Page 137 of The Faking Game
His smirk doesn’t disappear. But it freezes, and he smooths the silk back down over my thighs. “Not with me.”
“What do you mean?”
He gathers me up, pulls me against his body and off the pool table. I slowly glide down his body until my bare feet land on the oriental rug.
“It can’t be with me.” He finds the edges of the silk and lifts them up, ties them back around my neck until I’m covered again. My legs feel weak and maybe he knows that, knows how wrung out I am, because he holds me close.
“West…”
His whiskey eyes look dark brown in this light. “You want a relationship. You want love. That’s what you told me, right from the start.”
For the first time since he touched me, I feel too bare. “Yes. That’s my… that’s the end goal. One day. With someone.”
His jaw works. “Your first time should mean something.”
The sudden embarrassment that floods through me makes my eyes prick. “I didn’t ask you to sleep with me, you know. I just said that maybe?—”
“I know that. I’m not implying anything.” He kisses my temple, my cheek. “But the day you do it, it should be with someone you love. Someone you won’t regret.”
I wouldn’t regret it with you, I think.I won’t regret anything we’ve done.But I can’t find it in myself to admit that to him. Not now.
“You know I want to.” He tips my head up. I do know that, and he’s not letting me run away. Not letting me close in on myself. “My beautiful girl. You know that. And look at you. You just did so well.”
“I did, didn’t I?”
“Yes.” He slides his hands down and lifts me up. I wrap my arms around his neck to avoid tipping over. “Let’s go upstairs. It’s been a long day.”
I hold on to him as he walks us through the library and out toward the stairs. “Thanks for staying with me the last few nights. If you would rather move into your own room, I get it.”
He doesn’t answer. I close my eyes against his shoulder and wonder if that’s that. If he’ll take this moment to retreat back to his wing. Create space between us.
“I’ll stay,” he says.
CHAPTER38
NORA
I wake up to a sharp knock on the door.
I squeeze my eyes closed and burrow deeper into the warmth beside me.
Another knock. The pillow I’m tucked against vibrates with a groan. West’s chest. The arm slung over my waist shifts. “Are you usually woken up like this?”
He smells good. “No.”
The sound returns, more powerful this time. Five sharp, insistent knocks. It sounds like someone who’s done this many times before.
“That’s Ernest.” West groans, and his hand slides down to pat my hip. “We’ve slept in.”
“He’s never knocked before.”
“Something must have happened.” The roughness in West’s voice sharpens, and he slides out of my grip and the bed. I watch him walk across my bedroom. He’s in his sweatpants, but no T-shirt this time. I pull the cover up to my chin and watch him, in the daylight, walking through my sitting room.
I glance at the time. Wehaveslept in.
West opens the door. I can’t see past it, but I can see him, his profile and the mussed hair from sleep. This is the fourth time in a row he’s slept in my bed. Ever since that night, with the stalker…
And I’ve slept surprisingly well each night.
