I burrow deeper into him and close my eyes, breathing him in, feeling happier than I have in longer than I can remember.
* * *
The bangingon the front door jolts me from sleep.My eyes snap open, disoriented, and I realize with a start that I’m draped across Alexander’s chest like a human blanket.There’s drool—actual drool—on his bare skin.Oh, god.
I wipe at my mouth frantically as another round of pounding shakes the house.Voices rise from downstairs—Dad’s, unmistakably angry, and another man’s I don’t immediately recognize.
“What’s happening?”Alexander’s voice is rough with sleep, his hand coming up to rest on my lower back.
I blink at the alarm clock on my nightstand—the ridiculous pink one shaped like a cat that I’ve had since I was twelve, complete with a moving tail that serves as the second hand.
“It’s seven in the morning,” Alexander mutters before I can focus on the time, his other arm tightening around me reflexively.
Downstairs, Dad’s voice rises to a shout.“I don’t know what you’re talking about!Those lights have been on my roof for a week!”My brain, still foggy with sleep, tries to piece together what’s happening.Dad’s fighting with someone.About a display.On the roof.
The memories of last night come crashing back.Oh, no.
I sit up so fast my head spins, scrambling to get off the bed.But in my panic, instead of sliding off my side like a normal person, I try to clamber over Alexander’s side because it’s closer to the door.
My knee lands on the mattress beside his hip.My hands brace on his bare chest for balance.And suddenly I’m straddling him, my body pressed against his in a way that makes every nerve ending light up with awareness.
I freeze.Because I feel it—him—hard and unmistakable, pressed against exactly where I’m sitting.
Warmth floods my face, my neck, spreading down my entire body.My breath catches in my throat, and I find myself unable to process anything except the sensation of his body beneath mine, the warmth of his bare skin under my palms, the way his chest rises and falls with each breath, the heat of him even through my thin pajama shorts.
Alexander’s hands clamp onto my hips, his fingers digging into the fabric of my sleep shorts with enough force to make me gasp.His voice comes out strained, almost pained.“Don’t move.”
I can’t move.Can’t breathe.Can’t think.My heart hammers against my ribs so hard I’m sure he can feel it where my palms rest on his chest.His skin is hot under my touch, smooth muscle flexing beneath my fingers.
“You’re—” I start, but the word dies on my lips.
“I know,” he grits out, and when I dare to look at his face, I see something dark in his eyes that makes my stomach flip and my legs press together.His jaw is tight, a muscle ticking there, and his gaze drops to where our bodies are pressed together before snapping back to my face.The look in his eyes—hungry, possessive, barely controlled—sends a bolt of pure desire through me that I have no business feeling for my boss.Fake boyfriend.Whatever he is.
Downstairs, Dad’s voice cuts through again, angrier now.“You’re accusing me of theft?In my own house?”
“Alexander,” I whisper, his name coming out breathy and desperate.
His fingers flex on my hips once, twice, before he releases me.“Go.”His voice is rough gravel.“I’ll be with you in a minute.”
I practically throw myself off him, my legs unsteady as I grab my robe from the back of the door.My hands shake as I tie it, and I can feel his gaze burning into my back as I flee the room.
But even as I run down the hallway, even as I hear the chaos unfolding downstairs, all I can think about is the feel of him beneath me, the warmth of his bare skin, and the way he looked at me like he wanted to devour me whole.
Focus, Olivia.
I take the stairs two at a time.The scene in the foyer stops me cold.Dad stands in his fuzzy blue bathrobe—the one with reindeer on it that Mom got him five Christmases ago—facing off against Mr.Brookman, who’s wearing an equally ridiculous green plaid number.They’re both gesturing wildly, their voices rising.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about!”Dad shouts, his face red.
“Oh, don’t give me that!”Brookman jabs a finger at Dad’s chest.“My display is missing, and suddenly you have a fancy new one?I know it was you, Bob!”
“What fancy display?”Dad’s confusion seems genuine, and I realize with a jolt that he hasn’t looked outside yet.He doesn’t know about the surprise on our roof.“Is this another one of your drunken rants, Danny?”
“Stop pretending you don’t know about that monstrosity on your rooftop!”
I tug at Dad’s sleeve.“Dad, I can explain?—”
“Not now, Olivia.”He brushes me off, turning back to Brookman.“You’ve gone crazy, Danny.If someone stole your display, how is that my problem?”
