Page 103 of Never With You
As if he can feel me watching him, Nate peeks one eye open. “How was dinner?”
I hold up the food. “I brought you some soup if you feel up to it.”
“You’re pretty thoughtful.” A lazy half-smile dances across his lips. “But I think I’ll pass on the soup.”
“Is there something else I can get you?”
“I’m good.”
“You don’t look good.” I sit on the edge of the bed, placing the back of my hand on his forehead. “No fever.”
Nate grabs my hand from his face and gently holds it by his side. “I’m embarrassed you’re seeing me like this.”
“I think it’s only fair, considering all the personal things you know about me.”
“True.” He gives another small smile, but then something serious passes through his eyes. “I do know a lot about you.”
I stare at him for a second, wondering if he’s talking about the Google calendar or something else.
His eyelids get heavy and close. “I should move off the bed so you can go to sleep.”
“No, you take the bed tonight. You’re sick. I’ll sleep on the couch.”
“Or we could both sleep on the bed.” He opens his eyes briefly, attempting a roguish smile. “What’s the worst that could happen?”
Nate is right. He’s completely sick. But there’s still a level of trepidation. Next week, I’ll have to show up to work and face him, knowing that we slept in the same bed together. It just muddies the waters between us even more. Our relationship is full of misunderstandings, mixed signals, and unspoken feelings, making it harder to see things clearly—at least for me. But just as I’m about to tell him I’ll sleep on the floor, his breaths become heavy, and I know he’s already out.
I guess there isn’t any harm in sharing a bed. What’s the worst that can happen?
* * *
I wakeup to the soft chirp of birds in the trees outside the villa. Morning light cracks through the curtains, scattering sunlight across the floor. My head nestles against something warm. Strong.
Oh.
My eyes blink open, and for a second, I have to put together where I am.
Nate’s villa.
Memories of our conversation last night fill in the gaps.
The same bed. Because he was sick. Right.
My gaze darts to his arm draped around my waist and the other stretched out under my head. Nate Farnsworth, my fake boyfriend andformeroffice nemesis, is holding me…in his sleep.
I should definitely pull away, like,right now. Am I really okay with this? Is he?
But the safety I feel in his arms makes me want to stay put, if only for another second. There’s comfort in the warm bursts of breath covering my neck and the even rhythm of his chest moving in and out behind me. The faint sound of his heartbeat beneath my ear lulls me into a peacefulness I don’t want to give up.
It’s all too nice to fight against.
But then I remember Mr. International and how we're supposed to meet in less than a week. All these little moments with Nate are distractions, confusing me from what I really want—from the man I’m really falling for.
I shift my body, trying to ease out from under his arm without waking him. But just as I move, Nate’s hand tightens around my hip, causing his fingers to brush the exposed skin between my t-shirt and the hem of my shorts.
A flutter of butterflies erupts in my stomach.
There’s a deep breath, like he’s coming to. His body stiffens behind me, and the hand on my waist lifts. But then, in a surprise twist, his fingers come back down to my waist and pull me to him.Oh, crap.I quickly turn around, prompting him to drag his other arm out from under me. Now, I’m face to face with a wide-eyed, shirtless Nate.
