Grayson shifted beside her, and she woke up disoriented, tangled in the blankets.
Moonlight and the glow from the parking lot below filtered through the crack in the curtains. Wren blinked at the glowing red numbers on the clock.
3:18 a.m.
Glancing next to her, she saw Grayson was asleep on his back, one arm flung above his head. He was still lying above the covers, another way he insured she felt less threatened. It was a sweet gesture and very appreciated. The pillow wall remained between them, the thick cushions creating a barrier she didn’t feel the need for any longer.
Wren lifted one of them, tossing it to the floor on her side of the bed, then—foolishly—scooching closer. Close enough that she could feel the heat radiating from his body.
Perhaps exhaustion mingled with drowsiness was making her loopy, because she suddenly wanted to see him better.
He looked younger in sleep, more relaxed.
During the day, Grayson carried himself with a kind of quiet control that reminded her of a banked fire—steady and contained but powerful. All of that was softened now.
His dark hair had fallen across his forehead, and his mouth, usually set in a dry almost-smirk, was relaxed.
He was ridiculously handsome.
Before him, Wren had never felt true attraction.
She rolled onto her back again because this needed to stop.
She didn’t do attraction. Period.
Besides, this attraction was a messy, complicated one, wrapped up in lies and land mines. He thought she was Lark, and in order for her sister to keep her job, he needed to keep believing that.
Yet her stupid brain kept replaying the day. How he’d saved her from the drunk man, the hug, the way he called her little bird.
Beside her, Grayson shifted, turning toward her in his sleep, and without the pillow barrier, his arm landed heavily on her waist.
Every thought in her head evaporated as she went perfectly still beneath the solid weight of his arm. Wren’s heart hammered so hard, she was shocked it didn’t wake him.
That was when she realized it wasn’t fear causing her to freeze. Even asleep, his touch felt grounding somehow, protective.
The sane thing would be to move his arm, to rebuild the pillow wall, to reinforce all the boundaries she should have maintained throughout the day.
Instead, she stayed exactly where she was. Because despite the chaos inside her head, one thing screamed louder than anything else.
She liked being held by him.
Not trapped, not cornered.
Held.
A sleepy sound rumbled low in his chest, and his arm tightened reflexively around her waist, tugging her an inch closer.
Curled against Grayson in the middle of a hotel bed, Wren felt something she barely recognized.
Peace.
So, rather than pull away, she let her eyes drift shut again.
Morning would come soon enough, but for right now, wrapped in the warmth of his arm, she let herself pretend one more thing.
That this was real…and she could have it.
Chapter Six
