Page 48 of If the Ring Fits

I grab some from the settee in the corner and start building a makeshift barrier across the mattress.

“Fort West.” I let out a forced chuckle, hoping to ease some of the tension. “No trespassing.”

She squints at me. “We’ll see how long your fortifications last against my invading forces.”

We take turns in the bathroom, orbiting each other skittishly like asteroids on the verge of collision until we slide under the covers and settle at the opposite ends of the mattress.

Despite the distance, the scent of her lotion wafts over, vanilla and jasmine, and I clench my fists against the urge to roll over and pull her close. But we’re both lying at the edges of the bed only a hair’s breadth away from falling off.

I stare at the ceiling, counting my breaths. This is going to be a long night…

I wake slowly, the tendrils of sleep still clinging. Disoriented, I blink against the sunlight filtering through gauzy curtains. Where am I? Then it hits me—Dominic’s Hamptons house.

Reality comes rushing back as I register the warm weight pressed along my side, the tickle of hair beneath my chin.

Oh, fuck.

In the night, Rowena and I gravitated toward each other like magnets. Now our limbs are tangled, her head on my chest. The barrier between us obliterated. I peek over the edge of the bed and spot the valiant soldiers lying on the floor, decimated.

She stirs and nuzzles deeper into my neck with a contented sigh. Parts of me twitch involuntarily. I should extricate myself, restore a respectful distance before she wakes up. But I’mfrozen, hyperaware of every place where our bodies touch, her soft curves molding to my angles. It feels too right.

Rowena’s lashes twitch and I panic. Carefully, I ease out from under her, sliding my arm from the sweet dip of her waist. She makes a disgruntled noise and burrows into the space I vacated, seeking my warmth. I watch, enchanted and aching, as she settles back into sleep.

Scrubbing a hand over my face, I pad to the bathroom.

Remember the rules. You don’t need complications.

I splash cold water on my cheeks and behind my neck.

When I re-emerge, Rowena is awake, adorably rumpled with pillow creases on her cheek. Our eyes meet and lock with awareness.

“Sleep well?” I strive for nonchalance.

A pretty flush stains her skin. “Like a baby. You?”

“Same.” I glance down, pretending to check my watch. “I’m heading down to breakfast. Take your time getting ready.”

Escape. I need to clear my head before I do something foolish, like crush her to that mattress and—nope, not going there. Because fuck, do I want to. Falling into bed with Rowena would be easier than breathing. But I’m not even sure it’d be just mere physical attraction, and that’s dangerous.

No, best to ignore the part of me that whispers it’s already too late. I’m not relationship material. Rowena deserves better than the few spare hours my job allows for my personal life. And she’s vulnerable now, jobless, pregnant, completely dependent on me… I can’t.

I head downstairs to join the others, determined to keep my distance. But I can still feel the phantom warmth of her touch like a brand on my skin.

20

ROWENA

Nine weeks pregnant

I survived two days and two nights of extreme proximity with Adrian West. My spine still hasn’t recovered from all the tingling, and I don’t think my shoulders have ever been so wrung with tension—frustratedsexualtension—but I made it.

And now I have an engagement party to organize. True to her word, Ella has put me in contact with her event planner—apparently all investment bankers’ wives have one to plan soirees for their husbands and the occasional party. Since the party needs to be soon, Sophie offered to come to the house to meet me in person right away.

She arrived just after lunch, and now we’re sitting in Adrian’s living room, discussing the details. The first question she asks is what my budget is. I text the query to Adrian and turn the phone to Sophie to let her read the answer directly as it pops in.

Adrian

Don’t make me look skimpy

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