Page 54 of The Allure of Ruins

“Come on, let’s go lie down.”

He didn’t fight me. He slid off the barstool and let me lead him to his bedroom. We both stripped down and got under the covers.

“You should come to the party with me tonight,” he muttered as he spooned me.

I wanted to answer, but I was on sensory overload. His bicep was under my head, his arm around my waist, his chest plastered to my back, and his thighs pressed to mine. The all-over body shudder was no surprise.

“This all right?”

“Yes,” I husked.

“Good,” he said, nuzzling my hair. “And so you know, I set the alarm when we came in.”

Normally, that was the first thing I would have asked, but not this time. Not in this moment. “Thank you for telling me.”

“I know you’re worried about me, but you don’t have to be. I’ve been taking care of both of us for a long time now.”

Yes, he had.

“Don’t worry. I’ve got you.”

We slept like the dead. He because he was exhausted, and I because I felt so safe lying in his arms. When his phone woke us up around five, he grabbed it off his nightstand and stared groggily at the display.

I pressed my lips together tight so I wouldn’t laugh.

“I can’t see what this says.”

I chuckled.

He held the phone out for me and rolled over when I took it, his back to me.

“You need reading glasses,” I told him for probably the hundredth time.

“Thirty-five-year-old men don’t need reading glasses,” he groused.

“They certainly might if they read off a computer all day, read briefs all day, and type all day. We need to get you the kind with the blue lens coating too.”

He grunted, not turning to me.

“This is Mr. Somerset sending out a reminder that the whole firm—support staff, paralegals, associates, and partners—need to be at the InterContinental Chicago Hotel tonight at seven.”

Second grunt from him.

“He reiterates to everyone that it is a black-tie affair,” I said smiling. “I’m thinking he doesn’t want to see any jeans or flannel.”

“You’re funny,” he said dryly.

“You don’t mean it,” I teased him.

“I don’t even own a tuxedo.”

“Yes, you do.”

“How do you know what—oh yeah.”

I laughed and scooted over to him, kissing his nape.

“How many of those stupid things did you make me try on?”