Page 62 of Forbid It

The best day turned into the best evening, with a light dinner on the patio followed by a very thorough dance rehearsal with Ffion where I gave her a crash course in the choreography I used on my latest tour. Minus the ass shaking, of course.

The kids went to bed earlier than us, exhausted from the day spent playing and learning the same choreography over and over and over again. Robbie’s parents were soon to follow, and I headed back to Robbie’s room for the night, but he’s been officially relegated to the sofa in the living room.

I’ve spent the hours since I’ve climbed into Robbie’s bed tossing and turning. Logically, I know he hasn’t slept in this bed for months. We arrived here together yesterday, after all. But I can’t help burrowing my nose in the pillow, desperate to catch any lingering trace of his scent.

Gwen, my savior, had her husband divert their car to a local store, and she picked me up some extra clothes, including the tiniest set of pajama shorts and tank top that I’ve never been more thankful for because apparently the Devil himself has opened up hell right underneath Robbie’s family home. I’ve been to many places in my life with hot temperatures, double what we’re at now, but significantly those places had air conditioning.

Sleep tries to drag me back under, but I shuffle to the end of the bed, the electric fan slightly too far away. I lean on my hands, half of my body hanging off the end of the bed, and try to pull the chair it’s sitting on closer to me. Stretching my fingers, I manage to grab the leg and shuffle it across the carpet.

Sweet, blissful air hits me, and I lie back on the pillows with a sigh. It’s not a top of the line air con, perfectly tempering the room, but with the slight breeze from the open window and the cool air from the fan, it should be just enough to help me drift back to sleep.

Or not.

Almost ready to give up, I grab my glass from the bedside table and drain the last of my water.

Thirst tightens my throat, and I let my head hover in the cool air for a few seconds before I swing my legs out of the bed. I’ve already thrown the duvet to the floor, a single sheet the only thing I can handle on my bare legs.

The Brits were not joking when they said humidity here is like waiting in the pits of hell for judgement. No amount of open windows or plastic fans compensates for thick walls and insulated buildings.

I slowly peel the bedroom door open, my bare feet silent on the carpet as I creep downstairs. Somehow, it’s even hotter down here than it is upstairs. I didn’t think that was possible. Heat rises!

The sitting room door is ajar, and I can’t resist slowing as I pass, barely making out the sight of Robbie’s bare back asleep on the sofa. The windows are open, moonlight bathing the room in a silver glow.

Flushing from more than the heat, I creep past the door. The under counter lights in the kitchen are just enough for me to see by as I run the cold tap. I let my hands rest under the stream for a few seconds, basking in the cool relief spreading across my veins.

“Cassie?”

“Jesus.” I jump almost a half a mile, the water I was cupping in my hands splashing against the front of my pajamas. “I thought you were asleep.”

Robbie pads towards me, clad only in black boxer briefs that leave nothing to the imagination. I dry my hands on a towel and refill my glass. I gulp it down quickly, desperate to soothe the flush that’s taken over my whole body.

It’s just the temperature, I reassure myself.

I tug at my pajamas, the soaked material sticking to my stomach. I pull it away from my skin to dry before glancing up.

“It’s like an oven up there.”

Robbie runs his hand through his hair with a sigh. “It’s the same down here. There’s barely a breeze.”

“What about your fan?”

“Cut out a few hours ago.” He shrugs. “I’ve just been been rawdogging it in there.”

My eyes widen. This heat without a fan? He’ll literally boil alive. “You can have mine,” I tell him, even as my heart drops at the thought of facing that oven again.

He shakes his head with a smirk. “I’m not taking your fan, trouble.”

That nickname again. Every time he says it, it’s like an electric shock to the butterflies that live in my gut.

Shaking it off, I tug at my vest again, pulling it away from my sticky skin. It’s only when I look down that I realize I’ve tugged it enough to expose my breasts, my nipples hard despite the scorching heat. His eyes are dark in the dim light, and although he glances away quickly, I know he saw.

My thighs clench together as I straighten my top.

“I’ll uh…” I brush the stray curl that’s escaped from my bun away from my face. “I’ll bring it down.”

“Cassie.” Robbie stops me with a loose hand on my wrist and sparks erupt along my arm. “There’s no need for us both to be roasting. You keep it.”

“Come upstairs, then,” my mouth says before my brain can catch up.