Page 44 of Fatal Deception
“So trade with me.”
“I’m notthatbig of a martyr,” she replied, though she was beginning to wonder.
“Sure about that?”
Frustrated with him as much as herself, she sat up, leaned over the end of the bed to peer down at him. It was shadowy dark, but she could make out the lump of him lying on the hard, cold floor. She’d never be able to sleep knowing it.
“This isn’t an invitation.”
She couldn’t see his eyes in the dark, but somehow she could feel his gaze all the same. “What isn’t?”
“It’s a big enough bed to share. If you can stay on your side.”
Maybe she expected him to put up alittlebit of a fight, but hewasn’ta martyr. He immediately moved. He tossed the pillow onto the side of the bed she wasn’t on, then she felt the weight of the mattress dip.
Why had she thought this would make it easier to sleep? Sure, guilt wasn’t eating at her now, but everything else was. How close he was. How odd it was to feel the weight of someone else in her bed. The smell of her shampoo that he must have used mixed with whatever made Copeland… Copeland.
How had she gotten here, and how was she ever going to explain it all to her family when they returned?
Natalie thought she was sleeping with Copeland, and now she was in the most literal way possible. Rosalie would be furious she’d kept so much to herself. Franny would be hurt, because she could visit her parents anytime, so Audra really should have told her, let her come home.
And now she probably had to tell them both before she wanted to, just so they didn’t hear some small-town-gossip version of everything.
Just the thought had the tears returning. She didn’t know how to make it okay. How to make Rosalie not worry. How to keep Rosalie from ending her honeymoon early, or Franny rushing home. They wouldn’t want her to handle it alone and theyshould.
The guilt of it was too much. This washerranch,herproblem. She wiped one of her now wet cheeks against the pillowcase. She breathed carefully through her mouth as the tears streamed down her face. She wouldn’t let him know she was crying, thisman who was stubbornly and platonically sharing her bed. She wouldn’t…
“This isn’t an invitation either,” he muttered, drawing her close, then rolling her over so that she was tucked into his warm, hard chest. He ran a palm down her hair, brushed tears off her cheeks, and held her while she cried.
And because he did, she let it out. Sobbed out the whole awful ordeal. Just like what she’d said to him about telling her the whole story about his ex-wife. It was releasing toxins orsomething. She hated it, but at least it served a purpose.
She didn’t like to cry on Rosalie’s shoulder, or Franny’s, or Vi’s. Or Natalie’s oranyone’s. It made her feel weak and like she’d failed.
But this wasn’t so bad.
COPELAND WOKE UPto sunlight streaming on his face, and a warm body moving next to his. For a moment, he instinctually held on. It was nice. It was…
His eyes popped open. He would have shoved into a sitting position, but he was met by blue eyes fixed on his face.
God, she was pretty. He didn’t know how she could give off the aura of slim, delicate spring flowers knowing how strong, sturdy and determined she was. He knew she could handle anything and had, but he wanted to erect full fortresses to keep her safe.
He went from half-asleep to alert in a second, realizing he had one arm under her shoulder, and she was resting her hand at his inner elbow. Like maybe they’d fallen asleep, wrapped up together, after she’d cried herself empty.
He should get up. Leave this warm cocoon of…something. He’d comforted her while she cried, and that was it. Friendly. Helpful. He was hardly going to use an emotional breakdownas a kind of catalyst for…whatever this moment seemed to demand.
Butshedidn’t get up. She didn’t scoot away. They were so close their noses were almost touching. And neither jumped up to move. Neither looked away.
He knew he should do something to stop this, but she was just so soft and warm. So damn beautiful ithurt. Something was beating through him. Heavy, important, mixing with desire and the hazy notion that this wasn’t at all wrong.
It was, instead, exactly right.
She moved closer, close enough her body brushed his. Her mouth was just a whisper away. Her blue gaze never left his face.
He could close that little distance between them. He could kiss her, touch her. He could calm this thudding, needy conflict inside of him.
He could extricate himself. Slip out of bed. Pretend this wasn’t happening.
But he waited, watching her.