Page 15 of Claiming My Cocky Boss

I looked up at him, catching the softness in his eyes as he gazed down at me. “I’m not going anywhere,” I murmured, letting the weight of the night melt away. The reassuring strength of his embrace and the gentle rhythm of his breathing were enough to make the rest of the world disappear.

As I rested my head on his chest again, his fingers traced lazy circles on my back, and slowly, sleep began to pull us both under. At that moment, everything felt right. No worries about tomorrow, no thoughts of what was to come—just the two of us, wrapped up together.

And for the first time in a long time, I felt completely at peace.

Seven

Liam

I woke to the feeling of something warm and soft pressed against my chest. For a second, I thought I was still dreaming, the remnants of sleep blurring the line between what was real and what wasn’t. But as I blinked my eyes open, the faint light filtering in through the window told me it was morning.

Mia was curled up next to me, her breathing soft and even. Her hair, wild from sleep, fanned across my shoulder, and her leg was tangled with mine. The embers in the fireplace had gone completely out, and the cool air of the room brushed over us, but the warmth of her body and the soft quilts kept me anchored.

Last night had been... unexpected. It was supposed to be a one-time thing, a way to quench the need we both clearly had. But now, lying here with her in my arms, something stirred in me that I hadn’t felt in a long time. I tried to shake it off, reminding myself that this wasn’t supposed to be complicated. Yet, as I looked at her peaceful expression, it became harder to convince myself.

A sharp, throbbing pain in my ankle yanked me back to reality. I winced, trying to shift my leg without waking her. The boot they’d strapped me into was bulky and awkward, and right now, it felt like it was squeezing the life out of my foot. I bit back a groan, not wanting to disturb Mia, but the pain wasn’t something I could ignore.

Mia stirred beside me, her eyes fluttering open. She blinked a few times, then looked up at me, her face still soft with sleep. For a moment, there was a quiet between us, something fragile but real.

“Morning,” she murmured, her voice raspy.

“Good morning,” I replied, my voice sounding rougher than usual. I shifted again, trying to stretch out my leg. The pain flared, making me clench my jaw.

Mia’s eyes dropped to my ankle, and her brow furrowed. “Your ankle... is it bothering you?”

I nodded, not trusting myself to speak without letting out a curse. The throbbing had grown more intense, and all I could think about was getting out of this damn boot.

“Hold on,” she said, pulling herself up and gently moving off me. “Let me check it.”

She leaned over, her fingers brushing lightly against my leg as she inspected the boot. Her touch was gentle but firm, and despite the pain, I couldn’t help but feel something stir in me again. Her brows furrowed in concentration, and after a moment, she adjusted the straps.

“That should help a bit. I think you are supposed to take it off at night,” she murmured, her hand lingering on my leg for a second longer than necessary before she pulled away.

“Thanks. Tonight, I will,” I muttered, trying to shake off the tension building inside me. “I probably shouldn’t have slept without propping it up.”

Mia stood up, stretching her arms above her head as she glanced at the clock. “You’ll survive,” she teased lightly, giving me a hand up to the couch. “But I need to get ready for work. I’ll make you some oatmeal before I go. I’ll leave it on the kitchen table. And don’t forget your meds.”

And just like that, the moment passed, and reality set back in. The intimacy of the night before was a distant memory, replaced by the routine of the day. I watched as she gathered her clothes left on the floor from the night before, her movements quick and efficient, like nothing had happened between us.

As she disappeared into the bathroom, I leaned back against the couch cushions, my mind racing. Last night was supposed to be simple—two people scratching an itch. But now... I wasn’t so sure. There was something about Mia that was starting to get under my skin. Something I couldn’t shake.

But I couldn’t let myself think about that. I had other things to worry about—like how the hell I was supposed to get any work done when I could barely walk.

Once Mia left for work, the silence in the cabin became deafening. I glanced at the kitchen, remembering the oatmeal she mentioned. Grudgingly, I made my way to the table, spooning some of the lukewarm oats into my mouth. It wasn’t bad—plain, sure—but better than nothing. I washed it down with a cup of coffee, popping the painkillers the nurse had given me.

But with each bite, my restlessness only grew. I wasn’t used to this—to being stuck, immobile, and utterly dependent on someone else. Back in Dallas, I ran my company, and controlled every detail of my life, and now? Now, I couldn’t even leave the cabin without crutches.

I needed to get my laptop. I couldn’t just sit here and do nothing. The embezzlers weren’t going to catch themselves, and I wasn’t going to solve this case by lying on a couch with my foot propped up like an invalid.

Step by step, I made my way to the door, the uneven floor of the cabin making every movement feel like a battle. I’d just have to make it to my truck, get to my cabin, grab the laptop, and get back before Mia even knew I was gone. Easy.

But as I opened the door and felt the crisp morning air hit me, a small voice in the back of my mind whispered that this was a terrible idea. Even Daisy cocked her head and gave me a quizzical look. Ignoring it, I pressed forward. This was something I had to do—if only to prove to myself that I wasn’t completely helpless.

The short drive to my cabin felt like an eternity, each bump in the road sending jolts of pain through my left ankle. By the time I pulled into the gravel driveway, I was already second-guessing my decision to leave Mia’s place. But I was here now, and I needed that laptop.

Grabbing the crutches, I hobbled out of the truck, each step a reminder of how foolish this whole thing was. The uneven ground made the crutches wobble beneath me. I could feel the strain in my arms and the throbbing in my ankle growing worse with each step, but I pushed through it.

The cabin door was slightly ajar, and I cursed under my breath. I could’ve sworn I locked it before I left for my run. Carelessness? Maybe. Or was it the painkillers playing tricks on me, making me doubt my own memory? I stood there for a moment, frowning, trying to recall the exact moment I closed the door that fateful afternoon. I was sure I had locked it—wasn’t I?

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