37. Shayla
37
SHAYLA
I paced at the end of the bed as I waited for Easton to finish saying goodnight to his family. We would have to share a bed tonight. My stomach was doing somersaults just thinking about him being so close while we slept. Thankfully he had a king-size bed, so we wouldn’t even have to touch. The problem was I wanted to.
It was still such a shock to want him as badly as I did. Only a couple months ago, I vowed to hate him forever, but he’d been slowly winning me over. He showed me how kind, generous, and sweet he could be.
The question was, did he feel the same about me? I was convinced he wanted nothing to do with me physically, but the moment we shared in the kitchen yesterday morning made me question everything. He looked at me like I was the entire dessert table, and he was dying for a taste.
The bedroom door creaked open, and I jumped, turning toward the sound. Easton stepped inside and pulled the door closed. I gulped at the prospect of being shut in here with him.
“You’re still up,” Easton remarked, taking a hesitant step toward me.
“I wasn’t sure what side you slept on,” I replied as an excuse. The truth was, I’d damn near worn a hole in the carpet with my pacing. Nervous didn’t even begin to describe how I felt. If he sensed my unease, he didn’t let on.
“That side,” he offered, pointing to the left side of the bed. That made sense since it was closer to the bathroom.
“Cool,” I replied awkwardly, then wanted to kick myself. “I’ll just set up over here.” I went to the opposite side, placed my phone on the nightstand, and plugged my charger in behind the lamp.
I straightened and faced him, wiping my damp palms down the legs of my sweatpants. He watched me curiously which only served to amp up my nervousness. “So…” I began, unsure what to say.
“I’m going to hop in the shower. Make yourself at home.”
“Okay.” I released the word on a breath, but didn’t relax until he shut himself inside the bathroom. I’d already brushed my teeth and changed for bed, so I slipped beneath the covers and put my back to the bathroom.
He emerged ten minutes later, but I didn’t move a muscle. His heavenly scent seeped into the room with the steam from his shower, and I pinched my eyes closed as it curled around me. At least his sheets were clean and only smelled of detergent. I suspected it wouldn’t last, though, since these were freshly laundered.
The bed dipped behind me, and I held my breath. I wasn’t sure what I expected him to do, but the possibilities had me on edge. There was some rustling and the sound of him plugging in his phone before he finally settled, and silence fell upon us.
“Goodnight, Shayla,” he said finally.
“Goodnight, Easton,” I replied. Within minutes, Easton’s breathing slowed, and he let out a soft snore every now and then. I was wound way too tight to fall asleep for a long time. But when I did, I dreamed of things I could never have.
Something tickled my nose, and I batted it away, but it came right back. I pressed my hand to the warm, hard surface pinning down whatever was itching my face. A low groan rumbled beneath the surface and a familiar scent wafted around me. My eyes popped open, and I bit my lip to suppress a shriek.
I lay with my face pressed against Easton’s chest, his arm wrapped around my waist, and our legs tangled beneath the sheets. A light smattering of chest hair brushed against my cheek and nose. That was what had been tickling my nose.
Moving slowly so I didn’t disturb him, I began to roll away, but his arm tightened around me. He buried his nose in my hair and inhaled before letting out a contented sigh.
This was soooo bad. I wasn’t sure how I would extricate myself from his hold without waking him. And I definitely didn’t want to wake him. I didn’t want him to see that despite my insistence on maintaining a platonic relationship, I’d ended up wrapped around him.
On his side of the bed.
It was clear who initiated this cuddle session considering the feet of empty space behind me. Easton was so close to the edge, it looked like he’d held me at bay as long as he could before I completely invaded his space. It was kind of pathetic and decidedly mortifying.
Again, I attempted to remove myself from his embrace. To my horror, Easton’s eyes fluttered open, and he grinned down at me sleepily.
“Well, this is unexpected.” His gravelly voice raked over my frayed nerves and sent a pulse of arousal between my thighs. I squirmed, and he smirked. Cocky bastard.
“Don’t get used to it,” I breathed and pushed against his chest. His hold on me loosened, and I scooted to my side of the bed. I instantly missed his warmth when the cool sheets slid against my skin.
“Who knew my little hellcat was a cuddler?” The teasing lilt to his voice set me on edge. It was the type of comment that could either be flirtatious or antagonizing. I assumed it was the latter.
“I’m not,” I replied, returning his smirk. “I was cold and desperate. It’s practically arctic in here, and my survival instincts kicked in.” It was true. He kept it rather cool in his room. Even bundled in a hoodie and sweatpants with his heavy duvet covering me, I was still chilled. One of the many lovely side-effects of my having a thyroid that didn’t function properly. He let out a soft chuckle, and his eyes danced with mirth.
“In that case, I’ll be sure to crank down the temp so you have to rely on me to keep warm.” He winked and threw off the covers, revealing several feet of golden skin and expertly hewn muscles. My mouth went dry, and I tried to swallow as he sat on the side of the bed and stretched. His sculpted back was a sight to behold. He wore only boxer briefs to bed, a fact I'd missed last night as I lay here trying to avoid looking at him. He stood and sauntered off to the bathroom, his rock-hard ass clad in a stretchy fabric that did little to hide the shape of his well defined glutes. I forced myself to look away lest he turn around and catch me ogling him. And that was something I couldn’t let my fake husband see.