She complied without argument, allowing me to untie and pull her top over her head. I tried not to look, tried to maintain some semblance of clinical detachment as I helped her out of her clothes, but I was only human. My gaze caught on the lace of her bra, on the smooth expanse of her stomach, on the delicate curve of her hip as I helped her step out of her skirt. My blood rushed south so fast, I almost passed the fuck out.
Once she was down to her underwear, I helped her into my shirt. My fingers brushed against her skin as I guided her armsthrough the sleeves, and I had to grit my teeth against the desire to let those touches linger.
“Bed,” I said, more to myself than to her. Leading her to our bedroom, I pulled back the covers and helped her lie down. She went willingly, her body soft and pliant as I tucked the sheets around her.
“Will you stay?” she asked in a small voice. “Please? I don't want to be alone.”
I hesitated, knowing I should keep my distance, knowing this was dangerous territory for both of us. But the vulnerability in her voice unraveled me. “I'll stay until you fall asleep.”
I sat on the edge of the bed, and to my surprise, she reached for my hand, twining her fingers with mine. The simple contact felt more intimate than it had any right to.
“Thank you for coming to get me,” she murmured, her eyes already drifting shut. “For taking care of me.”
“I’ll always come for you,” I promised.
Her breathing deepened and her fingers went slack in mine as sleep claimed her. I watched her for a long moment, memorizing the fan of her lashes against her cheeks, the slight part of her lips, the way her hair spread across the pillow in a dark tangle.
Before I could talk myself out of it, I leaned down and pressed my lips to her forehead in a ghost of a kiss. “You're wrong,” I whispered against her skin, the confession easier with her unable to hear me. “I do want you. So much that it scares me. So much that I don't trust myself around you.”
She stirred slightly and though she didn’t wake, her face turned toward mine as if seeking more contact. I pulled away before I could give in to the temptation and gently extracted my hand from hers as I stood.
The pillow wall she usually constructed between us was absent tonight. And as I looked down at her sleeping form, I knew I should rebuild it—that physical barrier that kept us separate,that reminded us both that this marriage wasn't real, that we weren't really husband and wife in any way that mattered.
Instead, I walked around to my side of the bed and carefully lay down beside her. Not touching, not crossing that invisible line, but close enough to hear her breathing, to feel the warmth radiating from her body.
Just to make sure she was okay.
But as I closed my eyes, the familiar weight of guilt and longing heavy on my chest, I knew I was lying to myself. I wanted to be here, beside her, pretending for a few hours that she was truly mine. That I had the right to sleep next to her, to care for her.
The thought should have terrified me. Instead, it followed me into sleep like a promise… or a curse.
Chapter 16
Cece
Pain split my skull open the moment I tried to open my eyes. I slammed them shut again, but it was too late, the damage was done. My brain throbbed against my skull, each pulse sending waves of nausea through my body. My mouth felt like I'd licked the floor of the subway—parched, disgusting, and coated in something I didn't want to identify. When I dared to move my hand, it brushed against soft cotton that definitely wasn't the dress I'd worn out.
Shit. What the hell happened last night?
I forced my eyes open again, squinting against the offensive brightness filling the room. The bedroom. Rafe's bedroom. Our bedroom. I was in bed, but something felt different. The pillow wall—my nightly fortress of solitude—was missing. And I was wearing... I lifted the sheet and looked down. Rafe's shirt.
"What the actual fuck," I croaked, my voice a gravelly mess that hurt my own ears.
Fragments of memories floated through the fog in my brain—tequila shots with Izzy, dancing until sweat plastered my hair to my neck, some guy's cologne that was too strong, Rafe appearingout of nowhere like some avenging angel. After that, things got hazy. Had Rafe brought me home? Had I said something stupid? Done something stupid?
A sudden flash of memory hit me—me, saying something about Rafe's hands, his mouth, how I thought about him when I...
"Oh no." I groaned and pulled the sheet over my head. I'd confessed to fantasizing about him. To his face. While drunk off my ass. Perfect. Just fucking perfect.
I tried to sit up, but the room spun too much, so I just collapsed back against the pillow. I needed to get my bearings, needed to piece together what happened after the club. I remembered Rafe carrying me—literally carrying me in his arms like some damsel in distress.
And I remembered...
"Aw, shit," I whispered as another memory surfaced. "I threw up." The bathroom. Rafe holding my hair back. Rafe wiping my face with a cool cloth. Rafe helping me out of my clothes.
My face burned with the kind of mortification that made me want to fake my own death and flee to another country. Dignified, sophisticated Cece had turned into a vomiting, babbling mess in front of the one man I'd been trying to impress for longer than I cared to admit.
And of course, in the middle of my little meltdown, the bedroom door opened. I froze, contemplating whether I could believably pretend to be asleep. But it was too late. Rafe stepped into the room carrying a tray, his eyes immediately finding mine. He looked unfairly good for this early in the morning—dark hair slightly damp from a shower, jaw freshly shaved, wearing a faded black t-shirt that hugged his chest in a way that would have been distracting if I weren't busy dying of embarrassment.
