Page 65 of Obsession Under the Southern Stars

“I don’t usually get to sleep much before one or two. I only need four- or five-hours’ sleep.”

“Freak.”

He chuckles and kisses my hair again. “Do you want anything? I could make you a cup of tea or hot chocolate? Or a snack?”

“No, thanks.”

“I should go back to bed, then.”

“Joel…” I hesitate.

He rubs my back. “What?”

“Would you stay? Not to do anything untoward, unless you particularly want to…”

His lips curve up.

“But just to hold me?” Unbidden, my eyes fill with tears. “I don’t want to be alone.”

He studies my face for a moment, frowning as if he’s trying to work out if I’m serious or it’s a ploy. He looks at my eyes, and he must see the tears, because his expression softens.

“All right,” he says. “Let me turn off the lights and get my phone.”

He goes through to his room and turns off the light when he comes back. I watch him walk in, admiring his long legs, his toned muscles, even his sticky-up hair, which is so familiar to me now. He moves with a grace that not many men have, maybe a testament to the amount of time he spends in the water. I find it oddly attractive.

He closes the door, then crosses the room and gets back into bed, putting his phone on the bedside table. I wait for him to get comfortable as he slides down the pillows and turns onto his side. “Come here,” he says, circling his finger to indicate that I should roll away from him. He tucks the duvet between us, then when I’m facing away, he puts an arm around me and pulls me tightly against him, so we’re like two spoons nestled together.

I wiggle my butt, then sigh. “I can’t feel you.”

“That was the point.”

“Spoilsport.”

He kisses my hair. Then my ear. Then my neck.

We both sigh, then laugh. “Go to sleep,” he scolds.

I curl up, my arms to my chest. He rests his arm on mine, and when I splay my fingers, he interlaces his with them.

We go to sleep like that, holding hands.

I rouse a couple of times in the night, but when I discover his arm is still around me, and his body is warm against mine,his breath hot on my neck, I close my eyes again. My dreams remain blurry and indistinct, forgotten like early morning mist.

When I wake properly and discover it’s daylight, I’m alone. I put a hand on the bed beside me and find it cool, so he’s been up for a while. I look at my phone—it’s seven thirty.

I rise and wander out into the kitchen to discover him sitting up the breakfast bar, drinking a coffee and munching on some toast as he scrolls through Insta on his phone. He must have had a shower because his hair is damp around the temples, and for once he’s shaved. He looks up from his coffee cup, his gaze falling on my hair, and his lips curve up.

“I’ve just woken up,” I say defensively, smoothing down my hair and wishing I’d thought to check my reflection. “And anyway, you can talk, Mr. Never-Owned-a-Comb-in-my-Life.”

He snorts. “Want some toast? I’ve ordered a picnic lunch that should turn up soon, so I thought we’d have a light breakfast.”

“Toast would be great.”

He gets up and pops a couple of slices into the toaster, then starts making me a coffee. I’m not used to this. Acts of service was last on the list of Charles’s love languages. I don’t think he ever made me a drink or a meal, or did anything else for me, in fact, in all the time we were together. I never complained because my father is like that with my mother, so I didn’t even think about it. I have seen the way both Fraser and Joel are with Elora—they open doors for her, despite me rolling my eyes, and they’ll make her a hot water bottle if they think she needs it or bring her a cardigan or get her a drink from the fridge without having to be asked, but I just assumed it was because of what happened to her. It didn’t cross my mind that they might be like that generally.

I put some music on my phone, and then I listen to him humming along while he makes my coffee and butters my toast.This guy… he mocks me mercilessly, and loves to tease me, especially in front of people. But when we’re alone… he just melts me.

He brings over my coffee and toast, looks up, and says, “What?”

---