Page 43 of The Wrong Groom

The air between us is charged as the room goes quiet. Gabriel’s expression shifts, but I still can’t tell what he’s thinking. There’s a tightness to his jaw, though, that does nothing to help calm my racing heart.

He hands the book back to me, and as he does so, our fingers brush. He holds the contact longer than I expected. The touch sends a thrill through me, from my fingertips to my chest.

Gabriel’s gaze is intense, searching. It’s that same analytical stare that always makes me feel like he can see right through me. My pulse echoes in my ears, and I can barely breathe.

Then he blinks, giving himself a little shake as if trying to derail his own train of thought. He settles in under the sheets, leaning back against the pillows, and turns to face the opposite wall.

“Good night, Alexis,” he says quietly.

“Um. Good night.” I set the book gingerly on the side table, as if it’s rigged to explode. I switch off the lamp, plunging the room into darkness. The silence stretches out as I lie back, painfully aware of Gabriel’s presence beside me.

The rise and fall of his chest as he breathes. The warmth of his bare skin. It would be so easy to shift and let my legs align with his, let our bodies press together, let my muscles melt into his.

I don’t. I lie there in silence, too self-conscious and keyed up to breathe properly. I’m afraid, I think, that if I relax, if I fall asleep, I’ll gravitate toward him without being able to stop myself. I can’t wake up wrapped around him, or I’ll just about die of embarrassment.

I can tell by the way he breathes that he’s still awake too. There’s tension in his arms and his back. In the faint light from the gauzy curtains—moonlight and the glow of the streetlamp at the corner of the block—I can see the outline of his broad shoulders, stiff and unyielding, as if he’s fighting some internal struggle of his own.

His voice breaks the stillness, a low murmur that’s barely audible. “You’re killing me. You know that?”

I catch my breath but don’t respond. After a few minutes, he seems to drift off. His breathing evens out, his body relaxing beside me.

I turn toward him. He’s inches from me, his proximity comforting and maddening at the same time. I let my eyes flutter shut, but it’s a long time before my heart slows enough for me to fall asleep.

Chapter 15

Gabriel

I wake up at eight in the morning.

For most, that would be an early start, but for me, it’s late. Eight is basically noon, as far as I’m concerned. Normally, I’d be up already, getting breakfast for Peyton and preparing for work. It’s Saturday, so I’m not going to the office today, but my body clock is geared to wake up at five o’clock.

I feel rested. Refreshed. Another good night’s sleep.

Maybe I’m turning a corner. Or maybe it’s just the effects of having someone else in the bed with me.

No. That can’t be it.

When Peyton was younger, she used to sleep in my bed pretty often. Whenever she was sick or scared, she would crawl into bed beside me. That certainly never helped me sleep better. In fact, it usually meant a night of hovering, wide awake, watching her little chest rise and fall and reassuring myself that she was okay.

I glance over at Alexis, who is still asleep. Her face is peaceful, her copper hair splayed out over her cheek. As I watch her, she makes a soft noise and shifts in her sleep. She sighs, snuggling into her pillow.

I stay completely still, captivated by the expression on her face. The corner of her mouth twitches up into a half-smile, and she sighs again. Then whimpers something that’s almost a word.

I lean in slightly, straining to catch what she might be saying. It’s barely a whisper, but it carries a sense of longing that resonates deep within me.

I think it might have been my name.

What’s she dreaming about? Was it me?

Was she having a dirty dream about me?

I shut down my imagination before it can run wild. Whatever Alexis is dreaming about, that’s her business, not mine. She didn’t say my name. She was mumbling something in her sleep, probably gibberish. Last night just has me all out of sorts.

I huff a breath and slide out of bed, moving over to the dresser. I’m careful not to disturb Alexis as I roll the top drawer open and pull out a cotton t-shirt. While I’m dressing, I glance over and catch sight of her romance novel, sitting on the bedside table.

Curiosity pulls me over to the side table. I step lightly, determined not to wake her. Carefully, I pick up the book, turning it over to peruse the back cover.

It’s a thick, hardcover novel with embossed lettering on the book jacket that reads The Fire Between Us. Below that, smaller, is the author’s name: Chelsea Norris. I make a mental note of that, then flip it over to skim the blurb.