Page 55 of Not Safe for Work

“Don’t be silly. Just take the bed. You look ridiculous squished on that little couch. I’ll check again tomorrow at the front desk. Maybe another room has finally opened up. I can handle one night.”

He runs a hand along the back of his head, mussing his damp hair, conflict flitting over his face. He inhales, and his shoulders drop. “It’s a huge bed,” he says. “We could share it.”

I lift an are-you-kidding-me eyebrow, and he raises his hands in supplication.

“Look, you slept on top of me last night, and I found it in myself to restrain any inappropriate urges.”

He places a hand over his chest. His bare and extremely chiseled chest and I have to drag my attention to his face.

“I promise to be a complete gentleman. That thing is the size of a football field. You won’t even know I’m there.” I sincerely doubt that, but he’s making sense. “Of course, if you don’t think you can control yourself, I wouldn’t blame you.”

I narrow my eyes, ignoring the X-rated thoughts I’m already having.

“Of course I can. Get over yourself, Gallagher.”

“Then what’s the problem? We’re both adults. I’m sure we can handle it. Don’t be so immature, Tris.”

My nose flares. He will not out-mature me. Of course I can sleep in the same bed as him and control myself. Who does he think he is? Besides, this makes us even for last night. I don’t want to live in a world where I owe Rafe anything.

“Fine,” I say. “But put on a shirt.”

I stomp into the bedroom, his laughter following in my wake.

Things were so much easier when he was still firmly listed under the bad guy column.

The bed looks so inviting after the hard floor last night, and I pull back the fresh duvet, sliding in and reveling in the coolness of the crisp sheets against my bare skin. I wish someone could bottle this feeling.

A moment later, Rafe enters the room, tugging a white T-shirt over his head. A tiny (big) part of me is disappointed he listened. Why does he choose now to do as I ask? He stops with his hands on his hips, and we look at each other as the weirdness of our current predicament settles.

“No one at the office can ever know about this,” I say.

He arches an eyebrow, and that disdain is so inexplicably delicious that I’m tempted to offer myself up for his pleasure. He could do anything he wanted to me. Gah.

This is stupid. He’s right. We are both adults, and we can be mature about this.

“Well, stop staring and get in, honey,” I say, patting the bed.

The joke breaks the tension, and I’m rewarded with a smile that only touches half of his mouth as he walks to the other side and slips under the covers.

We both lie down, staring at the ceiling.

I’m holding my breath. I think he is, too.

A moment ago, I was exhausted, but now every hair and cell and inch of my skin are wide awake. I swear I can feel his heat filtering by osmosis across the massive bed.

Maybe I wish it weren’t so big. What if I slid just a tiny bit over? How bad would that be?

“Good night, Tris,” he says in the semi-dark, his voice rough and low.

“It’s morning.” My own voice does something similar, and I swallow the bundle of nerves in my throat.

“Then good morning.”

At the soft rustle of the sheets, I turn my head to find him already watching me.

“Good morning, Rafe. Sleep tight.”

Chapter Fifteen