“I want to pretend thatneverhappened,” she says, voice crystal clear. “We weren’t… I wasn’t…”
“Cuddlingyour new husband?” I ask. I use the word the way she did last night, like it’s something dirty. It should be.Because I shouldn’t enjoy the feel of her in my arms or the weight of her head against my chest.
“Ugh. Don’t use that word.” She blows out a loud breath. “We made it through the night, at least.”
“Vaguely insulting that you thought you wouldn’t.”
“Really?” Her voice brightens. “Insulting you is my favorite hobby.”
I look over my shoulder at her and immediately regret it. She’s stretched out in bed. Inmybed, inmybedroom, inmyhouse. Wearing my t-shirt and my damn diamond ring on her ring finger.
One arm is resting above her head, and her long blonde hair is a mess on the white linen pillow. Her skin is rosy, and there’s just a hint of dark smudge beneath her eyes, like she didn’t get all of the wedding makeup off last night.
I can never let her know the deep, primal thrill seeing her here causes.
“If you truly want to insult me, you’re going to have to try a bit harder,” I tell her.
“That’s a challenge. I like challenges.” She gives me a small, taunting smile. “What time is it? We have brunch with the guests and then that sunset cruise.”
A glance at my phone reveals what I’ve already suspected. We’ve slept far too late. “Almost eleven.”
Her eyes widen. “What?”
“Yeah.”
“Shit.” She pushes up, and I take that opportunity to get up. I haven’t slept in this much clothing in years and I can’t wait to get it off. To step beneath the punishing spray of cold water and wash her touch, her scent, her feel away.
To get rid of this painful erection.
“Your mother wanted to have breakfast with me this morning,” Paige says. “Shoot, I don’t want to keep her waiting.”
I half turn. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll tell her to leave you alone.”
“I don’t mind,” Paige says, almost defensively, like I’m the one who’s insulted her. “I’d like to get to know her.”
Her eyes drop, and then they widen.
Shit.
I follow her gaze to the outline in my sweatpants. I can feel my cock twitch hungrily under her eyes. “Ignore it,” I tell her.
Her mouth opens and then closes. Then opens again. “Tell me you’re not attracted to me again?” she asks.
“Don’t flatter yourself,” I tell her in a hard voice. Deflect, deny. “It’s morning.”
“I know what time of day it is,” she says. But then her eyes drop to my neck, and her face turns blank. The taunting smile that played across her full lips disappears.
She looks away. “I’m showering after you,” she says and reaches for her phone.
I lock the bathroom door behind me and look in the mirror. That’s when I see it. There’s a round bruise spreading over the side of my neck from the fight two nights ago. It was a closer call than it should’ve been. He landed a solid, open-handed hit against my neck, and it nearly knocked the wind out of me.
Now the bruise is angry against my skin. She saw it. Just like she noticed the bruise on my ribs at that damn couple’s massage a week ago, and the scar from all those years ago.
She sees too damn much.
And yet I don’t seem to want her to look away.
CHAPTER 33
