Page 47 of Hacking His Code

Holy Jesus, you just told her she could trust you. Don’t fucking ogle her.

“Okay, so…you’re now my professional cuddler? Is that how I should introduce you to people?”

Her body slides next to mine, her head connecting softly with my shoulder. Her light, flowery scent fills my nostrils, and I adjust myself around her.

“See, that wasn’t so bad,” I say, using my phone to turn off the lights.

Her body is rigid, her hand trembling as it presses against my torso.

“You don’t have to be scared of touching me. You’re not going to hurt me.”

“It’s just…very personal,” she replies.

“That’s the point.”

I take her hand and place it against my chest, so she can feel my beating heart.

Big mistake, because my heart is now racing.

For her.

She relaxes, her fingers stretching, gaining more confidence. Her breathing slows, caressing my neck with its warm rush.

I could be content just lying here all night, feeling her cheek against me, breathing her in. It’s a feeling unlike any I’ve had before. A contentness I’m not used to.

“Hunter?” Her voice comes out like a whisper.

“Yeah?”

“Thank you.”

Arinessa

I wakewith my body pressed against Hunter’s, his warm breath gently cascading over my bare shoulder.

My heart should be racing. I should be anxious and trying like hell to find a way to gracefully exit the room—no, the planet.

And yet, I outwardly sigh, extending my arm further over his midsection.

My body fits perfectly alongside his, and despite being solid muscle, his firmness is divine. Snuggled against him, his scent is stronger, more powerful. Intoxicating. It’s as calming as any essential oil, the kind of manly musk I’ve read about in romance novels.

I imagine it’s how a boyfriend would smell. One part safe, another part alluring, wholly inviting. What I wouldn’t give to roam his body further, exploring his hard muscles with my hand, my leg, my mouth. I hardly think he’d object.

What I wouldn’t give for more courage.

Hunter stretches, and I back away, giving him room in case he doesn’t feel the same way I do.

“That was a good six hours,” he says. “I expect a proper yelp review. A good tip.”

His hair is tousled, yet perfect, because he’s been given all the gifts in life.

My hair, on the other hand, is in desperate need of a comb and de-tangler.

He hops out of bed with way more grace than I mustered yesterday and proceeds to the bathroom.

To say that last night was significant is an understatement. I feel like another woman, one who wants to live her life, love, and trust again.

Sure, there are a few rotten apples in the barrel, but maybe not all guys are deserving of my contempt.