Page 70 of Broken Pact

A flash of heat spreads through me, and I have to remind myself that we’re not here to play house. He’s just . . . helping someone in need. Playing his part as the protective boyfriend.

Jasper leads me down a short hallway to his bedroom. It’s masculine modern with light gray walls, a dark quilted headboard, and a California king-size platform bed. Light gray striped duvet cover and four fluffy pillows. Two square nightstands on either side of the bed, each with a simple black lamp. There are a couple books on one nightstand, and I’m almost positive one of them is the fake dating romance novel he told me about. I thought he was just teasing. Is this an inappropriate time to be turned on by my fake boyfriend?

There’s a low profile dresser against one wall, and two doors. I’m assuming one leads to an en suite bathroom and the other is a closet.

The large bay window overlooks the front of the house, and the windows on either side of the bed give an incredible view of the meadowlike area surrounding one side of his house.

I try to focus on the rest of the details instead of the way Jasper’s muscles flex under his t-shirt as he sets Pudding down on the plush cat bed near the bay window. But damn, why can’t I stop looking at the way his biceps strain against the cotton.

He catches me looking, a sly smirk brightening his face as he pushes to stand. I clear my throat and spin around, looking at the mostly bare walls.

I’m too busy not looking at him that I startle when a pile of folded clothes appears before my face.

“What’s all this?” I ask, taking the clothing from him.

“Thought you might want to change clothes. The bathroom is through that door,” he says, pointing to the door in front of me. “Make yourself at home.” He leans forward and drags his lips across my forehead in a kiss so tender it makes my heart clench.

I nod, feeling a wave of gratitude wash over me. “Thank you, Jasper.”

He smiles, a soft, genuine expression that makes my heart ache. “You’re welcome, baby.” He crosses the room to snag one of the pillows from the bed. “I’ll be downstairs on the couch if you need anything.”

The question is on the tip of my tongue, a plea to ask him to stay with me. An argument that we can both sleep in the same bed, it’s big enough. Instead, I choke on all the words I don’t say, watching him as he turns to leave. He pauses at the door, glancing back at me with a look that makes my chest tighten.

“Get some rest,” he says quietly. Then he’s gone, the door closing softly behind him.

I stand there for a moment, taking in the room—his room. Inside his sort of secret lake house. I blink a few times, trying to figure out how my night unraveled so fully. Exhaustion weighs me down, clouding my head and tugging at my bones.

I bring the stack of clothes to my nose, inhaling the scent of him that clings to the fabric. It’s comforting in a way, familiar, and okay, a little hot.

The room is quiet, the only sound is the gentle breeze blowing, rustling the leaves of all the trees outside. Jasper’s house feels like a sanctuary, a secret haven from the chaos of the outside world. And for the first time in a long time, I feel like I can finally breathe.

34

CORALINE

It’s late. Too late for the kinds of thoughts on a loop in my head. Or maybe this is the best time for them. I can’t decide, which is half the problem.

It’s just, I’ve been cocooned in all things Jasper for the last hour. Wearing his oversized tee, snuggled between his sheets, my head on a pillow that smells just like him. He’s surrounding me without being anywhere near. It’s distracting.

I roll over with another huff, flicking my hair out from against my neck for the fifth time in as many minutes. Maybe a glass of water will help. Or a snack—I don’t know. All I’m sure of is that I can’t sleep.

I throw the comforter off of me, and slip out of Jasper’s bed. I keep my steps light, tiptoeing out of his bedroom, and down the hall. I can hear my heartbeat in my ears as I slowly descend the stairs, trying to be mindful of any creak. I don’t want to wake him up. On the last step, it creaks loud enough that I swear it echoes around the first floor.

“Shit,” I whisper, freezing like that’s going to do anything.

“You lookin’ for me, baby?” His voice is lower than I’m used to, full of grit like he was sleeping.

“Shit,” I repeat. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.” I quickly round the staircase and beeline for the kitchen. “I’m just grabbing something to drink quick. Go back to sleep.”

“You didn’t wake me. I was already up.”

I hear blankets rustling, glancing over in time to see him stroll into the kitchen. “Jesus Christ,” I mutter, my mouth parting when I see him.

My eyes have adjusted to the moonlight, and I can see every dip and curve of his abdomen as he stops in front of me. He reaches above my head and opens the cabinet, snagging a glass for me.

“You’re not wearing any clothes.” The words come out a mumble, my eyes glued to his nipples which are at my eye level.

“And you’re wearing my clothes,” he volleys. Like that explains literally anything.

---