Page 110 of Imperfect Arrangement

“I know. And I’m glad everything happened the way it did. It was…” I exhale, shaking my head, unable to find the words. “Wow.”

His lips quirk, full of that maddening self-assured confidence that has the power to steal my breath away. “That good, huh?”

“That good,” I confirm.

Something shifts in the air between us—thicker, deeper, like we’re teetering on the edge of something neither of us knows how to name.

I swallow. “Can I ask you something?”

Raymond nods, his hands still moving along my arms.

“Why did you ask me about soulmates?” My fragile voice just barely makes it past my lips.

“It’s something Rowan asked me today. If I believed we can find the person meant just for us, our soulmate.”

“Really? I didn’t know guys talked about stuff like that.”

“Most guys don’t. But that’s Ro for you. He’s never been a usual guy.” Raymond’s hands tighten slightly on my waist. “Now get in bed, Firefly. It’s late.”

I arch a brow. “And byget in bed, you meanjust sleep, right?”

He smirks, leaning in, his lips brushing the shell of my ear. “I knew I’d eventually become irresistible to you, Miss Pershing.”

I shove at his chest, laughing despite myself. “You’re impossible.”

He smiles, tugging me down into bed beside him and wrapping his arms around me like it’s second nature, like this is exactly where I belong.

THE REAL MEANING OF LOVE

RAYMOND

If someone had told me a few months ago that I’d wake up with Willow Pershing sprawled across me—her wild red hair tickling my chest, her soft face tucked against my shoulder, her hands gripping my waist like I might disappear, and one leg draped over mine like it belonged there—I’d have laughed.

Not because I didn’t want her like this.

Hell, I’ve wanted her since the moment she marched into my life, full of sass and zero patience for my charm. No, I would have laughed because the Willow I knewthenwould rather chew glass than willingly crawl into my bed. Yet, here we are.

She came into this house, and somewhere along the way, everything shifted. The neat lines we drew around our arrangement blurred. Last night, the woman who swears up and down that she doesn’t do serious fell into my bed like she belonged there. And thank fuck for that.

But I know how this goes. Willow’s holding on to me now, her warm breath feathering against my skin like she never wants to let go. But the moment her eyes flutter open, she’ll hit the reset button. She’ll file last night undercasual—her favorite word and my least favorite these days—and pretend like none of this happened.

I can already picture it. She’ll sit up, cheeks flushed that gorgeous rosy pink, avoiding my eyes as she puts on her clothes in record time. Then, in a move that’s both maddening and strangely endearing, she’ll probably stick out her handsince she’s so fond of handshakes.

She’ll do everything to avoid her feelings. While part of me finds her antics ridiculously endearing, another part—okay, a very large part—wants to lock the door, throw her clothes out the window, and make damn sure she never leaves this bed.

But headbutting with Miss Pershing will never work. I’ve done that for a long time. So with as much care as I can muster, I ease out from under her and slip out of bed. I don’t want the last image of her in my room to be her rushing out the door.

I want this.Her,tangled in my sheets like she owns the place, which, let’s be honest, she does.

Willow Pershing has owned me from the moment she walked into my life. She claimed my thoughts the second she challenged me. She captured my daughter’s heart the day they met, and somewhere along the way, she’s taken over mine too.

I move quietly through my morning routine. Instead of a suit, I pull on a pair of sweats and a T-shirt. Not only because my casual look flusters her, but also because today isn’t just any day. It’s my daughter’s birthday.

I glance back at Willow one last time and, with a grin tugging at my lips, I step out of the room.

When I walk into Quill’s room, I’m greeted by the sight of her sprawled across her bed like a starfish. Her pajama pants are bunched up around her knees, and her blonde hair is everywhere—half of it draped over her face, and the rest strewn across the pillow like a very dramatic curtain.

She looks so peaceful, so utterly at ease. Dropping to my knees beside her bed, I brush the strands off her face and tuck them behind her ear so I can actuallyseeher face. Her eyelids flutter open, and the second she spots me, her lips curl wide and sleepy. It’s impossible not to match her expression. Her smile has that effect—it worms its way into every corner of my heart. Quill shuffles over, making space for me without a word, and I don’t need a second invitation. Sliding in beside her, I tug her close and pull the covers over both of us.