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Chapter 32
Tilly
My heart swells. It practically burst out of my chest. I still had so many questions and even though I had trained my mind to despise him, I was exhausted. I was exhausted from fighting this never ending battle, but I wasn’t quite ready to wave the white flag.
“Come on,” he nods his head.
We stand and I let him lead me back up the stairs and into my room. Without a word, he pulls the covers back on my bed, fluffing the pillow.
“Get moving, Rosie,” he orders.
I walk past him and crawl into bed. He holds out his palm as I tug the covers up over my legs. I reach up, removing my hearing aids and lay them in his hand. He places them on the charger then cuts off the lamp. There’s still a glow in the room from the tv, so I can see his body move towards the door, but he stops before he gets to the threshold. His large hand grips the door, closing it before he turns to face me.
What are you doing? I sign.
I figured he would leave. He did his part.
Staying. He moves back to the bed.
Panic swirls inside me. Is he planning on sleeping here? With me?
In here? I ask.
He stops on the other side. Where else?
The couch?
I know if he gets close to me, holds me, that’s it, I’m a goner. I’ll fold like a lawn chair.
No. He signs.
I let out a deep breath, my eyes closing as I slump back into the pillows. Of course, he says no. He takes a few strides, then his shirt is over his head, his abs on full display. His hands go to his jeans next, his pants dropping against the floor so he’s standing in a pair of navy boxer briefs. Damn.
My eyes flicker from his feet to his chest. I casually pull my gaze to his face, which wears a knowing grin.
Like what you see?
I roll my eyes. Don’t flatter yourself.
Maybe he should sleep on the floor. I feel hot.
But yes. I like what I see very much.
He places a knee on the bed, crawling under the covers next to me.
I move quick, stuffing a pillow between us as a barrier. That lasts all of two seconds. With one sharp tug, he yanks it from between us, tossing it off the bed before he slides his arm across the cool sheets, dragging me over to collide with his solid chest.
He curls me tight against him, my nose buried in the crook of his neck. I inhale, breathing in his scent as his hand gently swipes my hair from my face.
I glance up, seeing his eyes on me. He taps his mouth, telling me to read his lips. I zone in, waiting for the words to fall from them. I may not be ready to give in, but his words mend another broken piece of my heart.
“He’ll never touch you again. I promise.”
I feel the pressure of something heavy on my waist. It takes me a second to realize that the heavy object is a very sculpted arm that belongs to the man currently spooning me. He's still asleep, his soft breath fanning at my back while said arm is wrapped around me. Our legs were intertwined, and it was as if he was determined to keep me held against him. Greyson didn’t strike me as someone who cuddled, so I was surprised to find him wrapped around me this morning.
I lift his arm and slide out from underneath him. My bladder was screaming and the last thing I wanted to have was morning breath when I had a very hot NFL player in my bed.
I wanted to laugh at my own thought. It’s funny I’ve never really saw him as that. As famous. Or rich. He’s always been Grey to me.
