Chapter fifty-three
Freya
I wake slowly. Not the usual sharp, jarring wake-up that comes with school runs, alarms, and children shouting from the hallway.
The kind of waking where your brain drifts lazily toward consciousness instead of being dragged there kicking and screaming.
For a few seconds I stay exactly where I am, eyes closed, wrapped in the quiet stillness of the room.
And then I feel it. Weight. Warmth. An arm draped loosely across my waist. My eyes open.
Oh. Right. Last night. The memories come back in a rush that makes heat spread all the way down my body.
The kitchen. The counter. The way he carried me upstairs like I weighed absolutely nothing.
The way he looked at me. The way he said my name.
And then… My brain refuses to go any further without replaying the moment in vivid, exquisite detail.
The way my entire body had completely and utterly fallen apart beneath him.
I bury my face slightly into the pillow with a quiet groan. Jesus Christ. That might genuinely have been the most intense experience of my entire life. Earth-shattering doesn’t even begin to cover it.
I slowly turn my head and there he is. Rory Bennett.
Completely naked. Sleeping beside me. For a moment I just stare.
Because this is… absurd. And he is just…
delicious. His dark hair is slightly messy from sleep, falling across his forehead.
One arm is stretched lazily over my waist, his hand resting against my stomach like it belongs there.
The other is tucked under the pillow behind his head.
The duvet has slipped down just enough that his chest and stomach are completely exposed.
And good God. In the daylight he somehow looks even more ridiculous than he did last night.
Broad shoulders. Solid chest. That stupidly defined stomach that looks like it’s been carved from stone like one of those statues of a Greek God.
The man genuinely looks like he’s been sculpted.
Which is deeply unfair for the rest of the male population.
I shift slightly, careful not to wake him, but the movement causes the duvet to slip even lower.
Right. Okay. Now we’re seeing even more of him than I expected at eight o’clock in the morning.
Fuck. He is… something else. I press my lips together, trying not to laugh.
Because the reality of the situation suddenly hits me.
Rory Bennett, the man half the women in this town probably fantasise about, is currently naked in my bed.
My phone vibrates on the bedside table. Once. Twice. Then again. I frown slightly and reach over to grab it. The screen lights up immediately with a barrage of notifications.
Emma: Freya Collins are you alive???
Clara: Her curtains are still closed. I walked past twice.
Clara: But Rory’s curtains are OPEN.
Hannah: Wait… WHAT.
Clara: He definitely didn’t go home last night.
Hannah: Freya you better answer right now or I’m coming round.
I press my hand over my mouth to stop the laugh that threatens to wake Rory. Oakwood might look like a quiet little town but the women here could run an intelligence agency if they wanted to.
My phone buzzes again.
Clara: Did you kill him?
Hannah: Or did he kill you.
Clara: Honestly both options seem plausible.
I glance over at Rory again. Still asleep. Still ridiculously beautiful. Still very naked. God. I type quickly.
Freya: Morning.
The typing bubbles appear instantly.
Emma: YOU’RE ALIVE.
Clara: Answer the question.
Hannah: Is he still there?
I look back at Rory. His breathing is slow and steady, his face completely relaxed in sleep. One leg is slightly tangled with mine beneath the duvet. Like he belongs here. Like this is normal. My chest does something strange. I type again.
Freya: Jesus! Yes. He stayed over.
The chat absolutely explodes.
Emma: OH MY GOD.
Hannah: DETAILS.
Emma: ALL OF THEM.
Hannah: We deserve answers since you ditched us on group night!
I roll my eyes, still smiling. I don’t think I’ll ever stop smiling. Not with this man in my bed.
Freya: You are not getting a play-by-play.
Hannah: Boring
Clara: Oh come on! Hannah is chronically single and Emma and I are long-time married. Let us live vicariously through you.
Hannah: Hey! Less of the chronically. Although… True.
Clara: Scale of one to ten how ruined are you?
Freya: Let’s just say… I slept very well.
The chat erupts again. But I ignore it before they can start interrogating me properly.
Because right now… I don’t want to share this moment with anyone else.
I set my phone down quietly and turn back toward him.
His arm is still draped across me. My fingers move almost without thinking, tracing lightly across the skin of his chest. He shifts slightly at the touch, his brow furrowing before his eyes slowly open.
For a second he looks confused. Then he sees me and a slow, lazy smile spreads across his face.
“Morning,” he murmurs, his voice rough with sleep.
I swallow. God, even his morning voice is sexy beyond belief. “Morning.”
His hand slides slightly against my waist as he pulls me closer. “You staring at me?” he asks.
“No.”
“Liar.”
“Maybe.”
He studies my face for a moment. Then his gaze drifts around the room. Then back to me. “You still here,” he says quietly.
I frown slightly. “Where else would I be? It’s my house” I laugh.
He shrugs slightly, but there’s something softer in his expression now. “Just checking you didn’t run away overnight.”
I shift slightly closer, resting my hand against his chest. “I told you,” I say softly.
He raises an eyebrow. “Told me what?”
I hold his gaze. “I’m not going anywhere.”
For a moment he just looks at me. Then that slow, warm smile returns. “Good,” he murmurs, pulling me against him.
Because honestly… I don’t think I could even if I tried.
My phone buzzes again. Then again. Then again. The sound cuts through the quiet bedroom like an overly enthusiastic alarm clock. I groan softly and reach across the bedside table.
“Your fan club?” Rory murmurs sleepily beside me.
I glance down at the screen and laugh. “Not exactly.”
