Page 65 of Desperate Games

That danger.

That impossible want.

I clutch the towel tighter and whisper, “Where am I supposed to sleep?”

He looks down at me for a beat too long. Then shrugs nonchalantly.

“In the bed, Mrs. Falco.”

And holy shit, that does something to me too.

Chapter Eighteen-Remy

I wait until her breathing evens out—soft and steady—before I finish pretending to work at the small writing desk I have set up in the corner of my bedroom and slip into bed beside her.

Our bedroom now.

The thought is innocent enough, but heat fills me the second I think it.

She’s lying there on her side, the blanket bunched around her waist, dark hair curling against her cheek, face relaxed in a way I haven’t seen since that last night we were together.

Back when I thought we almost had a shot at something real.

We can still have that, my inner monster whispers.

I hope like hell he’s right.

She looks so peaceful in slumber.

Innocent.

And fuck, she looks soft.

So goddamn soft it hurts.

I shouldn't touch her. I know I shouldn't.

But I do.

Just a little.

I slide in behind her and gently wrap an arm around her middle. Not possessive. Not demanding. Just needing to feel her.

The second I do?

She sighs in her sleep and moves closer—turns into me like it’s instinct.

Like I belong there.

And she belongs right there with me.

Her body fits against mine perfectly, her ass brushing my hips, her head tucked under my chin. I feel her settle.

Feel her trust me in this unconscious way that’s more honest than anything she’s said awake.

It kills me.

I fucking love it.