Page 54 of Perfectly Wedded

“But I’m not a hockey player. You could probably crush me with your hands.”

“I don’t go as deep, but the technique is the same,” I say, using my knuckles to work out a tense spot. “I’d like to get better at it.”

“Well, you can practice on me any day,” she says, her head tipping back.

“I’m going to remember that,” I say. “And hold you to it.”

She looks over her shoulder. “By the way, how are we going to hide that you’re sleeping in the living room?”

“I’ll have to remake the couch every day and hide my things in the bedroom.”

She frowns. “But what if they stop by before you’ve had the chance? There’s too much risk of them finding out. We need a better plan.”

“Do you have a suggestion?” I ask, working my hands up her neck. Every time I massage a new spot, she seems to turn to putty in my hands.

She pauses, and I can’t tell whether it’s because she’s falling asleep or thinking.

Without turning around, she says, “You could move into the bedroom.”

I stop moving, my hands still resting on her shoulders. “I thought you said we shouldn’t be in there together. You saidnever.”

“I said that before my sister showed up. If they caught you sleeping on the couch, they’d immediately suspect something was up.”

I wait a beat, studying the way her shoulders lift, then drop when she sighs.

“Are you sure about this?” I ask, not pressuring her.

“It’s a king-sized bed.” She glances over her shoulder. “We can easily fit two people plus plenty of space between us for a pillow wall.”

I laugh. “To protect who? Me from you?”

She smacks me with the couch pillow. “No! To keep you from crossing the imaginary line in the middle of the bed.”

It seems perfectly reasonable. And a lesson in frustration. But I’m a strong guy, right? I can imagine she’s not on the other side of the pillow wall. Not close enough to snake my hand under the covers to hold hers. Not near enough to rest my chin on the soft curve of her neck, taking in the scent of her body.

“I won’t hate this part of the charade,” I say with a smirk.

“On the other hand, maybe youshouldsleep on the couch tonight,” she says, smacking me with the pillow again as she scoots away.

“Oh, no, you don’t,” I say, grabbing her arm and tugging her toward me. “You can’t dangle a king-sized bed in front of me and then take it away. That’s not fair.”

“All’s fair in love and pillow fights,” she says between shrieks of laughter, smacking me with a pillow in the chest. She leaps off the couch, grabbing the other pillow, holding them up like shields.

I lift an eyebrow. “Is that a threat? Because in case you didn’t notice, they’re pillows, not nunchucks. And second, you really don’t want to fight me.”

She adjusts her stance to something vaguely martial arts-like. “Oh, really, Mr. Hot Stuff? Just try me.”

“Oh, I will.” I leap forward as she jumps out of the way.

“Not too shabby,” I say. “Maybe you should play hockey.”

“And show you up?”

“Yeah.” I take a few steps toward her. “Then again, maybe I don’t need pillows.”

I dart forward as she laughs and leaps away from me. She climbs over the couch, jumps on top of the armrest and takes off for the bedroom. I chase her down the hall and finally catch her just before she reaches the door. I duck low, sweeping her off her feet and hauling her over my shoulder in one smooth move.

“Vale, no!” She laughs and kicks against me.

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