Page 85 of That Time I Kissed My Beachfront Boss

And in a matter of minutes—or hours, time means nothing to me now—I fall into a peaceful sleep too.

Chapter Thirty-Three

Olivia

So … remind me never to read Jane Eyre right before going to bed again. And if I do ever read Jane Eyre right before going to bed again, remind me to start at the beginning, when Jane’s just a lonely little girl, instead of skipping ahead to when she’s a grown woman living at Thornfield Hall and hopelessly in love with Rochester—a man she thinks she can’t have.

That’s what I did last night.

Then I got looped into another one of my recurring dreams, only this time I was stuck in an attic, and no one would come to rescue me. And all I kept thinking was how stupid I’d been, always trying to separate myself from my sisters. How much I thought I wanted an identity apart from the triplets, and distanced from the McCoys—from Apple Valley and my whole big loud, crazy family in Abieville. I’ve spent nearly a decade pushing everybody away. But I don’t want to be alone anymore. I want to be wrapped in a warm embrace like I am now, safe and secure, breathing in this woodsy scent of pine and leather and spice and …

Wait.

Where am I?

I crack open one sleep-crusted lid, then another, but what I’m seeing now must still be a dream, because Hudson is curled up next to me. The gray wool blanket that should be at the foot of the bed is pulled up over half his body, just covering the top of his low-slung joggers. Above that, his bare torso rises and falls in a peaceful swell of muscles and smooth skin. He’s got one arm slung over his head, and his hair is a dark, pillow-tangled mess. A tugging inside urges me to scoot closer to him, but I inch away instead. Then I blink, rubbing at my eyes.

I’m in Hudson’s bed?

Gah!

My throat flames up, and my insides go hot like molten lava. How did this happen? I must’ve been sleepwalking, like Big Mama before a night of baking. That kind of thing runs in the family, doesn’t it? My bad dream must’ve stirred me up, and then I stumbled into Hudson’s room somehow.

Oh, no. No, no, Liv! This is even worse than when you ambush-kissed him at The Launch Pad.

I slowly slide my body out from under the quilts piled on top of me and stand at the side of the bed. Then I look to my left. On the nightstand is my phone, my charger, and Hudson’s copy of Jane Eyre. The bookmark is stuck in the scene at Thornfield Hall I was reading when I fell asleep. But the other two Bronte books aren’t there. And my bathrobe’s hanging on the bathroom door. There’s my bathing suit draped over the love seat. Hold on.

This is my room after all, which means Hudson slipped into my bed in the middle of the night. But I don’t think he’s the type of man to take advantage of me.

Strike that. I know he isn’t that type.

Maybe he’s a sleepwalker too.

“Ahem.” I clear my throat, reaching across the mattress to shake him awake. As he slowly rouses, the blood courses through my veins at an alarming rate. If anything, the man looks even better all tousled and dream-drenched. And he already looks pretty great when he’s wide awake.

“Olivia.” His voice is a froggy croak. He drags his hands through his hair, and hauls himself upright. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep.”

“What are you doing in here?”

He props his body against the pillows, shaking his head. “I heard a loud noise—I think. I was sleeping. But something woke me up, and you were making all kinds of sounds, mumbling to yourself.”

“Oh, no.” I press a hand to my cheek.

How attractive, Liv.

“I was worried, so I came to check on you. Turns out, you were just dreaming. But it was a bad one. Maybe even a nightmare. Something about being locked in an attic.”

“Ugh. Stupid Jane Eyre,” I mutter.

“Anyway, you seemed so scared, and I tried waking you, but you were really deep. I didn’t want you to freak out even more. So I decided the simplest thing would be to calm you down while you were still sleeping. I held you until you seemed to be all right again. Then I must’ve drifted off too.”

My breath catches. “You held me all night?”

He dips his chin. “I guess so. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” I say. “That’s very sweet.”

“Least I could do, since you were only here last night to help me.” His gaze dips to my lips, then down to what I’m wearing. After my shower last night, I’d slipped back into his sweats and shirt. I swallow hard under the heat of his stare.

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