Page 39 of Tempted To Be Mine

Crossing it would complicate everything.

I knew that.

So why did the idea of staying on my side of that line suddenly feel so suffocating?

I reached my cabin and went inside, stripping off yesterday’s clothes and stepping into the shower. The hot water pounded against my back, washing away the stiffness from sleeping on a couch, but it couldn’t wash away the thoughts churning in my head.

I’d slept with plenty of women. More than I could count, honestly. But I couldn’t remember the last time I’d actually slept with someone. Just slept. No expectations. No morning-after awkwardness. Just two people sharing a blanket.

It had felt natural and, weirdly enough, right.

13

LUCY

Iturned my face up to the stream of hot water, trying to clear the cobwebs from my mind. And then I turned and let the powerful jets massage my back and shoulders. I knew my skin was turning pink, but I wasn’t ready to get out. Steam filled the small bathroom, creating a cocoon of warmth that should have been comforting.

It wasn’t.

I couldn’t stop thinking about those first few seconds after I’d opened my eyes. Before my brain had fully come online. Before I’d realized where I was or who I was with. For those brief, precious moments, I’d felt like I was in heaven.

Safe. Warm. Loved. Right where I was supposed to be. There had been a rightness to being next to him I had honestly never experienced before.

Ever.

I’d been curled into Jeremy’s side, my head on his chest, his arm wrapped around me like he wanted to keep me in place. His breathing had been slow and steady, the rhythm of deep sleep. I could feel the rise and fall of his chest beneath my cheek. That solid chest I had seen in more pictures than I could count. His body seemed to curve around mine like we’d been sleeping together for years.

Then my brain had caught up with my body, and panic had set in.

I’d scrambled away so fast I nearly fell off the couch. The look on his face when he woke up, confused and a little hurt, was seared into my memory, too.

I squeezed my eyes shut under the spray, but it didn’t help. I could still feel the ghost of his arm around my shoulders. The press of his thigh against mine. His smell. I knew what cologne he wore. I bought it for him. It was a spicy, peppery scent with leathery undertones. It was expensive and delicious.

A flutter of heat pulsed through me. Not from the shower. From the memory.

Dammit.

I grabbed the shampoo and started scrubbing my scalp. This was ridiculous. I’d worked with Jeremy for years. Years. And not once had I felt anything inappropriate. Not once had I looked at him and thought about what it might be like to wake up in his arms.

Okay, that was a lie. I’d thought about it. I had eyes. The man was objectively gorgeous. But thinking and feeling were two very different things. Thinking was harmless. Thinking was just acknowledging the man was attractive.

The stupid fluttering in my chest was dangerous. And it had to stop. It was one oopsie that I could blame on sheer exhaustion. It would never happen again.

Jeremy was my client. My friend. My meal ticket, if I was being brutally honest about it. He paid me to be here. I earned a very nice salary managing his career. My only job was to keep his life running smoothly so he could focus on looking pretty for the cameras.

That was the arrangement. That was what worked. But God, he had felt nice to cuddle with. As with everything else he did, he was a first-class snuggler.

I groaned and tipped my head back, letting the water wash the conditioner away. My body betrayed me. Every time I tried to think about something else—work, the schedule, literally anything—my brain circled right back to the sensation of being wrapped up in Jeremy Blackwell.

This was a problem. A big, complicated, potentially career-ending problem.

I shut off the water and stepped out of the shower, wrapping myself in one of the fluffy towels. The mirror was completely fogged over. I wiped a clear spot with my hand and stared at my reflection.

“Get it together,” I told myself. “You’re a professional. Act like one.”

I got dressed in layers once again. If I could find a way to create a heated bubble for myself, I would do it in a heartbeat. I looked like a marshmallow but I didn’t care. I was not the fashionista in this world. I was just trying to survive. I dried my hair and pulled it back into a practical ponytail, then applied just enough makeup to look alive. And I needed to protect my skin from the frigid cold.

By the time I stepped outside, I’d almost convinced myself that everything was fine. I took a breath, the cold air tickling my nose, and immediately sneezed.