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If she’s trying to wait me out, hoping I’ll go to sleep without her, she’s out of fucking luck. Every night, she falls asleep long before I ever do, and I’ve gotten too used to sleeping with her pinning me to the bed.
Even as painful as it is to wake up and not take advantage of her soft body pressing against mine.
When the bathroom door creaks open, I look that way and see her poke her head out.
“You’re not asleep?”
“Not yet.”
With a nod, she nervously walks to her bag. Her tank top and shorts are my favorite, but I’d still rather see her wrapped in lace and silk. Something I can’t exactly give to her right now—not when she thinks I’m just a normal guy. She has no idea the car I had towed back to New York cost more than what some people make in a lifetime or that when I told her I’m in real estate, I’m actually the owner of a company that regularly closes multimillion dollar deals.
I don’t know why I’m keeping that information from her. Why I’m still pretending to be someone I’m not.
Scratch that. I do know.
I like that she’s not interested in me because I can buy her nice things and take her on extravagant trips. I like that the smiles she shares with me have cost absolutely nothing and are more valuable to me than anything I’ve ever owned in my life. I like the sense of peace she’s wrapped around me without asking for anything in return.
And eventually, I’m going to give that back to her.
She’ll never have to worry about how much something costs or talk about buying a vehicle just so she’ll always have a roof over her head. That shit is all things of the past. And will be regardless of what happens between us.
I watch her squat in front of one of her suitcases and dig through until she finds a bright-green bottle with some kind of liquid inside, pumping some into her hand. After smoothing it through her hair, which looks curlier than it ever has, thanks to whatever she did in the bathroom, she puts the bottle back and glances nervously at the bed, then me.
I fight for control over my dick getting hard. What she’s thinking is written all over her pretty face. It was written all over her face earlier when I caught her checking me out. But the second I started getting close, the look in her eyes changed to panic, and there is no way I want her freaked out when I get my mouth on her.
Standing, she wipes her hands down the front of her shorts, glancing at the bed then at me again, and I hide a smile.
“Come to bed, Elora.” I toss back the blanket, and she moves around to the side opposite me and climbs in. Sitting an arm’s length away, with her back to the headboard, she starts to fidget nervously, and I sigh. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing,” she lies, scooting down in bed while pulling the blanket up to her chin. “Just tired.”
“Give me two minutes to finish this up.” I turn my attention back to my computer and begin clicking through the information I need to sign off on.
“It’s okay. You can work.”
I’m sure I can.
When I’m done, I close the screen and set my laptop on the side table before reaching for the light and shutting it off. Once my head hits my pillow, I reach across the bed, grab her arm, and drag her to me, hearing her gasp.
“Roman.” Her body is stiff.
“Yeah?” I wait… then wait some more, her body turning to Jell-O. “Elora?”
“Yeah?”
“You wanted to say something.”
“Oh yeah,” she whispers. “I forgot already.”
I smile at the dark ceiling. “If you remember, let me know.”
“Okay.” She sighs, curling her arm around my waist. “Night, Roman.”
“Night, Elora.” I touch my lips to the top of her head and listen to her breathe as her body becomes heavier against me like it does every night.
“Roman,” she whispers, sounding almost asleep.
“Yeah?”
