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He folds the sheet in his grip and twists to look at me over his shoulder. “This is better than the floor.”
“Then take the bed.” I bite my lower lip. What did I just offer? He goes eerily still, and I add, “I can take the settee.”
“It’s not a good look for a bodyguard to sleep in the bed while their client is on the couch.”
“That’s not even a couch. Come on. The bed’s king size.” It sounds ridiculous to invite a man into my bed, but he’s doing this so we can both get some rest. “You can sleep on top of the duvet.”
His brows tick up and he glances from me to the other side of the bed. He doesn’t move. “It looks worse for a bodyguard to sleep in bed with their client.”
It totally does, but Mother’s asked her help to stay out of this wing and she does the same. I can’t sleep while he’s bent into the short settee. “No one will know.”
“What if Roman finds out?”
I clamp my jaws shut. The more I argue to get him into bed with me, the weirder this gets. Yet I can’t drop it. “I don’t know. I just know that I feel like crap as it is, and if you get a shitty night’s sleep because of me, I’ll feel even worse.”
“Are you saying you won’t be able to sleep?”
My nod is jerky. I don’t know what I’m saying anymore. I’ve invited the sexiest man I’ve ever seen into bed with me. There’s supposed to be nothing sexual about it, but suddenly all my thoughts point in that direction. My earlier fear has definitely been buried by this.
He grabs his pillow again. “Roll over and get some sleep.”
I do as he says. I’m hyperaware of his every movement. The way the mattress shakes as he sits and then spreads his blanket out. Not much movement, but enough. That’s his thing. He moves efficiently, yet there’s a restraint that isn’t forced. It’s natural. Graceful, even, and more apparent when there’s no baggy shirt over it.
He doesn’t fluff his pillows or answer emails. He gets into bed, and his breathing is quiet and even, but he’s not asleep. I wouldn’t be this aware if he was. How did I think I would sleep easier with him in the bed?
