Her brown eyes cloud over. “It’s a big bed. I was hoping…I don’t want to be alone tonight.”
Fuck. This is a bad idea. I don’t care what Austin says. I’m falling for Sloane, have been since I first laid eyes on her. But that doesn’t mean she feels the same. Or that she’s ready for anything more than what we’ve shared so far. A few hot-as-fuck kisses and comfort.
“Do you have a side?” I ask as I shut the door. In less than twenty-four hours, we’ve gone from strangers to somethingmore. Something real. I could screw it all up by staying in her bed tonight, but I want this—need this—as much as she does.
Sloane fiddles with the belt on her robe. “I like being able to see the sky. Even if it’s just through a crack in the drapes.” Before I can grab the duvet, she reaches for my arm. “I don’t like the dark. There’s…um…a nightlight next to the dresser. Is that…okay?”
I wish I could hear her voice. Because her expression? It’s like she’s expecting me to say no. Or to call her a coward. Or weak. “I’ll turn it on.”
By the time I flip the switch, she’s shed the robe, only a soft t-shirt and pair of barely there shorts covering her body. I don’t know how I’m supposed to sleep next to her all night without a massive hard-on. Distraction? There aren’t enough baseball stats in the world to keep me from thinking about how good it feels to have her pressed against me. Kissing me. Smiling at me. I’m so far gone for this woman, it’s ridiculous, and we only just met.
But Austin’s right. Protecting her? It cuts through so much of the standard relationship crap—all the shit that gets in the way of falling in love. We’re together twenty-four-seven, and that makes it impossible to hide so much. Like my arm. Her nervous tics.
Before I get into bed, I slide the small vibrating button under the pillow, but when I reach for the light, the truth of what’s about to happen hits me like a sledgehammer, and I drop my hand, staring at the lamp like it’s my worst enemy. Until Sloane skims her hand down my arm.
Turn around, idiot. Talk to her.
But I can’t. Not even after she scoots closer and tugs on my right sleeve. But then she places her palm over my heart and moves it in a circle. The ASL sign forplease.
“What’s wrong?” she asks when I face her.
Taking a deep breath is harder than it should be. Like my next words are tying themselves around my chest and squeezing the life out of me. “Once I turn off the light, we can’ttalkanymore.”
“Oh.” After a long moment, she presses a small button right next to the headboard, and tiny lights flicker on, set into the wood. “One advantage of fancy hotels. Reading lights.”
The simple gesture makes my eyes burn. It’s nothing. Less than nothing. All she did was flip a fucking switch. But the idea of being able to lie down next to her and carry on a conversation? It makes me feel like I’m not so broken.
But when we face one another? A dozen questions battle it out in my head, all scrambling to break free until Sloane silences them all by leaning in and kissing me.
“I’m sorry,” she says as soon as she pulls back enough for me to see her lips. “I know this is just pretend. But you were right. I did have fun tonight. With you. And it wasn’t just because you make me feel safe.”
Reaching out to cup the back of her neck, I pull her half on top of me and claim her lips with all the passion I’ve been holding back since this morning. No one has ever affected me like Sloane Sanders, and I’m starting to think no one ever will.
One of her legs drapes over mine, and our position allows me to feel the vibration in her chest as she moans—at least I hope that’s the sound she’s making. She fists my t-shirt, and if I had the full use of both arms, I’d wrap them around her and hold her close all fucking night.
Instead, I let my hand trail down her back until I reach her ass. Her entire body goes rigid, and she jerks, breaking off the kiss, and sits up.
“Sloane? What did I do?”
She won’t answer me, just covers her face with her hands as her entire torso shakes with the force of her sobs. Her fear and shame fill the room, and, by God, I’d do anything just to get her to smile again. Or even look at me.
“Sweetheart, talk to me. Please.”
Shaking her head, she swipes at her cheeks and turns away, burrowing under the covers with her back to me. Is she purposely trying to shut me out? Or is this just a defense mechanism?
With no other option, I get to my feet, skirt the bed, and kneel in front of her. The pain etched on her face is enough to send me back onto my ass, and the puzzle pieces fall into place.
“I haven’t kissed anyone in…a long time.”
“I’ve never had a normal relationship.”
“Have you ever had sex?” The question is blunt as fuck, but it gets her to look at me.
Her eyes hold none of their usual warmth. “You know what happened to me when I came to this country.”
“That wasn’t sex. That was rape.” She flinches at the word, and I want to apologize, but I don’t know how else to get through to her. “I won’t pressure you, sweetheart. Nothing has to happen you’re not ready for. But, I need you to trust me. Trustone thing.”
“What?” Sloane’s gaze darts to the night stand where I placed the last four handkerchiefs that came with the tux. All with the same dark blue stitching. Her eyes well with more tears until she uses a fresh one to dash them away.