He shifts slightly, propping himself up on one elbow so he can see my face better. The duvet slips lower as he moves, exposing even more of that ridiculous chest. I try not to stare. Fail.
“Alright,” he says slowly, watching me. “That laugh sounded suspicious.”
“It’s the girls.”
“The girls?”
I unlock my phone and open the group chat again. The messages have escalated significantly in the two minutes since I ignored them.
Emma: She’s gone quiet again.
Clara: She’s definitely naked.
Hannah: If she doesn’t reply I’m driving round on my way to work.
Clara: I’m going round after the school run.
Hannah: Freya Collins blink twice if you’ve been murdered.
Clara: OR if you’re still in bed with him.
I snort loudly.
Rory raises an eyebrow. “What?”
I turn the screen toward him. “These lunatics.”
He squints at the messages for a second. Then a slow grin spreads across his face. “Wow.”
“Yeah.”
“They’re invested.”
“You have no idea.”
He leans back slightly, clearly amused. “So what exactly are they asking?”
I scroll down. “Oh, you know. Whether I’m alive. Whether you’ve kidnapped me. Whether I’m physically capable of walking this morning.”
His grin widens. “That last one seems like a valid question.”
I smack his arm lightly. “Don’t get cocky.”
“Too late.”
Another message appears.
Hannah: Freya if you don’t answer in ten seconds I’m calling you.
Clara: We deserve details.
Hannah: GRAPHIC details.
I laugh again. “They want a full report.”
“Do they now?”
“Apparently.”
He leans closer, glancing at the screen again. “Well,” he says casually, “I’m flattered.”
“You should be terrified.”
“Why?”
“Because you’ve disappointed half the mums in Oakwood by sleeping with me. If they find out, they’ll probably riot.”
He chuckles. “That seems fair.”
I type quickly.
Freya: Girls! Calm down. I’m alive.
Three typing bubbles appear instantly.
Hannah: ALIVE BUT ARE YOU WALKING.
Clara: THIS IS IMPORTANT.
Hannah: Blink twice if Rory Bennett ruined you.
I show Rory the message. He bursts out laughing. “Wow.”
“Yeah.” I sigh, “I mean…” I shrug. “It’s not entirely inaccurate.”
He looks pleased with himself.
“You realise what you’ve done, right?” I say.
“What?”
“You’ve just confirmed every fantasy half the women in this town have had.”
He tilts his head slightly. “Oh yeah?”
“Yeah.”
I gesture vaguely toward him. “You’re Rory Bennett.”
“And?”
“And women have probably had posters of you on their walls.”
He snorts. “That’s definitely not true.”
“It absolutely is.”
“No it isn’t.”
“Rory, you play professional rugby and you look like…” I gesture again. “That.”
He raises an eyebrow. “That?”
“You know exactly what I mean.”
He laughs quietly. “And somehow you’re the one feeling smug right now?”
“Oh I am absolutely feeling smug.”
“Good to know.”
I grin. “Because I’m fairly certain half the mums in Oakwood would like to swap places with me this morning.”
He studies me for a second then something shifts slightly in my chest. Because suddenly the thought hits me properly. All those women. All the attention. All the people who probably look at him the way I looked at him when he walked into the playground. My smile fades slightly.
“Actually,” I mumble.
He notices immediately. “What?”
“Nothing.”
“Freya.”
I sigh softly. “It’s just…” I glance down at the phone in my hand. “They’re not exactly wrong.”
“About what?”
“About you.”
His brow furrows slightly. “What about me?”
“You’re… you know.”
“No,” he says firmly. “I don’t.”
I gesture vaguely toward him again. “You’re Rory Bennett.”
“And?”
“And women throw themselves at you.”
He looks confused. “That’s not…”
“It’s fine,” I say quickly. “I’m just saying.”
But he sits up properly now, turning so he’s facing me fully.
“Freya.” The way he says my name makes me look up. “You think I care about that?”
“Well…”
“Seriously?”
I shrug slightly. “I just mean… look at you.”
“And?”
“And look at me.”
His expression changes immediately. He reaches out and takes my chin gently between his fingers.
“Look at you?” he repeats.
“Yeah.”
“Freya Collins.”
My stomach flips slightly.
“You’re joking, right?”
I blink. “What?”
“You genuinely think there’s some kind of comparison happening here?”
“Well…”
He shakes his head softly. “Jesus.”
“What?”
“Do you have any idea what you look like right now?”
“I’ve got bed hair and no makeup on.”
“Exactly.”
He gestures vaguely toward me. “You’re sitting here wrapped in a duvet, your hair’s all messy, and you’re not wearing a single bit of makeup.”
My heart rate increases slightly.
“And you’re still the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”
I open my mouth. Nothing comes out. Because that wasn’t what I expected him to say. At all.
“You’re joking,” I say weakly.
“I’m not.”
He brushes his thumb lightly along my cheek. “Frey.”
“Yeah?”
“You could put every woman in Oakwood in this room right now.”
My heart starts beating a little faster.
“And I’d still be exactly where I am.”
His hand slides gently into my hair. “Right here.”
My throat feels tight. “You mean that?”
He smiles softly. “Completely.”
I glance down at my phone again. The girls are still sending messages.
Emma: FREYA???
Clara: Are you smug?
Hannah: She’s definitely smug.
Rory glances at the screen again.
“Well,” he says.
“Well what?”
“They’re right about one thing.”
“What?”
“You should be smug.”
I laugh quietly. “Why?”
“Because,” he says, pulling me gently closer, “I’m the lucky one here.”
And somehow… For the first time since those messages started arriving… I believe him.