Page 132 of The Plus One Contract

That pull is still there, strong as ever.

She doesn’t bother covering up when the sheet slips down her body. She doesn’t shy away. Instead, she gives me a lazy, half-awake smile that lands in my chest like a punch.

“Morning,” she murmurs, her voice heavy with sleep.

I hum, letting my fingertips drift along her spine. They’re slow, reverent strokes I have no right to make. She shivers but doesn’t pull away.

The silence is too thick, the air suffocating. She feels it, too. Her smile falters just a little, her fingers flex on the sheets like she’s not sure if she should reach for me or get the hell out.

Before I can figure out how to stop it, she asks the question I’ve been dreading. “What time is your flight?”

There it is.

Our unspoken deadline.

My throat feels tight as I clear it. “Three o’clock.”

She nods once, and I fucking hate it. Hate the look in her eyes, the acceptance that this was always just borrowed time. That I was never going to stick around. She’s putting those walls back up, right in front of me, and I can’t blame her.

She throws the sheet off, climbing out of bed, her movements too brisk, too controlled.

Tiny shorts, that damn tank top. She forces them on, her body coiled tight with tension, not meeting my eyes.

I can sense her mind already jumping ahead:Check-out is in a few hours, flight at three, let’s not dwell.She’s too busy gathering her stuff, throwing random items into her suitcase, lips pressed together in a line.

“Sienna,” I say quietly. She keeps moving, ignoring me. “Sienna,” I repeat, a warning creeping into my tone.

Nothing.

She’s determined to keep those walls up.

“Sienna.”

She whips around, fists clenched at her sides like she’s ready to fight or flee.

“Thank you,” she whispers, her voice quivering.

“For what?”

She drops her gaze to her hands, knuckles white from twisting the fabric of her shorts. “For this. For…coming here with me. For dealing with the insane idea I cooked up on the plane. Most men would’ve run the second I said ‘fake date to my brother’s wedding.’ But you stayed. You were there for me.”

The breath she blows out is shaky. “I mean, I roped you into being my lifeline, and you did it. So…thank you, Nathan.”

My chest seizes because she sounds so final. She’s already filed this underMemories that end.But this isn’t done. Not for me. Not yet, at least.

I shake my head. “No.”

“No?”

I swing off the bed and grab her hand, pulling her onto my lap before she can argue. She gasps, palms slamming into my chest as I tug her against me. My hands clamp around her thighs, refusing to let her squirm away.

“Don’t do that,” I say.

Her brows knit. “Do what?”

My hands slide up her waist, settling at her hips, holding her firm. “Don’t thank me for this.” Her lips part, but I press on. “We’re not fucking idiots, Sienna. We both know this is going to hurt like hell.”

That’s the truth. Raw and unfiltered, and it’s hanging between us like a live wire.

---