"For the record," I say quietly, "I don't need to lock the door. I trust you, Blake Delano. Even if you don't trust yourself."
Then I turn and walk away before he can see exactly how much his restraint hurts.
The bedroom is simple, clean, impersonal. I close the door—don't lock it—and lean against it, breathing hard. Through the wood, I hear Blake moving in the living room. Pacing, probably. Possibly, fighting the same battle I am. Hopefully, regretting his error in judgement because if he had taken me up on my offer, he could have had me however he wanted tonight.
My phone buzzes. I pull it out, wondering if it’s finally my jerk of a father checking to see if I’m alive.
Nope.
Unknown Number: Sleep well, little Kingsley. You become official soon. And then the real fun begins.
I delete the message and turn off the phone. Whoever that was assumes I now know about my inheritance. I’m starting to feel like everyone in the entire town knew but me, and that feels really shitty. But I can’t dwell on those feelings. Tomorrow the war starts officially, and I'll need to be smart, strategic, and step into my main character energy.
But tonight I'm just Peyton, tired, scared, wanting things I shouldn't want from a man who's determined to do the right thing even when the wrong thing feels inevitable.
I change out of the dress into one of Blake's t-shirts I find in a dresser. It smells like him. Coffee and something darker. A small part of me wants to snoop through the rest of his drawers to learn more about who he is but I’m too tired for it.
I climb into a bed that's too big, too empty, too safe.
And I don't sleep.
Neither does Blake.
I can hear him in the living room, pacing, keeping watch, probably fighting demons I think I'm starting to understand.
We're both prisoners of our own making.
Tonight, I survive the wanting.
Tomorrow, maybe, I’ll learn how to break free.
That's all I can do as I slide myself under an unfamiliar comforter that wraps me in cozy warmth before tomorrow’s storm.
Chapter 5
Blake
Morning comes too early and not early enough.
I didn't sleep. Couldn't. Every time I closed my eyes, I imagined Peyton in my shirt, barefoot in my apartment, looking at me like I was either her salvation or her biggest mistake.
Probably both.
I spent the night on the couch doing what I do best, keeping watch, running scenarios, planning for every possible outcome except the one where I stop wanting her. That one's not possible anymore, especially now that I know she wants me too, or at least she thinks she does.
Around six, I hear her moving in the bedroom. Shower running. The domestic normalcy of it hits wrong, like we’re playing house in the middle of a war zone. By the time she emerges, I've made coffee and burned toast I'll pretend is breakfast. It’s all I have. My sister may have watered my plants while I was gone, but she didn’t stock my apartment with any groceries. Honestly, it’s a miracle that I could get her to check on this place for me at all, so I should be grateful.
Peyton looks nothing like I imagined when she walks out in a navy blue bathrobe I had hanging in my closet. She looks ten times better. With her hair pulled back in a simple ponytail and her face clean of makeup, she looks more beautiful than when I first set eyes on her.
Fuck me.
I’m in real trouble.
"Morning," she says, taking the coffee I offer without meeting my eyes.
"Morning."
“I’m going to need some clothes.”
