Page 36 of The Billionaire's Christmas Bride

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"I’ll manage."

"I won’t bite."

"Ha," she snorts, "famous last words."

"Unless you want me to?"

She stills. Tension pours off of her to fill the space between us on the bed. I switch off the light, then fold my arms over my chest. "If you stay that stiff, I’ll have to tickle you."

"Wh…what?" she squeaks.

"Not good for your muscles to be so bunched up. You’ll have a headache when you wake up."

"Like you care?"

"A deal is a deal, Buttercup."

"I wish you wouldn’t call me that."

"I wish you’d relax a little."

If anything, she tenses further. I turn away from her, close my eyes. The stress that rolls off of her slams into my back. My shoulders bunch, My muscles coil, ready to spring…Fuck.I turn back to her, scoot over.

Her gaze widens, "What are you—?"

"Hush." I pull her to me, so her back is pressed into my chest, then I spoon her.

She makes a noise of alarm.

I tighten my arm around her waist. "Raise your head."

"What?"

"Do it, woman," I snap.

She does as I ask.Fuck, finally.I slip my arm under her neck, throw my leg over hers.

She doesn’t say a word. Nothing. Her entire body goes stiff… As hard as my dick, which instantly lengthens. It nestles against the curve of her hip. Well, someone’s happy, at least. I tuck her head under my chin.

"Weston," she whispers.

I sigh, "Now what?"

"What is it with you and clocks? Do you have a phobia or something?"

Or something.Not that I am going to tell her about it. I’d already given away enough with that half-arsed fit I’d thrown. Shit, do I have my balls about me or what?

"Weston—"

"Goodnight, Princess."

She huffs, but stay’s silent.

Thank fuck.

I close my eyes, count back the time on the hands of a clock. Restart the stopwatch.

Twelve o’ clock.

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