Page 59 of Drowning in Darkness

Sunlight spills through the curtains, bathing the room in soft gold. I swing my legs over the side of the high bed, and my feet brush against something.

No, not something, someone. My heart lurches hard enough to hurt before I register who it is.

James lies asleep on the floor beside the bed, one arm folded beneath his head, a blanket thrown haphazardly over him. The pillow has long since escaped somewhere behind his shoulder. He somehow manages to look asleep and on the verge of action.

I frown as I glance around. What on earth... The guest room has a perfectly good bed, begging the question of how I ended up in his. I glance between the mattress beneath me and the man occupying my floor. Did I somehow steal his room? I study him a little longer, searching for the answer written somewhere on his face. Nothing presents itself beyond the fact that his position cannot be comfortable.

A guilty knot settles low in my stomach. He’s protecting me. The thought barely forms before I dismiss it. James doesn’t strike me as the kind of man who makes grand gestures for applause. If there’s a reason he’s sleeping on hardwood flooring instead of an actual mattress, it’s practical, not emotional.

But I can’t think what it is. I shuffle toward the end of the bed and place my socked feet on the floor. The floorboards creak beneath my weight, and his eyes spring open. One moment asleep, the next completely alert.

His hand snaps under the bedside table, and I find myself staring at the business end of a gun. His hand tightens around the handle before his gaze lands on me, and the tension disappears as quickly as it arrived.

“That’s a fine way to greet your abductee on her first morning,” I say with a too-bright smile.

“Morning,” he rumbles, letting his arm relax.

“Good morning.”

Silence settles between us while he drags a hand across his jaw and pushes himself upright.

I glance pointedly at the blanket. “You know, I rarely let people sleep on my bedroom floor.”

His eyebrow lifts. “No?”

“No. I feel it’s important to maintain standards. Keep firm kidnapper-kidnappee boundaries in order.”

“I’ll bear that in mind.”

I fold my arms. “Also, you’re stealing my bedroom floor real estate.”

Amusement softens his features. I think I like a just-awakened James a little too much. “I’ll submit a booking request next time.”

“Excellent. Include references.”

“I’ve got outstanding reviews.”

“I somehow doubt that.”

His mouth twitches. Dangerous. Who knew this man was capable of smiling before caffeine? Strike that—smiling at all.

“For the record, that’s technically my bed, and this is my floor space.”

Which brings me to the point at hand. “Why am I in your bed while you’re auditioning for the role of decorative rug?”

His gaze drops to the blanket before returning to me. “It made sense.”

I wait for him to elaborate. He waits longer. We stare at each other, a thousand words passing between us, a thousand words we’d never say aloud.

I sigh. “You do realize that’s not an explanation.”

“It answered the question.”

“No, it answered a completely different question. Mine started with ‘why.’”

A faint crease appears between his brows as though he’s genuinely considering whether I’m correct. “You looked comfortable.”

The words catch me off guard. “So your solution was to exile yourself to the floor?”