Page 72 of Wade’s Wrath

“Just to sleep,” she assured him as though that was a possibility with her lying next to him.

“You're wearing my fucking shirt,” he growled.

She looked down and then back up at him. “So?”

“Don't act like you don't understand the problem.”

Her lips twitched. “I thought you had self-control.”

“I do,” he insisted.

“Then prove it,” she challenged. She was drawing a line in the sand, and he wanted to fucking erase the entire thing.

“That's not how this works,” he growled.

“Why not?” she asked.

“Because I'm tired,” he insisted.

“So am I,” she assured.

“And you kissed me tonight,” he said.

She smiled. “I remember.”

“Not helping,” he grumbled.

“I'm not trying to help,” she insisted.

Jesus fucking Christ. Wade tossed the blanket onto the couch. “Harlow.”

Her smile disappeared. “I don't want to be alone tonight.” That changed everything. He studied her face. She wasn’t teasing or challenging him anymore. She was just being honest with him. She didn’t want to be alone tonight.

“Are you afraid of nightmares?” he asked.

“Maybe.” She rubbed her hands over her arms. “Or maybe I’m worried that I'll just lie there thinking about Sarah, and my father, and tomorrow, and whether you're coming back.”

Wade's chest tightened. “I'll stay until you fall asleep.”

“No,” she breathed.

“Harlow—” he started.

“I'm not asking you to sit in a chair.” She stepped closer, but was careful not to touch him. “I'm asking you to sleep beside me.”

Wade stared down at her. “You sure?”

“Yes,” she breathed.

“You change your mind at any point—” he said.

“I'll tell you,” she promised.

“You want space—” he breathed.

“I'll tell you,” she assured.

“You want me out—” he said.