Page 7 of Claimed By my Fake Husband

I stand there a second, narrowing my eyes. I am not sleeping on that couch. After turning off the smart lights and setting the alarm, I follow her up.

When I walk into the bedroom and head for the closet, her eyes track me, brows climbing toward her hairline.

"What are you doing?"

"What's it look like? Changing for bed."

I step into the closet, not bothering to shut the door — she'd only storm over and open it again. I unbutton my shirt, pull it over my head, toss it in the hamper, and shed my slacks.

"We don't know each other. How is it appropriate for us to share a bed?"

Her voice carries from the other room. I pull on basketball shorts from my duffel and head for the bed.

"I assure you, I'm not going to do anything. But that couch downstairs won't fit me. I'm six-five. My feet hanging off the arm isn't going to work."

Her eyes flick down over my bare chest — just for a second. Maybe I'm reading into it. Either way, she shakes her head, grumbling. "You better not snore."

That gets a laugh out of me. "Wouldn't know. No one's ever told me."

She glances back, annoyed disbelief written across her face. "Sure. Because someone like you doesn't have anyone keeping him company."

"Someone like me?" I'm lying down now, watching her from my side of the bed. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Oh, please. Like you don't know." She rolls her eyes. "You're Bodyguard Ken. Just with dark hair."

I'm not sure whether to be insulted or flattered. Then, out of nowhere, I notice how fair her skin is next to mine. A few small tattoos scattered across her — visible thanks to the tank — compared to the ones I earned in the military.

"Thanks?" I can't stop the chuckle. It hits me, out of nowhere, that she reminds me of my kid sister, Rebecca.

Before she?—

"Just... stay over there, I'll stay over here." She shoots me one more glare, then rolls to face away. "And I swear to god, if I wake up with your morning wood jabbing me in the ass, I'll kick yours."

Another laugh barks out of me, real and unstoppable. Tess has a hell of a mouth on her, and a sense of humor to match. She's... something I really didn't see coming.

The room goes quiet. I reach over and kill the lamp — the last light in the room — and the darkness settles in around us.

My eyes adjust slowly. I stare at the ceiling, then toward the window, where a bit of streetlight bleeds through the curtains.

Tess is so still beside me. I can't stop myself from looking over. Her body rises and falls, slow and steady.

Even in the dark, I can make out the curve of her, that scent of lilac still clinging to her skin, the little flower tattoo on her shoulder catching what light there is.

Keep it together, Logan.

My body has other plans. Every nerve feels lit up, my cock hardening at the thought of touching her, kissing her, fucking her.

My mind got there fast. Too fast. I force myself to look away, to shut my eyes.

No sex. Not once. That's the plan. It's always been the plan, and I've never once broken it.

Until Tess.

And tomorrow, I have to stand in front of a bunch of strangers and call myself her husband.

Ugh. I am so screwed.

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