Page 113 of Playing With Fire

I go completely still. And a few seconds later, she shifts closer in her sleep, curling toward me until her cheek rests against my chest.

Well. Fuck.

I look down.

Brown hair spills across my white shirt. One fuzzy-socked foot is tucked beneath her. Her book hangs loosely from her fingers.

I could wake her. I probably should.

Instead, I carefully take the book before she drops it and set it back on the coffee table.

Then I pull the blanket higher over her.

Darcy watches me from the other end of the sectional.

His eyes narrow.

“You and I have an agreement.”

Becks makes a soft sound and burrows closer.

My arm is stretched along the back of the couch because I have no fucking clue where else to put it.

Eventually, I let it drop.

Slowly. Around her. She settles against me like that’s exactly where it belongs.

My chest tightens.

I’ve slept in hundreds of hotel rooms and woken up beside women whose last names I didn’t know—spent more nights than I can count alone in places that never felt like mine.

This shouldn’t feel more intimate than any of that.

Yet, it does.

I rest my head against the back of the couch.

Three days ago, this was just my apartment.

Tonight, somewhere between Laney falling asleep against me and that fucking demon purring at my feet, it feels like a place I actually want to come home to.

And that should probably scare the shit out of me.

Maybe it does. Maybe I’m just not ready to admit it.

Because for the first time in a long fucking time, I’m not thinking about where I need to be next.

I’m already there.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

DELANEY

The first thing I notice when I wake up is how warm I am. The second is that my pillow has a heartbeat.

Oh. Oh.

Oh no.