The Backpack Bride (Give a Bookish Girl a Biker #1)

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Roxy

I wake with a start when something pounds against the door. “Roxy?”

Flying upright in bed, I work to catch my breath. “Who is it?”

The door clicks open and a familiar figure steps into the dark room “It’s just me,” Chris says gently. I press a hand to my heaving chest, vaguely aware that I’m drenched in sweat. “I heard you scream.”

My eyes fly to his in the dark. “You did?”

Christian moves further into the room and runs a hand through his tousled hair. “Yeah, you...you yelled for Eddy.”

Tears blur my vision as a distant recollection of the nightmare I was trapped in resurfaces. “Chris, I’m so sorry.” I press both hands to my flushed cheeks.

“Here, let’s take your temp.” Christian grabs the thermometer he placed on my nightstand before leaving me alone for the night. My bed dips toward him when he settles on the edge of it and holds the end of the thermometer out to me. I keep my eyes closed as he slips it under my tongue since I’m not quite able to meet his eyes after embarrassing myself by having a night terror. After a few silent moments, the stick beeps.

“Your fever must’ve broken,” Chris says, placing a tender hand to my brow. “You definitely feel cooler than before.”

I can’t help but lean into his touch like the affection-starved woman I am. I don’t know what time it is, but after falling asleep reading that stupid billionaire romance he recommended, I’m feeling especially needy.

I know that Chris isn’t my real husband. And he’s the last guy I need to get hung up on right now. But the way he treats me is so...different. So much better than anything I’ve experienced before. He is literally ticking every book boyfriend box I’ve ever envisioned for myself. And then some. So sue me for wanting to soak up his attention in a particularly weak moment.

When Chris’s hand slowly slides from my forehead to the side of my face, I angle into him further. Eyes still closed, I place my hand over his and cling to his wrist with the other. I wish he’d wrap me up in his arms like he did outside of Brokedown when he realized I was shivering.

Christian stills, prompting me to look up at him. “What do you need, Roxy?” he asks in a deliciously ragged whisper.

So many things come to mind.

I need to let go of him and put space between us. I need to feel better because I don’t have time to be sick with work and Axel to take care of. I need to remember that what Christian and I have is only temporary. I need to keep my head on straight in this relationship.

None of those things come out, however. Only the plea of my heart.

“Will you stay with me?”

For a split second, Christian’s darkened expression makes me think he’ll say no. But then he drags his hand from my cheek to the back of my neck and tangles his fingers in my mess of hair. “Why do you want me to stay?” The moonlight shining through the windows reflects in his penetrating gaze. He’s searching me, waiting for what, I don’t know, but I can only answer honestly.

“Because you make me feel safe, and I...I miss my brother. I’m tired of feeling alone all the time.” I don’t say that being with him makes me feel more whole and happier than I’ve maybe ever felt. Nor do I admit that I wish he’d hold me. I’ve already let him see enough of my weakness.

He blinks, breaking the trance, and loosens his grip. “All right. I’ll stay.”

A knot forms in my throat, too tight to speak past and express my thanks. All I can do is scoot over and pull back the covers like a silent invitation. Christian slides in beside me, achingly slow, until we’re lying beside one another.

“Is this okay?” His sleep-roughened voice sends warmth to my core. I turn away, giving him my back.

“You can come closer.” I swallow. “If you want.”

Good night , I sound so needy. I’m sick, for crying out loud. Of course he doesn’t want to be all over me. He’s probably afraid I’ll give him the flu.

But to my surprise, he presses closer and settles his large hand on my upper arm. “This better?”

Bracing myself for rejection, I grab his hand and rest it against my waist. “I was thinking more like this. If it’s all right with you.” My breathing stalls out completely while I wait for his reply. I almost convince myself that his own breath catches when I edge back against him until every shred of space between us evaporates.

He stays still long enough to make me regret my forwardness. Embarrassment nearly brings tears to my eyes as I begin to inch away from him. Then his hand splays across my stomach, halting my escape with a firm grip.

“This is fine,” he rasps.

“I wasn’t thinking, though. I don’t want to get you sick.”

“Roxy.” Christian’s voice drops even further, sending shivers along my arms. “Getting sick is the furthest thing from my mind right now.”

Again, I swallow down my fear. “If this is too much for you, you don’t have to stay.”

In a move that has me melting, he buries his nose into the crook of my neck and drags me even closer. “This isn’t too much for me. I don’t want me to be too much for you .”

