How is it possible that a man this formidable can be adorable. “Not a problem.” I shove my sweaty hair away from my face. Normally, this is the part where I beeline for the shower, but I make no move to get out of bed. “That was… Wow.”
“Wowgood, orwowbad?”
Stunned, I turn my head to see Rhys staring at the ceiling, a frown marring his gorgeous face. His arms are folded behind his head, with his penis still semi-hard. But while he appears relaxed, he most certainly isn’t. “Rhys, are you asking me if I enjoyed myself?”
After a tense pause, he grits out a terse, “Yes.”
I flip to face him and prop up my head on my palm, struggling not to laugh. When I trace a finger down the center of his torso, he sucks in a sharp breath. “That was the best sex I’ve ever had.”
The antihero that he is, he lifts that slightly cleft chin arrogantly. “Of course it was.” He slides me some serious side-eye. “I wanted to hear you admit it.”
“Of course you did.” Silly man fishing for compliments. Tired, I drop my arm and let my head hit the pillow. Rhys remains on top of the blankets when I crawl under the covers. “You’re not going to sleep?”
“First, you left me out in the rain. Then you put me in another room. I assume that’s where I’m staying for the duration of my time here.”
With a roll of my eyes, I pat the mattress. “Rhys, get under the damn covers.”
It’s the melodramatic sigh for the win as he gets himself comfortable on the other side of the bed. Fuck that. I shimmy all up in his business and hunker in, resting my head in the crookof his shoulder. I throw my arm across his chest, maybe liking it too much when he tugs me in closer.
He kisses the top of my head. “This is where you belonged the first two nights.”
“I know,” I whisper. Then, I say so softly, I wonder if he even hears me, “Rhys?”
He nestles me closer on an exhale. “What is it, Charlotte?”
“I don’t do this. This isn’t me.”
His powerful body goes tense. “What isn’t you?”
“This.” I don’t know why I need to explain myself, but I do. “I’m not the person who has sex with strangers.”
He relaxes, his hand landing on my head to stroke my hair. “Why does this matter?”
“Most men care about a woman’s body count.”
He’s quiet for a long time, and all I want is for the earth to open and swallow me whole. Finally, he asks, “How many men have you been with, Charlotte?”
“Two,” I admit. “Counting you.”
“I see,” he practically hums before adding, “Charlotte?”
“Yes?”
He stops stroking my hair. “I’m not most men. It’ll make our days together less stressful for you if you remember that.” A lifetime of tension eases out of me from the unfair judgment the Wembleys have thrown my way for absolutely no damn reason. “Sleep well, Charlotte Mallory.”
More relaxed than I’ve been in…ever, I close my eyes. “You as well, Rhys Ravenstone.”
Never have I ever felt more protected, safer, and cherished than I do in this stranger’s arms. And no, it’s not because IFrankensteined him. Rhys is his own person, he said so himself. He can get up and walk right out the front door. The Book Boyfriends brought us together. But like oil and water, if two people don’t mix, well…
No harm, no foul.
But here we are, pairing like cookies and milk.
Um, wait, let’s go with bullets and guns. I mean, come on. Rhys is the Antihero, not the Cinnamon Roll. I’ll leave that type of book boyfriend for someone else. This one…
He’s mine.
At least for the next few days.
