Chapter 18
Chapter Eighteen
Summer
Warmth. That was the first thing I noticed, a slow, lazy heat spreading across my body, sinking into my skin like I had been wrapped in the softest, coziest blanket.
The second thing was weight—something heavy and solid draped over my waist, anchoring me in place, making it impossible to move without feeling its presence.
My mind was slow, sluggish, still tangled somewhere between sleep and wakefulness, and for a moment, I let myself sink deeper, stretching slightly, my limbs tingling with satisfaction.
Then I shifted, and my bare leg brushed against something that was definitely not a blanket.
My breath caught. My heart lurched.
My eyes snapped open.
The sight in front of me was enough to short-circuit my entire brain.
A chest.
A broad, muscular, very-much-not-mine chest.
I froze, staring at the expanse of smooth, warm skin, the way it rose and fell steadily, the way the morning light streaming through my curtains highlighted every defined ridge. I followed the path upward, my eyes locking onto a strong jawline, a slightly stubbled chin, and lips—lips I had kissed.
Oh. My. God.
Panic seized me, my brain screeching to a halt as I squeezed my eyes shut and willed myself to wake up. This had to be a dream, a hallucination, a cruel trick of my imagination. There was no way I was in bed with?—
I cracked one eye open.
He was still there.
I sucked in a sharp breath, clapping a hand over my mouth to keep myself from screaming.
No. No, no, no.
This wasn’t happening.
I was dreaming. I had to be dreaming. I had been thinking about Malcolm last night, my subconscious must have conjured him up, must have played a cruel, wicked game on me. That was the only explanation.
Except I could feel him.
His warmth. His scent. The steady rise and fall of his breathing.
My stomach plummeted.
I squeezed my eyes shut, whispering to myself, voice small, breathless, desperate for denial. "Is it just me missing you, or is that why I’m seeing you right now?"
A low chuckle rumbled against my skin, real and deep and entirely too close.
"I’m definitely real, Summer," Malcolm’s voice murmured, low and amused, still laced with sleep.
I screamed.
Not a full scream, more like a strangled, panicked yelp, as I launched myself backward, nearly tumbling off the bed in my haste to put as much distance as possible between us.
My arms flailed, my legs tangled in the sheets, and somehow, I managed to grab onto the blanket just in time to yank it over myself before I was fully exposed to the world.
Malcolm barely moved, watching me with a slow, infuriatingly amused smirk, his arms casually folded behind his head, his bare chest on full display like he hadn’t just destroyed my entire existence.
"Malcolm?!" I shrieked, my voice an octave too high, my fingers gripping the blanket so tightly I thought I might suffocate myself with it.
His smirk deepened. "Morning, Sunshine."
Oh, he did not just say that.
I gawked at him, my brain failing to process reality, failing to come up with an explanation other than the most horrifying one.
I was naked.
Malcolm was naked.
We were in bed together, naked.
Oh. My. God.
"This—this isn’t real," I whispered, pressing my fingers to my temples. "This is a nightmare. This is some weird, twisted universe where—where?—"
Malcolm arched a brow, watching me with entirely too much enjoyment. "Summer, you’re very much awake."
I glared at him. "You don’t know that."
He let out a slow, deep chuckle, dragging a hand through his already-messy hair, and for a split second, my brain betrayed me.
Because damn it, he looked good.
The kind of good that should be illegal this early in the morning, the kind of good that made my stomach flip and my skin flush, the kind of good that reminded me exactly why I was currently naked.
I snapped my gaze away, willing myself to think of literally anything else.
"This is bad," I muttered, my heart still racing, my mind still spiraling.
Malcolm stretched lazily, his muscles shifting, his smirk widening as if he was completely at ease, while I was on the verge of a full-blown mental breakdown.
"Depends on your definition of bad," he mused, his dark eyes flickering over me with a knowing heat that made me want to throw something at him. "Because I recall last night being… quite the opposite."
I turned red.
Like, bright, tomato, about-to-spontaneously-combust red.
"Shut up," I hissed, yanking the blanket higher, my pulse going haywire as flashes of last night slammed into me all at once.
The way his hands had roamed my body, the way his mouth had left scorching trails down my skin, the way he had pressed me into the mattress and made me forget my own damn name.
Nope.
Not thinking about that.
I sucked in a breath, trying to regain some ounce of composure, before speaking with all the dignity I had left. "Okay. So. You’re here. I’m here. We’re… naked. We should fix that."
Malcolm tilted his head, his smirk pure sin. "You want me to get naked again?"
I gasped.
"Get out!" I screeched, grabbing the closest pillow and hurling it at his stupid, arrogant, ridiculously gorgeous face.
He dodged effortlessly, laughing, sitting up with an ease that made everything worse because the blanket slid down his waist, and?—
Oh, God.
I squeezed my eyes shut, yanking the sheets up to block the sight of literally everything.
"Summer," he drawled, voice teasing, husky, way too smug. "You weren’t trying to get rid of me last night."
I threw another pillow at him.
He caught it this time, grinning, and just like that, I knew?—
This wasn’t over.
Not even close.