Page 43 of The Spy Who Ghosted Me

He tapped my nose. “I don’t think so.”

“Okay,” I said, semi-relieved.

“Do you need anything? Water? Back rub?” he asked with a teasing air.

“Nice try.” I grinned.

“I gave it a shot.” He kissed my forehead, sending a wave of warmth through me. “Good night, Sabrina.”

“Good night.” I snuggled down farther, wondering now if I could sleep with him in such close proximity.

Cash stood and turned off the lights on the lower level until all that remained was the glow of a light left on in the loft.

I watched as Cash settled himself on top of the sleeping bag.

“Are you cold?” I whispered.

“No.”

“Do you want a pillow?” I couldn’t help but think he had to be uncomfortable.

Cash smiled with his eyes closed. “Believe me, I’ve slept in much worse conditions.”

“Oh. Right. Okay. Good night. Again.”

“Good night, Sabrina.”

I lay there with my eyes closed, trying to fall asleep, but the chemicals Cash had been stirring inside me all day long conquered the exhaustion. They were making me think of crazy things and long for his touch. I tossed and turned and let out an audible sigh, trying to overcome the desire bubbling up inside me.

“Are you okay?” Cash whispered.

No. No, I wasn’t. But I couldn’t tell Cash how I truly felt. Instead, I admitted something else to him. “Do you remember how you used to call me every night, even if you’d just left my place, and you’d read a poem or book to me until I fell asleep?” Oh, how I’d loved it. It was the most romantic thing anyone had ever done for me.

“Yes, of course.”

“I got so used to it, I had to get one of those apps that tells you stories, just so I could sleep. I mean, it was no you, but Harry Styles and Tom Hiddleston were decent replacements. You know who they are, right?” I wasn’t sure if Cash knew things about pop culture.

“I am aware of them.”

“That’s good,” I nervously tittered, wondering what I even wanted out of this conversation.

“Would you like me to tell you a story?” Cash offered.

Ooh. That was a thought. I turned and peered down at him. “Would you mind?” Perhaps it would help me fall asleep. Yes, that’s why I wanted to hear his gravelly, let-me-own-you voice whisper beautiful words to me. What was I thinking? I was just begging to fall in love with him again. Or admit I’d never fallen out of love with him. Which I definitely would not admit to.

His eyes met mine with such intensity, I felt it down my spine. “I wouldn’t mind at all. Do you want me to recite ‘The Lady of Shalott’ by Tennyson? You loved that one.”

“Recite? Do you know it by heart?”

“Every story I ever told you was from memory.”

Whoa. “Are you like a genius?”

“I wouldn’t say that.”

“What would you say?”

“That I have an above average IQ.” He grinned. “So, Tennyson?”

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