget to turn off my lamp.
I pass out with the book on my chest, and somewhere in the space between dreams and reality, the darkness turns… safe.
17
PEYTON
I’m wrapped in a heavy blanket of warmth and spice. It’s a delicious weight over me, but it’s slipping away. I moan in protest, chasing the heat, nuzzling against a solid mass. Mmm, I don’t remember my mattress being so firm under me. And when did my bedding start to smell of spices? Wait, Matt’s bed smells like baby powder, a cloying, sweet scent that sticks to the back of my throat. But I left Matt. I’m free of him. But I am married… to Liam. I blink awake and look up, meeting gray eyes.
Liam smirks down at me. “Comfortable?”
His chin brushes my forehead as he speaks. I’m draped over him, burrowed into his chest, my arm across his stomach, and my right thigh flung over his legs, pinning him to the mattress. A tangle of blankets is caught between us, but that doesn’t change the fact that I’m clinging to him like a horny koala.
I never did this with Matt. Even in sleep, I kept to my side of the bed, maintaining a respectable distance. Why did I have to develop an embarrassing cuddle reflex over my fake husband?
I scramble backward, flailing, putting a frantic two feet of space between us, cheeks flaming. “Sorry, I don’t usually—I mean, I never?—”
Liam props himself up on one elbow, looking unfairly fresh for someone who woke up with a stranger drooling on his pectorals. His glasses are gone, and his dark hair is a mess of spikes that shouldn’t look this great but works for him.
“Don’t worry about it.” His voice is a rumble, sleep-rough and too intimate in the dim bedroom. “I understand the impulse. I’m very cuddly.”
I scowl at him, gathering the comforter around me. “Yeah, cute and cuddly is exactly how I’d describe you.”
He stretches, his black T-shirt riding up to reveal a strip of taut skin and the dip of his hipbones. I force my eyes away.
“You forgot ‘generous.’ I let you use me as a body pillow without complaint.” He sits up, wincing when he moves his injured leg.
I groan in shame and flop back against the pillows. “What time is it?”
“Six.”
“What are you doing up so early?”
“I go running every morning.”
I stare at him. “Running?”
