Chapter Twenty-One
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Pretending to live the dream.
Liam
Permission.
Sweet, sweet, glorious permission.
I barely slept, yet again, because of Amber, but it’s fine because her male lead “always seems a little tired, like he’s never slept well in his life” according to the source content.
In my bathroom, I shave then get out my first-aid kit in order to wrap a bandage around my midsection, where I was recently stabbed, via source content information. Given her male lead’s inability to keep a shirt on, it is not entirely impossible I’ll find myself disrobed at some point before she tells me her research is complete.
Immersion.
It’s important.
I want her to know that I’m taking this—and her—seriously.
Thankfully, her male lead and I have similar outdoor clothing preferences, so I slip on a usual pair of pants and black dress shirt, leaving the top few buttons open. Once I’m done, I scan myself in the mirror.
Dark hair. Dark eyes. Evil enough to accept a woman as payment against her will.
Unbidden, a smile curls one corner of my mouth. We’re already practically the same person.
Turning on my heel, I stride to Amber’s room and open the door without knocking.
Sunlight traces past the cracks between her blackout curtains where they’ve not been closed fully, illuminating my angel, and my heart collides with my ribs, making my steps falter.
She’s asleep. But of course she’s asleep. It’s not a work day, and she’s been treating herself better where it concerns working at random hours ever since she accepted my help. The thing is…she’s asleep with Millie, nose pressed to the cow’s stuffed whipped topping.
Cute.
So, so, so very cute .
Blush rises to my cheeks as a smile overtakes me. Obsessed, I stride to her. Careful, I draw my thumb across her soft skin, kiss her forehead. “Love?”
She snuggles deeper into the warmth and her stuffie.
I kiss her nose. “Come on, love. Wake up for me.” I counted forty-seven for me ’s in the chunk of book that I have. Her male lead is very upfront about his desire that every single thing his woman does be for him . I’m not averse to the concept in practice, and I would by no means argue if Amber returned the sentiment.
Curling a finger beneath her chin, I lift her face, and graze her lips with mine. “Amber. I don’t have patience for this, love.” I do. I have all the patience in the world. I will gladly stand here for hours and kiss her pretty face.
Drowsily, she squeezes her moolkshake and whimpers, squinting, then flying . Jerking backward, she blurts, “ Liam? What are you—”
I plant a knee on her bed, catch her chin in my palm, and drag her in. “You asked for this, little princess. Don’t tell me you’re backing out now.”
Her lashes flutter as her lips part. Stunned silence greets me, so I break it with a chuckle, move off her bed, and flick the light on in her closet. So many pretty dark clothes fill the shelves, but there’s still so much empty space.
I should get her more. So much more.
I select a long-sleeve outfit, with fur trim, and a pair of high boots. Tossing the boots at her bedside when I emerge from the closet, I present the dress, letting the hanger perch on my finger. “Wear this.”
Her eyes dart between the dress and my face. She rubs sleep away, stumbling through her words, “Liam…this… I thought we’d start later, on the actual date, after breakfast, maybe.”
“I’m taking you to breakfast.”
Her mouth opens.
“And lunch.”
Her brows furrow.
“And dinner.”
Her pretty eyes blink.
“Then we’ll consider how far you want to go where research concerns events depicted in chapter twelve.” The only one bed chapter.
Or, really, the there are plenty of beds, but you’re not leaving mine chapter.
I really like that chapter.
If only I had the gall.
Heat courses into her cheeks, and I’m not even acting when my smile stretches. Cuddling her all night is a drug I’d love to indulge in. Today’s mission is going to be obtaining permission for that goal. I want today to be so wonderful for research she has no choice but to continue it through tomorrow.
If she can tolerate a character more than me, so be it. I’ll become the person she thinks about for roughly ten hours a day, minimum. I’ll show her I’m capable of effortlessly being who she wants.
Now that I’m thinking about the details of my master plan, however, it occurs to me I don’t have in-character pajamas. Or an in-character bedroom. I’ll have to sleep in my boxers and rent a room somewhere. But that’s probably even better for her research, so I’m more than willing to make that sacrifice. “Don’t tell me you need help changing, little princess?”
Her head shakes so violently, a curl escapes from her bonnet.
“You have five minutes.” I drop the dress on her bed and turn. “Don’t keep me waiting.”