Page 149 of From Best Friend to Bride
If I was reluctant to do anything physical with her before, I certainly was now. She was drunk. She couldn’t fully consent to anything, and I wasn’t going to take advantage of that.
I just needed to get her to go back to sleep so I could go and relieve myself of my stress elsewhere.
“It’s onnnn,” she sang, and I opened my eyes to see her grinning drunkenly with her arms held out in a ‘ta-dah’ kind of pose.
“Now these,” I said, handing her the bottoms.
“Okay, okay. Mr Grumpy Wumpy.” She fiddled with the button on her jeans. “Help. The zip is broken.”
“That’s because it’s a button,” I said dryly.
“Oh.” She looked at me. “It won’t unzip.”
Because it’s a button.
I knocked her hands away and undid the button, then took a deep breath and undid the zip for good measure. Knowing her right now, she’d end up catching it on her underwear or something.
“Think you can manage now?”
“You unzipped it!”
“Sure. I unzipped it,” I replied, getting up and turning away. “Change your bottoms.”
“Yes, husband.”
That word from her lips sent a shiver down my spine.
Shit.
I could count on one hand how many times she’d used that word since the wedding, but right now, it hit me differently. It wasn’t the snarky, sarcastic way she usually said it. No—coming from this cute, clumsy Delilah, it was deadly.
Husband.
I was her husband.
What the fuck was I holding back for? I was in love with her. I loved her with every atom of my being.
My accidental rejection of her had clearly stung. I could fix it all so, so easily. I could give in to my impulses and make her see that I wasn’t rejecting a single part of her. That I was accepting every last hair on her body, every last freckle and mole and scar.
That I wanted nothing as badly as I wanted her.
I glanced back at her and paused. Watching her fumble with the tie at the waist of her pyjamas brought me back to reality.
She was drunk. I was not.
There wasn’t a scenario in which I’d take advantage of her like this.
“I’ve got it,” I said softly, sitting back down. I took the strings from her hands and quickly tied them into a bow, then pulled back. “Is that too tight?”
She shook her head. “I’m tired.”
“Alcohol does that to you. Lie down.”
She did as I said, and I tucked her in, making sure her hair was away from her face.
“I’m going to get water and some painkillers, all right? I’ll be right back.”
“Fred.” She grabbed my hand, rolling her head to the side. Her copper gaze found mine, and I softened at the sleepy sadness in it. “Can you just stay with me?”
