But these were morning problems. And right now, I had her in my room, showing no sign of wanting to leave, and hours left before I needed to re-establish the rules of our arrangement.
“Can I hold you?” I asked gently. “And for the rest of the night, let’s just pretend that none of these problems exist.”
Ri nodded and wriggled her way back into my arms. I pressed a soft kiss to her forehead, and she yawned widely.
“You’re tired.” A flash of disappointment gripped me, but I held onto a tiny thread of hope as I asked, “Would you like to sleep in here tonight? With me?”
“We really are breaking the rules tonight, aren’t we?” she teased, smothering another yawn. “Fair warning; I’m terrible at personal space when I’m asleep. I’ll wind up half on top of you before morning.”
I lost all ability to speak. Instead, I silently tugged back the covers, which was more than enough of an explanation on how I felt about letting her encroach my personal space.
Her eyes found mine, the blue in them bright, conveying something that I wasn’t sure I understood.
But when she crawled into bed with me, I didn’t hesitate before I tugged her against my side, wrapping her up in my arms. She’d said earlier that she wanted the full no-rules experience. Well, so did I, and that meant holding her while she slept.
And when I woke in the dark to her sleepy kisses, and her hands trailing down my stomach, I rolled over her, swept her hair away from her face, and I revisited all the places on her body that I’d discovered earlier in the night. We made quiet, slow, wordless love, until she was mewling under me, and I was spilling into her, and the moonlight bleached her hair silver, and set stars to sparkling in her eyes. She was like a creature from a fantasy world who would disappear when the sun came up.
And I was terrified of the sudden realisation that I didn’t want her to disappear. Not from my bed, not from my yacht … not from my life.
But this wasn’t about me. It had never been about me. What she needed from me was something that these feelings couldn’t provide. I lay awake for a long while afterwards, her head on my chest, her leg flung over my hips, reminding myself that getting emotional about this was a recipe for failure.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
All the Real Stuff
IRINA
Iwoke to sun blazing in through the windows and an empty bed. Well, empty except for the purring mass of orange that was curled up between my splayed legs.
I stretched, enjoying the feeling of having been very well fucked—twice. And that second time …o Doamne, it felt like a fever dream, like the sort of sex a couple who really knew one another might have.
But didn’t Henry know me better than pretty much anyone else at this point? Last night, I’d told him more about my past than I’d told anyone. I’d made myself vulnerable. And he’d responded, not as I had expected, but with kindness and understanding.
Maybe sharing the rest with him wouldn’t be all that awful?
I sighed, thinking of the box I’d retrieved from my bedroom. Yes, it would.
I’d been deliriously happy last night, when he was inside me. When he cared for me. But now, reality was creeping back in, and that sort of happiness, it just didn’t last. And I needed our marriage to last.
Disappointment sank like lead into the pit of my stomach, and I reached out to scratch Abernathy’s head. He lolled onto his back, and I stroked the lighter fur on his belly. “If only the rules weren’t so fuckingnecessary, Abs,” I murmured. One eye slitted open and found me with that judgemental gleam that cats had down to a fine art.
I hauled myself off the bed, finding the mostly-empty plate of fairy bread sitting on Henry’s desk. I scooped it up and headed for the door. No time like the present to face the walk of shame back to my own bedroom after having slept with my husband who I wasn’t supposed to be getting intimate with.
As the door opened, two male voices stopped talking. I glanced up, finding Henry and Lucian at the table.
Henry looked utterly adorable, with his bed-head curls and his cup of coffee. I longed to make a bee line for him, plonk myself down on his lap and plant a kiss on that stubbly cheek of his. And then another, right on those lips that would taste like coffee … and me.
They’d clearly been deep in discussion, but Henry’s face went pink when Lucian noticed me—still wearing Henry’s T-shirt and his boxer briefs. Lucian glowered in my direction, brows knitting.
Henry, on the other hand, looked everywhereexceptat me, his mouth a tight line that had my nerves jangling and all those naughty, romance-y thoughts tightening into a guilty ball in the pit of my stomach.
Lucian’s perma-scowl deepened, and he turned an accusing glare on Henry. I waited, expecting Henry to defend himself—defend us—but all that happened was his blush deepened.
“Don’t worry, Lucian,” I said acidly and with a confidence I didn’t feel as I strutted past the table. “It won’t happen again. Henry and I just needed to get it out of our system. And that’s exactly what we did. No more bumping dirty squirty bits, we’ll be purely professional!”
I dumped the stale fairy bread into the bin and the plate into the dishwasher. As I stalked from the kitchen, I overheard Lucian mutter, “What the fuck, Bax? What do you think you’re doing?”
I paused at the top of the stairs, morbid curiosity overtaking my need to get away.