I have no idea what he means by that, but now that I’m fully encapsulated in his arms, warm and cozy beyond belief, my body begins to sag, and my mind starts to wander into sleep. And for what feels like the first time in forever, I am totally and completely at peace.

Despite the incessant pounding of my head, I wake slowly. My hands are tucked together against something impossibly warm. Then the events of last night vaguely come back to mind. I ease open my eyelids one at a time. And stare at a perfectly muscled man-chest.

I blink frantically, trying to bring back every memory, but the one where Christian removed his shirt is conveniently missing.

Slowly, I lift my eyes to his chin. The scruff he sometimes wears covers his smooth skin. His full lips are parted in sleep. Soft snores sound from him, giving me time to assess our tangled bodies. I have one leg between his, the other looped over him, and he’s got that same arm draped over my ribs. I can’t help but smile at how tightly locked together we are.

My gaze dips to Christian’s chest again. Though I have no clue why his shirt got lost, I can’t say I miss it. He's not the overstated type of muscular with bulging biceps or rock-hard pecs, but neither is he scrawny. He's somewhere in the middle, hard in all the right places with soft enough edges to make me want to sink into him. As my gaze continues its exploration, I spy something very interesting.

A sprawling script tattoo peeks around the top of Christian’s ribs. I see just enough to catch a few of the words written in black ink. I’m forced to bite my lip on my growing smile. Not only does my billionaire husband ride motorcycles, but he also has a hidden tattoo.

Ugh, why does he have to be so perfect?

My curiosity gets the better of me as my fingers trace the inked lines. I know it was the wrong move the second Christian groans and shifts his position. Instead of rolling away from me like I think he might, he hooks his leg more firmly around mine and snuggles closer.

My heart feels like it’s dangling off a cliff when he presses a kiss on the top of my hair and murmurs, “Good morning, wife.”

His deep, rumbly voice is enough to make me die from swooning. But I can’t. Not now. Not when things are getting this good.

I’m pretty sure he thinks I’m still asleep. He wouldn’t have kissed me otherwise...right?

He squeezes me in a hug, then asks, “How’d you sleep?”

Embarrassment heats my entire body to the point that I’m sure I’ll go up in flames. “I...um...slept good.”

“Are you feeling any better?” Chris presses his cheek against my forehead like he’s checking my temperature. “You don’t feel too warm.”

“I feel a lot better,” I say past the scratch in my voice. “Just have a headache.” I keep my face tucked under his chin, careful to keep my morning breath as far away from his face as possible.

“Do you need some more pain meds?”

“Maybe. Once we’ve eaten.”

He pulls back and looks down, that slow smile of his greeting me. It’s somehow better than even the most beautiful sunrise. “You really must be feeling better if you’ve got an appetite.”

I drop my gaze, shyness overwhelming me. I shouldn’t be shy in a moment like this. I’ve been with guys before—too many, if I’m honest—and have enough relationship experience to last a lifetime. But whatever Christian and I are doing feels as innocent and pure as if we’re just two teenagers on the cusp of infatuation. It’s new and exciting and totally, completely wholesome. So, so different than anything I’ve experienced in my adult life.

He is different.

“I’m sorry about my shirt,” he says, scratching the scruff on his jaw. “I...uh...got too hot in the night and chucked it.”

A breathy laugh that doesn’t sound at all like me bubbles out. “You’re fine.” I bite my lower lip and add, “So...looks like you’ve been keeping a secret.” I trace the top of the peekaboo tattoo, and his stomach muscles clench in response.

His smile widens. “A good marriage is all about keeping the mystery alive, right? Couldn’t give all my secrets away on the first night.”

Heat slams into my cheeks at the realization that technically last night was our first night together. In bed. As a married couple. Even as innocent as it was, it still brings to mind the words we whispered to each other in the dark, the way our bodies clung to each other during the quiet nighttime hours. Never mind the images that form at what might have happened between us if this marriage was real.

Chris must realize it, too, because he abruptly sits up and swings his legs over the side of the bed. “I’ll go make breakfast.” As he scoops up his discarded shirt and starts toward the door, he tosses over his shoulder, “Eggs and bacon sound okay?”

“Uh, yeah.” I sit up, too, and run a hand through my hair. “Thanks.”

He doesn’t stop to look back, just disappears through the door, leaving me confused and startlingly untethered.