Page 66

Serena
Ireach for my phone and shut the alarm off, turning over in bed and snuggling further under the covers. Archer has the softest sheets.
I just need five more minutes of sleep. Then I’ll get up and join him in the home gym.
Wait. Didn’t I already say that?
I crack an eyelid open and look at the screen, seeing it’s half an hour past six. How many times did I hit snooze?
I stifle a yawn as I roll out of bed and head into the walk-in closet, slipping on a tank and shorts. I need to get on the same schedule as him, but it’s hard when he wakes so ridiculously early. Yesterday morning he woke me in the best possible way, curled up against my back, holding me securely, but no such luck today.
He was perfectly polite all last night. Eating dinner together, bringing him his whiskey later, giving him a massage. He obviously enjoyed it, but he didn’t initiate anything more. Even when he came to bed, he said a quick goodnight and rolled over to face away from me. Not rudely, but like he actually needed to sleep. And it’s not as if I can blame him for sleeping in his own bed.
I just wish he wanted to do more with me in it.
I need to capture that closeness between us again. If we keep spending time together, maybe it’ll spark something. Maybe he’ll kiss me again. Maybe he’ll do more.
And maybe he’ll fall in love with you and you’ll have ten babies and life will be magical.
I chuckle to myself as I exit the bedroom and head down the hallway to the home gym, opening the door to find him lifting weights, his biceps flexing and releasing as he brings the heavy dumbbells up and back down. Mmm, yes, please.
He doesn’t notice me, and I take the opportunity to watch him unobserved. Those full lips inhaling and exhaling in a steady rhythm as he lifts. The barest hint of sweat at his temples. His dark brows narrowed over his eyes, fully focused on his task. If only he’d concentrate on me like that.
The last time I was here, I’d felt his attention on me some, but today, I want more. Not politeness, not friendliness, but a genuine reaction from him.
“Is it okay if I join you?” I ask, his gaze cutting to me.
He falters in his rhythm as he gives me a once-over, lingering on my legs. I’ll take that as a win.
“Have at it,” he says. “You doing yoga again?”
I nod, unrolling a mat. Now that he’s not on the treadmill, there’s less space between us. Perfect. “My offer still stands to teach you.” Not that I expect him to take me up on that. I wouldn’t even know where to start teaching someone else.
“I’m good.”
He switches weights and transitions into shoulder presses, and I step on the mat, going through a few sun salutations until my leg cramps up, not used to this kind of stretching first thing in the morning. When I do practice, it’s usually at night when my body is looser from moving all day.
“Ugh.” I drop down on one side, massaging my left calf.
He sets his weights down, kneeling next to me. “You okay?”
My heart melts at the concern on his face. “Yeah, just give me a second.”
“Is it your ankle?”
My ankle? What- Oh, that’s right. When Petey kept tripping me on Sunday. “No, my calf. It seized up.”
“Here.” He brushes my hands away, replacing them with his own, the pressure from his fingers doing wonders to release the knot that’s formed.
A groan escapes me, his gaze flicking up to my face. Yeah, there’s no way he could mistake that as anything other than a sexual sound.
I bite my lip, muttering, “Sorry,” as he continues to work his magic on my leg.
“Usually, it’s the other way around,” he says softly. He’s right. And there’s nothing I love more than hearing him groan in delight when my hands are on him. “Any better?”
“Yeah, but maybe, um, a little higher?”
I swear I only meant higher on my calf, but he moves instead to my thigh, and I’m definitely not going to tell him to go back down. I keep biting my lip so as not to release any more sounds, the area hypersensitive where he massages, and I grip the mat so I don’t reach out for him. He’s not touching me anywhere technically wrong, but with it being so close to where I really want him, it’s hard not to imagine his hand shifting a little further north and around.