Page 80 of Lost & Found

With a sense of wonder, I settled in on the other side of the bed and watched her sleeping until my eyes grew heavy. And as sleep claimed me, I drifted off into a world of erotic dreams. Ones of her and me. Ones I had no business having.

Stretching lazily, my palm drifted over warmth and solid muscle. For a second, I didn’t move. My eyes opened slowly, adjusting to the soft light filtering through the shutters. I was half draped across him, my cheek resting just beneath his collarbone, my thigh next to his.

My hand lay flat against his chest—fingers splayed over inked skin.

The lion.

My thumb brushed the curve of its mane absentmindedly, tracing the edge of dark lines that wrapped over hard muscle. The symbolism wasn’t lost on me. His hair had fallen forward in sleep, a dark lock spilling over his forehead.

Without his usual intensity sharpening his features, he looked younger than twenty-eight. His jaw was still strong, carved to perfection, but it was relaxed right now. His lips were full and annoyingly perfect. They were parted with the slow rhythm of sleep.

He was beautiful. And he had no idea. It was one of the things I appreciated the most about him. He was cocky, but only in dance. I shifted just enough to feel the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath my palm.

Warm. Solid. Real. I had slept on that.

Surprisingly well-rested despite the long journey and unfamiliar bed, I smiled to myself. There was no panic. No lingering sense of unease. This was easier than I thought it would be.

For a woman who had spent years bracing for impact, it was wildly freeing. Careful not to wake him, I eased up on my side of the bed and grabbed my phone off the table. As I checked the time and scrolled through notifications, a mischievous grin formed.

I’d spent the night with a man.

Was it ridiculous to let that sentence echo in my head like it meant something scandalous? Absolutely. But the thought had taken root. And if I was going to fake date him for ten days, I might as well enjoy the headline. And I knew the perfect people to loop into things.

With a quick glance at the sleeping figure beside me, I snapped a picture of him. I couldn’t resist the urge to tease my girls.

BELLA:

I slept with a man last night…

I sent them the picture, noting the time difference. It was roughly four p.m. in London. Safe enough that the guys were more than likely still working. A flurry of responses buzzed back, almost as if they had been waiting for me to text.

TORI:

You’re so bad! You gave me a heart attack before the picture came through.

KINS:

OMG. How was it? Are you sore? Ice works wonders.

TORI:

She didn’t sleep, sleep with him. Look at the attachment.

KINS:

Oh. You could, though. We won’t tell, right, Tori?

BELLA:

Glad to know.

KINS:

What did you wear?

I rolled my eyes as if she hadn’t watched me pack. Glancing down, I confirmed he was still completely out. One arm flung above his head, the other trapped awkwardly beneath the pillow. Deep sleeper, indeed.

Perfect.