Page 47 of Heart Breaker

The mattress dips as he sits beside me, close enough that I feel the warmth of him curling along my skin. I lower my hands just enough to glare at him through my fingers. Wes’s mouth twitches.

“I might actually die,” I admit with a sigh.

His mouth curves in a smile as he reaches over and gently hooks a strand of my tangled hair behind my ear. The touch is light, careful, but still manages to ignite goosebumps over my skin.

“There she is,” he murmurs. “Now I can see your pretty face.”

My stomach flips so hard, I’m actually mad at myself. I look over at him, his perfectly straight teeth, the silver flecks in his gray eyes, the dark shadow of stubble along his jaw. God, even hungover he’s hot.

“Tell me what happened,” I ask, clearing my throat.

Wes leans back slightly beside me, one muscular arm braced behind him against the mattress. He doesn’t look real—more like someone sculpted by a very generous God.

“We had a lot to drink,” he says simply.

“I gathered that.” A blurry memory flashes through my throbbing head: Me sitting in the kitchen, tears burning at the back of my eyes as I talked about my dad. And Wes sitting next to me, listening.

“You got emotional talking about your parents.” His expression softens slightly. “Mostly your dad.”

“I cried?” I ask flatly.

“A little. You were cute.”

I stare at him in horror. “That doesn’t explain how I ended up in your bed.”

He makes a visible effort to suppress his smile and fails spectacularly. “I hate that you’re enjoying this.”

“I’m just enjoying how dramatic you are.”

I open my mouth to argue, but then another fragment of memory flashes through my head. Wes and I in the dark kitchen, his arm around me, my face pressed into his chest. “I remember being tired,” I admit slowly.

“You could barely keep your eyes open.”

“And then?”

Wes glances down briefly, one large hand dragging lazily over his stomach, looking completely unaware of the way every hard muscle flexes. He stretches out, completely relaxed while I try my best not to drool. My gaze betrays me, dropping lower to the deep cut of his obliques. His fingers spread low across his abs before he looks back at me, looking like he’s really loving this. “You said you didn’t want to sleep alone.”

Heat rushes my cheeks. “I did?”

Wes nods slowly. “You did.”

I actually groan. I’m not sure how this could be more embarrassing.

“I’m moving to another country.”

“You also told me my chest was ‘the hottest thing you’d ever seen up close.’”

“Yup, packing my bags today.”

“I brought you upstairs, gave you a shirt, and you passed out approximately thirty seconds later.”

“And nothing happened?”

Something unreadable passes through his expression before he answers. “Nothing happened.”

“My head hurts,” I tell him, relief washing over me.

Beside me, the mattress shifts slightly before I feel his fingers brush lightly against my arm. “You need water,” he says. “And probably painkillers.”