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“Savage?” I whisper. “Are you awake?”
“Yes,” he says. “I will be for the rest of the night.”
“What? Why?”
“Because there’s a threat outside.”
“Yeah, but you’re lying on the floor,” I say. “Surely you?—”
“I’m keeping out of sight. And it’s so you can sleep.”
“You can’t be comfortable.”
“I’ve been in worse places before.”
I fall silent and gnaw on my bottom lip.
“Savage?”
“Yeah.”
“Do you want to lie in bed with me?”
Silence.
“Not in a weird way,” I say, “I just mean that it will be more comfortable for you.”
“I’m good.”
Why would he want to lie in bed with me? He rejected me. How could I be that dumb? I take a breath. “Savage?”
“Yeah.”
“It would make me feel a lot better if you were on the bed with me.”
“It’s not a good idea.”
“Look,” I say, slapping my hands down on the duvet. “I’m not going to touch you. I know you find me repulsive or whatever, but just lie on top of the covers. I’m not going to be able to sleep if you’re down there, giving yourself a backache.”
There’s a moment of tension. I hold my breath.
Savage gets up and crosses to the other side of the bed. He lies down on top of the covers with his arms folded across his chest. I can barely make him out in the dark, but his presence sends a thrill through my body. Pathetic.
“I don’t find you repulsive,” he says. “There’s not a man on this planet who could find you repulsive.”
Oh. My. God. “You don’t?”
“No.”
“That’s… something,” I say.
“You think because I didn’t want you when you were drunk that I find you unattractive?”
“I believe your exact words were, ‘you and I are never going to happen.’ So don’t act like it was about consent.”
“It can be about both,” he says, in a gruff voice that’s gravelly deep. He hasn’t moved an inch since he lay down.
“Whatever.” I turn my back on him and hug the duvet to my chest, my eyes narrow. “Anyway, after what happened the last time, even if you did want me, I'd make you beg for it.” My insides squirm. It’s a petty thing to say, but I don’t care. I’m tired of having my ego chopped to shreds around this man.
