“I used what they had here.” It was probably a big difference from what she’d brought with her.
“And I’m stealing one of your fresh towels.”
“It’d be weird if you used the one I already did.”
She glanced over her shoulder, grinning, then shut the door behind her. Were they getting back to normal? Maybe. Maybe not.
None of this would be so awkward if he hadn’t kissed her like that on the beach then opened his goddamn mouth to tell her she kissed like a goddess.
Rhys dropped onto the couch and pinched the bridge of his nose. All he’d had to do was act like the woman’s rebound. Instead, he’d stuck his tongue into her mouth.
Pinpricks skirted down his neck. He didnotneed to think about that kiss again. Nor did he need to think about how she was in the shower, less than a dozen yards from where he sat.
Why was he thinking this? They’d stayed in adjoining hotel rooms many times before. They’d once stayed in an English manor, pompous rooms across a hallway from each other. Then there was that time in Ireland they stayed in a literal castle with a stone wall separating their living spaces. Every time, every place, they’d showered like normal people, and he’d never thought twice.
Her shower wasn’t long. She walked out in a two-piece pajama set, silky and covered with flamingos, a towel wrapped around her hair. She didn’t wear much makeup unless an event called for it, but shower-fresh Jules knocked him in the chest.
“All yours,” she said.
It took him a second to push off the couch. His gaze swept up her long legs and lingered on her pretty face. “I won’t be long.”
His shower was fast. He couldn’t explain why. It would probably have been better to rub one out. But that would have meant acknowledging the woman in the other room. He’d just needed to get in, get out, and get to bed. The sooner he could fall asleep, the sooner they could start the next day with a fresh slate.
She was in bed when he walked out of the bathroom. Rhys flicked the lights off on the way to the rollaway bed.
“Do you care if I read on my phone?” she asked.
“Stop acting like you’re inconveniencing me.” The bed creaked when he lay down. The wheels were locked, but he might be able to knock over the whole damn thing if he rolled over too hard.
He moved. It creaked.
He coughed. It creaked.
He held his damn breath. It fuckin’ creaked.
“Good night, Rhys.”
“Night, Jules.” The bed creaked.
There was zero chance he would fall asleep in this bed tonight. There was too much awareness in the air and too much awkwardness too. Throw in a bed that could have been an auditory torture device, and this wasn’t happening.
As quietly as he could—squeak, creak, squeak—he rolled off the bed and grabbed the pillow. The sofa or the floor would be better for both of them.
“Absolutely not,” she called. “There’s no way you’re sleeping anywhere but a bed.”
So much for sneaking out of the torture device. “I’m fine.” He smacked the pillow and bedded down on the micro couch. It had looked tiny before. Now that he lay on it, his legs dangled over the sofa’s arm. “Yup. This works.”
“Are you the most stubborn man on Earth?” Her sheets rustled. “This bed is big enough for six people.”
He squeezed his eyes shut. Yeah, this was a test. He wasn’t sure how the cosmos had lined up to torment him like this, but it was happening. “I’m almost asleep. Stop waking me up.”
“For a bodyguard, you’re a pretty shitty liar, Rhys.”
He snickered.
“Let’s go. Before all the blood rushes out of your feet, into that big head of yours, and I have to wake up the two sweetest medical professionals I have ever met.”
“No,” he said, already unable to feel his left foot. Pins and needles tickled as he repositioned it. “I’m fine.”
