Page 33 of The One Night Match
After a long, hot shower, I came out and remembered my luggage was still downstairs, leaving me with nothing to sleep in.
I was too tired to sneak around finding something to wear, so I decided it was a tomorrow problem. I just wasn’t expecting Cruz to slip into bed beside me in the middle of the night.
My hands move to cover myself, which only seems to amuse my new husband further, earning him a scowl.
“Get out!” I snap.
“Nah, I think I quite like the view in here.” He smirks.
The heat of my cheeks is getting to the point I’m wondering if it’s possible to actually transform into a tomato, and rather than reach for a sheet or pillow to cover myself, I turn around, like my bare ass is any better than the full frontal I’ve already given him.
“Cruz, please,” I groan, fighting the urge to flee to the bathroom where I think there’s a lock on the door. Damn it, I should have checked that last night when I took my shower.
“You know I love it when you beg, Kitten.” His voice comes from right behind me, his heat radiating against my back, but no part of him touches me, something I’m more annoyed about than I should be.
“Out!” I growl.
He chuckles, brushing a single finger down my shoulder and arm before pressing a kiss to my throat. “Good morning, wife. Come downstairs when you’re ready, and I’ll make us breakfast.”
Before I can confirm he knows how to cook and isn’t about to give us both food poisoning, he disappears through the door, closing it with a loud click that allows my entire body to relax.
Not quite the first morning of marriage I expected.
Once I’ve showered away most of my horror, I remember that yet again, I have nothing to wear.
Perfect. Can’t wait to traipse through the house in nothing but a towel.
At least it’s one of those huge bath sheets that comes to past my knees, but at this point, Cruz has already seen me butt naked this morning, so it wouldn’t even come close to the most embarrassing part of the day so far.
I poke my head out of the bathroom door and notice Mr. Whiskers is still curled up in a ball at the end of the bed, and beside him is a T-shirt.
At first, I scowl at the garment like it’s personally offended me, and then I realize it means I won’t be walking around here in a towel, making me kind of grateful to my hot as fuck husband who snuck in during the night to sleep beside me.
If this were a romance book, sure, I’d think it’s a little cute that the big bad Mafia boss couldn’t sleep without me, but this is real life, and I need to be realistic.
I can’t give Cruz what he needs.
I’m not cut from the same cloth as my mom and sisters. I don’t have what it takes to live only to host dinner parties and wait at home hoping my husband comes home breathing every day.
Shaking myself off, I drop the towel and slip into the black shirt that engulfs me, dropping to my knees. The scent of laundry detergent mixes with something distinctly Cruz, and I force myself to walk out of the room instead of sniffing the shirt over and over again.
I drag my fingers through my still-wet hair as I take the steps down to the ground level, the smell of bacon making my stomach rumble loudly.
The last time I really ate was the fast food in the limo after our ceremony, and to say I’m hungry would be an understatement.
Cruz is still wearing sweatpants that dip dangerously low, giving me an eyeful of his heavily tattooed body, and not for the first time, I wish I could study them closer.
He looks over his shoulder, and his smug smirk makes me roll my eyes.
“Thanks for the shirt,” I say, rounding the counter and coming face-to-face with something that looks more spaceship than coffee machine.
“Looks better on you than it does me,” he replies from right behind me, making me jump at his proximity. Goddamn it, how does he keep doing that?
Cruz leans around me, his front pressing to my back and reminding me that I’m completely naked under this thin shirt. He presses a button on the machine, and it buzzes to life, but instead of pulling away, he wraps both arms around me and tugs me into him, the evidence of his arousal pressing into my ass.
He buries his nose in my throat and shamelessly breathes me in, groaning. “Fuck, you don’t know what it’s doing to me to see you in my kitchen in nothing but my shirt.”
I press my eyes closed and brace both hands on the edge of the counter to steady myself. His heat is stifling, and yet I find myself leaning into it.
