Page 68 of Sugar
He looks at me with a reverence that steals my breath. “How are you not running from me?”
Emotion pinches behind my eyes as I give him a small grin. “Tried that already, remember?”
He huffs out a laugh, but he keeps his eyes trained on me.
The air between us charges as I feel his pulse thrum beneath my pinky.
“You’re going to be okay, Kasey,” I say again. “I promise.”
His eyes squeeze shut as his shoulders slump.
I reach for the comforter and pull it back up on the bed, spreading it out around our legs. His eyes open and his gaze catches mine as I slide up beside him, dragging the blanket with me as I go. “Come on,” I say gently. “You need sleep.”
“Ava.” It’s only a half-hearted protest.
“Come on,” I say again. “Come lie with me.”
Kasey relents, settling his weight back down on the bed. He sinks into the mattress, holding an arm out in silent invitation.
I take it, curling my body against his and resting my head on the strong expanse of his chest. He rumbles out a pleased sigh, not quite content, but still edged in relief. “Thank you,” he murmurs, the low timbre of his voice vibrating through my cheek.
I trail light circles across his skin with my fingers until his breathing evens out, and he falls back asleep.
We stay like that, clutched in each other’s arms, for the rest of the night.
CHAPTER TWENTY
KASEY
Iwake the next morning bleary-eyed, squinting at the bright stream of sunlight spilling through the window, and curse the fact that I’m late for barn chores again. And then I realize there’s an unfamiliar ball of heat pressed up against my ribs.
Looking down, I find a chaotic nest of dark curls fanning my chest as a wickedly bony and still-sleeping Ava snores softly on my right pec. Her mouth is parted open so wide I wouldn’t be surprised if she caught a fly or two in there. There’s even a steady stream of drool flowing out of the corner of her lips, right onto my nipple.
Christ, she’s gorgeous.
It takes a sincere level of effort not to dive my fingers into her hair, to rub against her scalp in hopes she makes that soft, satisfied grunt I used to try very hard to coax out of her but haven’t heard since before she left. The realization slams into me that, even after years of dating, this is the first time I’ve woken up in the morning with her in my bed. That she’sstayinghere, that I could theoretically be waking up like thiseverymorning.
My eyes zero in on the ring finger of her left hand, the metal band shining in the morning light. I hold my own in front of myface to study it as the reality of what we’ve done prickles up my arm.
We’re married.
Ava Jones is mywife.
She shifts against me—lifting a bare leg out of the covers to slide over the tops of my thighs—and I freeze, sucking in a slow, tortured breath. It seems my body ishighlyaware of the fact that Ava is in this bed with me. And Ava’s not wearing any pants. I dare the briefest look down the length of both our bodies to catch the tiniest glimpse of the white cotton underwear she has on. It’s enough to send all the air rushing out of my lungs and all my blood rushing straight for my dick.
I have to get out of this fucking bed.
Closing my eyes, I remember that—wife or not—Ava isnotsupposed to be in bed with me. I’d made it perfectly clear when we discussed this arrangement that she would be sleeping in her room, and I would be sleeping in mine. We may have had a little hiccup thanks to my stupid fucking nightmare, butnowlook. I’m trying to maintain a semblance of control as my feelings for her keep slamming into me like a battering ram, but waking up with her half naked and draped over me like this, wearing my ring on her goddamn finger, isnothelping.
I reach for my phone on my nightstand, finding a handful of texts from Rhett, telling me not to worry about work today and to enjoy myhoneymoon.
“Fuck,” I whisper softly, looking back down at Ava.
She’s sleeping hard. The poor woman is exhausted.
I spend the next seven minutes carefully disentangling from her, replacing the form of my body with the softest pillow I have so that by the time I’m standing at the side of the bed, she’s clutching it with an affectionate death grip. I gently pull the comforter up around her, tucking her in, and allow myself thereward of a quick kiss to her temple before tiptoeing out of the room.
I pull on my robe from the en suite and head for the kitchen, deciding the least I can do after dumping my most dangerous secret on her last night is cook her some breakfast. Making a mental note to go to the grocery store and stock up on more food since there’s two of us now—two and a half?I think with a sudden pang of joy—I reach into the pantry for the pancake mix I haven’t touched since the boys spent the night camping out in my living room.
