His arms tightened around me, and I felt him press a soft kiss to the top of my head. “Sleep, love. I’ll be right here.”
As I drifted toward sleep, warm and safe in Eamon’s embrace, one thought echoed through my drowsy mind.
I wished this could be real.
I wished the danger would disappear, that Eamon’s assignment would end, and that somehow we could build something genuine together.
I wished I could wake up every morning in his arms, cook breakfast for him in my own kitchen, introduce him to my parents as my real boyfriend instead of my protective detail posing as my fake boyfriend.
I wished I wasn’t falling in love with someone whose entire identity might be an elaborate lie.
But wishes were dangerous things, and I was already in far too deep to protect myself from the inevitable heartbreak. For now, though, I had this—his arms around me, his heartbeat beneath my ear, and the illusion that we were two men sharing a bed because they wanted to be together.
It would have to be enough.
EIGHTEEN
EAMON
I woke to sunlight streaming through the cabin’s small window and the most perfect weight against my chest that I’d ever felt in my long, long life.
Charles was still asleep, curled against my side with one arm flung across my ribs and his face pressed into the hollow of my shoulder. His hair was sticking up at impossible angles, and there was a small wet spot on my chest where he’d drooled slightly in sleep. He looked younger like this, peaceful and unguarded, without the careful smile he wore for the world or the worry lines that had appeared since Carlo entered our lives.
Ourlives. Christ on a bicycle, when had I started thinking of it that way?
For a few precious minutes, I let myself pretend this was real. That I was simply a man waking up next to someone I cared about, in a bed we shared because we wanted to be together, not because of some elaborate protection scheme. That Charles knew exactly who I was and chose to be here anyway.
The fantasy was so seductive that I almost convinced myself it could be true.
Charles stirred against my chest, making a soft sound that went straight to parts of me that had no business responding this early in the morning. His fingers flexed against my ribs, and I felt him take a deeper breath as he began to surface from sleep.
“Morning,” he mumbled against my shoulder, his voice rough and warm.
“Morning, love.” The endearment slipped out before I could stop it, but Charles smiled and nuzzled closer.
“What time is it?”
I craned my neck to see the old-fashioned alarm clock on the nightstand. “Just past eight.”
“Mmm. Haven’t slept this well in days.” He tilted his head up to look at me, and the soft contentment in his brown eyes made my chest tight. “Thank you for staying and for not making it weird.”
I wanted to tell him it was the least weird thing that had ever happened to me, that waking up with him felt more natural than breathing. Instead, I brushed a wayward lock of hair off his forehead and tried to ignore the way he leaned into the touch.
“Any time,” I said, and meant it more than he could possibly know.
We lay there for a while longer, trading lazy touches and quiet conversation. Charles told me about a dream he’d had involving a wedding cake made entirely of ice cream that kept melting before he could finish decorating it. It sounded frustrating.
Eventually, the need for coffee lured us out of bed and into the day. Charles fed Wolfgang first, then started on our breakfast. Watching Charles move aroundthe small kitchen, humming softly as he scrambled eggs and toasted bread on the ancient gas stove, something settled into place in my chest that I didn’t have a name for. He’d pulled on a worn sweater, and every time he reached for something in the upper cabinets, it rode up to reveal a tantalizing strip of skin at his lower back.
This was what domestic bliss looked like. Not grand gestures or passionate declarations, but quiet mornings and shared coffee and someone humming while they cooked for you because they wanted to take care of you. This was what my parents had shared, what their love had looked like.
I wanted it with a desperation that scared me.
“Penny for your thoughts,” Charles said, setting a plate in front of me.
I looked down at perfectly scrambled eggs, golden toast, and fresh fruit arranged with the same care he brought to his professional work. Even with limited supplies and a temperamental stove, he’d created something beautiful.
“Just thinking how lucky I am,” I said, which was true enough.
