Page 61 of Not That Complicated

Adam smoothed my hair off my forehead with a warm hand. “Is this okay?” he asked.

“Yes,” I said. It took some effort to say it. My voice came out slow and heavy. “‘S nice.”

“I’m buying you a weighted blanket,” he said.

“I don’t need one. I don’t have anxiety.”

He shifted over me, resettling.

There was that hesitation again.

I arched my back in an irritated hump. “There’s nothing wrong with having anxiety,” I said, “I’m not, like, being a dick about it. I just don’t have it.” That I was aware of.

“I’m not telling you that you do,” he said carefully. “Although fair to say anyone would be shaken by discovering a dead body.”

I murmured agreement.

“And you’re highly strung.”

I couldn’t argue with him there, either. I’d had that complaint before.

“You are all over the place,” Adam said. He let out a shuddering breath. “Makes me want to contain you.” His arms tucked in tight to my body. His chest was against my back. His legs were to the outside of mine. I’d say he was doing a pretty good job of containing me, actually.

I squirmed under him, enjoying his weight and the slide of his soft skin, marvelling at his confidence.

I’d been a mess of a human being at twenty-three.

I hadn’t had a fraction of Adam’s maturity or steadfastness. He was so certain in his opinions and in who and what he wanted.

Twenty-three-year-old Ray went where the wind blew him, and as for his sexual confidence? His experience, skills? I’d been entry-level at best. I messed around, I wasn’t inexperienced or shy about it. But I didn’t have a clue what I wanted. I went along with what the other guy—and on one memorable occasion, woman—wanted and it was all good.

But Adam washandlingme. He’d done it from the start, and he got better at it each time we clashed.

Although, I didn’t think clashed was the right word.

He’d shown up, hugged me, fed and hydrated me, tucked me up, and was now cuddling me.

I had no idea what he was getting out of this deal, but he was right. I was highly strung, I’d definitely been feeling some anxiety, and my muscles were relaxing under his steady, solid weight, the stress falling like dominoes.

“Why do I keep finding dead people?” I said. Adam shook with laughter. I giggled. “Why are they all in my house?”

“I don’t know,” he murmured.

“I never expected to see a dead person. Except on TV. It’s quite upsetting, to be honest. I think less than if, you know, they’d just expired. But...yeah. Unexpected.”

He hummed.

“I feel like I should be doing something about it.”

“Something like what?”

“I don’t know. There’s a whole shelf in the second-hand bookshop in town dedicated to cosy Cotswolds murder mysteries. They’re called things like,Murder in the Cotswolds, andSlay Bells: A Cotswold Bellringer Mystery,or,Cotswolds Carnage. I feel like I am failing to live up to expectations. Shouldn’t I be investigating, instead of lying in bed in the Premier Lodge? Shouldn’t I be running around, being a maverick amateur sleuth? Poking the bear? Stirring up a hornet’s nest. Cracking the case wide open and all that.” I ran out of cliches.

“While ‘all that’ sounds like a spectacular way to piss Liam off and thus I am very much in favour, Ray, I hate to break this to you, but you couldn’t find your arse with both hands.”

“Hey,” I said, and reached back.

“Yeah, see?” Adam breathed. “That’s my arse you’re fondling.”

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