Page 29 of Fearless
“That depends on whether or not you have any chocolate,” I reply. I don’t often resort to consuming sugar as comfort food, but sometimes a girl just needs chocolate to deal with what life throws at her.
There’s a hearty chuckle as Roger opens the door and leans against the frame with his arms and ankles crossed. He looks like a model posing for the cover of a magazine. “I don’t, but I can order some from room service if that’s what it will take to make you feel better.”
I lay there and hug the pillow, my feet dangling off the side of the bed. “Chocolate-covered strawberries are considered a breakfast food, right?” I smile so that he knows that I’m kidding.
Roger pushes off the door frame to come and lay down beside me, folding his hands over his stomach. He remains silent for a long minute. I’ve always appreciated that Roger takes the time to formulate his words, but after what we had just learned, I’m not sure I want to hear what comes next.
“Harper, I know that none of this is easy for you. The past 72 hours have been a whirlwind of information, not including the fact you were shot with a tranquilizer dart. It could have easily been a bullet, and I could have lost you. I’m hanging on by a thread, so I can only imagine what you must be going through. How are you holding up?”
I turn on my side and rest the side of my head on my fist. Roger turns and faces me, assuming the same position. “You know as well as I do that there is an assumed level of risk in this job and that tomorrow isn’t guaranteed for any of us,” I tell him. “I’ll admit that getting hit by a dart wasn’t fun and could have turned out differently, but Whitman’s words felt like a bullet to the heart and hurt far worse than anything else. A small piece of me died when he implied my parents are terrorists.”
Roger inches his fingers over to my free hand and gently strokes it with the tip of his index finger. “I have no idea what is going on, Harper, but I can’t fathom a world where either Robert or Eloise would harm anyone outside of self-defense. The evidence supports Whitman’s assertion, but…”
“But nothing, Roger,” I sputter, pulling my hand free from his touch. “There has to be a logical explanation.”
“Harper, not one member of this team truly believes Whitman’s accusation, but that doesn’t mean we can ignore the evidence. I agree that there’s a logical explanation, and it’s our job to find out what that is. It’s our job to investigateallavenues, no matter where they lead—even if we don’t like the outcome. There’s no place for ‘confirmation bias’ in our career field, where we only accept evidence that supports what we want to believe.”
If this were any other case, I would be able to put aside any assumptions and focus on the facts. “Can you really put aside twenty years of friendship and not let that affect your perception of the situation?”
“Yes, I can, Harper. If Robert and Eloise are innocent…”
“Theyareinnocent,” I declare.
Roger closes his eyes in frustration at my continuous interruption but doesn’t chastise me for it under the circumstances. He shuffles off the bed and towers over me. “If Robert and Eloise are innocent, then the facts will speak for themselves—facts we need to work together to find. I’ll do this without you if you can’t set aside your preconceived notions, but I’d rather do this together—as a team. I need to get a few hours of sleep, so you have some time to figure out how you want to proceed.”
The idea of Roger sleeping uncomfortably on the sofa bed after being awake for more than a full day weighs on my heart. “You can sleep in here, Roger. The bed is big enough to share without our bodies ever touching.”
Roger glances in the direction of the sofa that is barely long enough to fit his body and then at the massive bed with a softmattress and six pillows. This goes on several more times before I start putting pillows down the middle. “You can sleep on that side,” I say, pointing to the third of the bed that’s not occupied by me or a bunch of fluff. “I don’t bite.”
Giving into the temptation of a pillow-topped mattress, Roger kicks off his shoes and nestles himself on top of the covers, looking mighty uncomfortable. I try my best not to laugh, but I can’t help but giggle at his escapades. His head lolls toward me, and his eyebrows knit together. “What?”
“We’re technically married, Roger, and we’re both grown adults. Haven’t you ever shared a bed with one of your teammates or another agent?”
“There’s a difference when feelings are involved,” Roger answers, his eyes darting everywhere but at me.
“What kind of feelings, Roger?” I ask, afraid to get my hopes up. He’s already admitted to being attracted to me, but this admission could change things between us.
“The kind I have no business having, Harper. Can we please get some sleep and talk about this later?” he asks as he rolls over so that his back is to me.
“I’ll let you avoid this conversation for now, but I’m going to hold you to your promise of always telling me the truth,” I mumble, turning away from him and closing my eyes.
There’s nothing wrong with Roger’s hearing because he grunts out, “That’s fine by me, Angel, because it’s time I got the truth from you as well.”
Although the curtains are closed, there is a sliver of light filtering through the two hanging pieces that shine on my face and wake me from my slumber. I glance at the clock on the nightstand and see that it’s a little past noon. What was supposed to be a nap has turned into five hours of much-needed sleep.
My body stiffens straight as a board when I feel his soft breath tickle my neck and strong arms tighten around my waist. I hold my breath, not daring to move. His warm body heat permeates my backside from head to toe as his much larger frame spoons my own. So much for the extra pillows working as a barrier between us. I’d be lying if I said that I wanted them there in the first place, but I knew Roger would sacrifice comfort for the sake of propriety despite us being legally wed.
Finding out Roger is a cuddler brings a smile to my face. I pegged him to be one of those men who falls asleep the moment his head hits the pillow and doesn’t move throughout the night. The way he turned his back to me before falling asleep indicated as much, but I’m thrilled that’s not the case. Being ensconced in his arms is most likely the reason why I got the best sleep I’ve had in a very long time.
I turn slowly so that I can soak in the details of his face while he sleeps, noting how much younger he looks when he’s relaxed and at ease. It doesn’t take long before Roger can feel my eyes on him, and he slowly opens his own peepers to peer at me.
“Good morning, Sleepyhead,” I say with a grin. “Or should I say, ‘Good afternoon?’”
He notices his arms laced around me and begins to pull away, but I place my hand on his bicep to stop him. “It’s all right, Roger. There’s nothing wrong with a littlesnuggling.”
He stops his movement and closes his eyes, pulling me tighter against his body and nuzzling my neck. I’m not sure if he’s fully awake yet and knows what he’s doing or if he’s still halfway in La La Land. Either way, I’m not about to complain.
His next words answer my unspoken question. “It’s what snuggling leads to that concerns me, Harper. Your skin smells like peaches and cream, which is a tempting treat to wake up to.” His lips touch the soft spot where my neck and collarbone meet, and he inhales deeply before rolling away and sitting up.
