Page 70 of Merry Fake Bride

My heart flutters and I smile warmly. “I think that would be awesome.”

Kairo’s smile widens and he turns back to Mom. “It would be my pleasure.”

Twenty minutes after everyone retires to bed, I stand in the kitchen lazily swirling a teabag around in a cup of hot water.

A strange silence settles over the house while the blizzard rages outside, covering the world in such a thick blanket of white, it’s as if a white globe has been placed over the entire house.

As familiar as this moment is to every other winter I’ve spent here, something feels different.

I’m giddy at the thought of Kairo sleeping a few rooms away and I keep replaying his confession on the bridge.

He showed me his open wound with such quiet sincerity, trusting that I would listen and I wouldn’t hurt him.

Out of all our interactions together, that was the biggest gamble and yet the one that means the most.

It’s not the kind of pain you reveal to just anyone.

And he chose me.

The floor creaks behind me and I flinch, spinning around with my spoon held aloft.

Kairo stands in the doorway, topless, holding his balled-up shirt, and he winces with an apologetic smile.

“I’m so sorry. I was debating how best to announce my presence without scaring you and I did it anyway.”

“You’re fine,” I assure him, sheepishly lowering my spoon. “I’m not used to people being awake this late. You good?”

“Spilled my soda.” He holds his shirt up. “I was hoping I could wash it so I don’t have to drive back to the city in just a suit jacket and tie tomorrow.”

Isn’t that just a tasty image?Walking toward him, I hold out my hand. “I can take care of that.”

“Are you sure?”

“It’ll be much faster than explaining how to get our old machine to work.” Accepting his shirt, I walk to the other side of the kitchen and quickly set up a cycle. “If you have any special requirements for a shirt as fine as this, then I gotta tell you, our washer is as basic as they come.”

“As long as it’s washed on cold, everything else will be fine.”

“Cold. Got it.” Another few button presses, and I slip the shirt inside the washer and close the door. “Are you having trouble sleeping?”

Kairo crosses his thick arms over his bare chest and my heart leaps when I turn around.

He’s standing a foot away from my tea while leaning against the counter. “Sort of.”

“Anything I can do?”

Approaching my tea, it’s difficult to keep my eyes off him.

When we fucked all the way back in the bar, all clothes were kept on, and now he stands before me with this mouthwateringly sculpted body that looks like it was hand-drawn by Michelangelo himself.

His tawny skin almost glows under the single light I have attached to one of the cabinets.

Above his crossed arms, his dusky nipples nestle against stunning muscles that give rise to an overwhelming urge to reach out and touch them.

Are his pecs as soft as they look?

Or is it all rock-hard muscle from years of intensive activity?

I tear my gaze away before my ogling becomes rude and stand next to him, focusing on my tea.