Page 19 of Pretend Wife (Angels of the Secret Order #4)

He turned to face me, one brow climbing up his forehead. “Are you telling me you want to share my bed, Sunday School?”

“I’m telling you that we’re grown adults who should be able to handle sleeping beside each other.”

“Mm.” He stalked toward me until we were toe-to-toe, and I had to tilt my head back to look him in the eye.

His hands landed on the door behind me on either side of my head, caging me in.

“So your plan is to act like strangers? You want me to pretend I don’t know what your skin tastes like or the sounds you make when I thrust my tongue in your mouth? ”

“S-stop it,” I whispered.

“You started this, Sunday School.”

“And you ended it,” I snapped at him. “You left and spent the past eight months flaunting an endless line of women on your arm.”

A gleam entered his eyes. “Are you jealous?”

“No,” I told him honestly. I was never jealous of those women. I was too busy being hurt by the fact that he could move on from me so easily.

Hayden’s eyes narrowed, a thread of irritation shooting through his aura. “Fine. We can share the bed like fucking strangers.”

I blinked at him, not understanding the sudden change. Why was he acting pissed off now? Being around him was a bit like riding a roller coaster with a blindfold on. There were highs and lows, and it was impossible to know what lay ahead or to brace myself.

He pushed off the door and stalked away from me, tension emanating from him. I stared at his retreating back, wondering what the heck had just happened.

I woke with an arm banded around my waist and a warm body at my back. Hayden was holding on to me like he was afraid someone was going to try to take me away from him.

Attempting to disentangle myself without waking him up, I pried his hand away from where it was tucked underneath me. He stirred, mumbling something incoherent as he somehow managed to wiggle even closer to me, his face nuzzling against my neck.

Oh God, why did that feel so good?

On my second attempt, I managed to slip out of Hayden’s hold. But I didn’t make it far before a hand caught my wrist.

“Sunday School?” Hayden asked, his voice thick with sleep.

Shoot.

“Where are you going?” he mumbled, his eyes still half-closed .

“Out of bed,” I said slowly, feeling like there was definitely a right and wrong answer here.

He blinked a couple of times, like he was still trying to get his bearings, and then abruptly dropped my wrist as if it had suddenly turned scalding.

“Give me five minutes,” he said, ignoring the fact that we’d been cuddling only seconds ago. “Don’t go anywhere without me.”

He sat up and the blanket fell to his lap.

Holy eight-pack. It had been nearly a year since I’d seen Hayden shirtless, and I swear he’d somehow become even more attractive in that time.

I couldn’t help admiring his cut muscles, the dark hair that dusted his chest and lower stomach, the bold tattoos that covered each of his upper arms.

Hayden Blake’s body was a work of art, and I was used to being around shirtless angels, so I had high standards.

“You okay?” he asked.

“Uh-huh.” I quickly looked away from his torso like I’d been caught doing something wrong. Which I hadn’t. It wasn’t a crime to look at my husband even if he was only my fake husband.

Miles and Mrs. Blake were both already in the kitchen when we came downstairs. Miles sat at the breakfast bar with his attention glued to the phone in his hand, and Mrs. Blake was at the stove, stirring what smelled like eggs.

“Good morning,” she said with a bright smile. “How did you sleep?”

My cheeks warmed at her question. I’d slept very well while using Hayden as a human blanket .

“Great,” Hayden said, giving her a quick kiss on the cheek before looking over his shoulder and back at me. “What do you want for breakfast?”

“Um. I’m not picky.”

His lips curved up in a smirk. “Most people would argue that you are. How does beans and rice on tortillas sound?”

“Good?” It came out more like a question than an answer.

He chuckled, turning away and pulling ingredients out of the fridge.

It took me a minute—and the appearance of a tortilla press—to realize that he was going to make it from scratch.

“Where did you learn to cook this?” I asked. In the year we’d dated, I’d seen him cook a grand total of twice.

“When I was in Europe the second time, I met a couple from Costa Rica. They made this for breakfast every morning.”

“Can I help?”

“Nope. Go sit down.”

“Okay, Mr. Bossy.”

He shot a grin at me. “Always.”

“He seems to be in a good mood,” Miles muttered when I slid onto the stool beside him.

“The same can’t be said for you. What’s up?”

“Nothing. I’m absolutely loving the love-fest that is this family vacation,” he said with heavy sarcasm.

“Shut up. Also, that’s a gross overstatement.” His parents certainly weren’t the lovey-dovey type, and he knew as well as I did that my and Hayden’s relationship was nothing more than a show. “Why didn’t you bring Jessica?”

“She wasn’t invited.”

I frowned. “What do you mean?”

“This trip is family only. We’re not married.”

“That’s stupid. She’s your girlfriend.”

He shrugged. “I don’t make the house rules.”

Before I could push the topic further, Hayden placed a plate of homemade corn tortillas and a bowl of seasoned beans and rice in front of me on the breakfast bar.

“Thank you,” I said with a smile.

He took the seat beside me, his hand moving to my thigh as if the action was automatic. Maybe it was. He used to do stuff like that all the time when we were together; it satisfied his need to visibly claim me.

“Something smells amazing,” Maggie said as she came down the stairs. “Since when do we have Mexican for breakfast?”

“It’s not Mexican, and it’s not your breakfast,” Hayden said, swatting her hand away as she reached for the plate of tortillas. “Get your own husband to make you food.”

Her brows climbed up her forehead. “You made this?”

Hayden rolled his eyes. “You don’t have to sound so surprised.”

Our first full day with Hayden’s family passed quickly.

Scott and I spent the morning watching the Blake children play some video game they’d apparently played every summer they spent here growing up.

There was something fascinating about watching them interact with each other. They reminded me of how Nate, Sam, and Joriel had been with each other before we lost Joriel. The teasing, the inside jokes, the bickering that mostly lacked any real heat.

Scott fit into the mix seamlessly. He was the quiet, grounded type, and he balanced Maggie perfectly. He was also so obviously head over heels for her that watching them together almost hurt.

Mrs. Blake—who insisted I call her Allison—was the kind of mother everyone wanted, the one who asked questions and actually listened to the answers. She radiated a love and acceptance that seemed effortless. I’d never felt so welcomed by someone in my life, not even when I joined the secret order.

Mr. Blake, on the other hand, spent half the day holed up in his office, and when he did come out, he spent most of the time talking to Hayden and Miles about hotels.

He pretty much ignored Maggie, Scott, and his own wife completely, but I could feel him watching me with curiosity from time to time.

Maybe I was seeing everything through rose-colored glasses since this was my first trip with the Blakes, but it was easy to imagine them being my forever in-laws.

I could picture us ten years from now—watching Maggie convince her brothers to team up with her in World Domination even though Hayden claimed she turned on them every single time, listening to Scott and Hayden talk about house projects, throwing jabs back and forth with Miles, talking dresses with Allison.

The idea sent a pang of longing through my chest. I wanted that future. But I knew it was nothing more than a pipe dream.