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Marisa’s eyes drift down to where Ava is currently sitting on the couch that is to be transformed into her bed. “Sure, let me grab the pillows and blankets.”
I contemplate waking her, but a gentle shake of her arm results in nothing. Not even a murmur of discontent about being interrupted. Literally nothing.
“Ava?” I try again, but she remains completely surrendered to slumber.
Sighing, I slide an arm under her legs and one behind her back and lift her up. Her curvy body presses against mine, suffusing me with warmth. The rub of her breasts against my chest stirs something primal inside me and the enticing peaks of her nipples through the fine cotton of her dress—stirred by the cool air-conditioning—has all the blood in my body rushing south. I hope she doesn’t wake up now and feel my cock growing stiff against her like some fucking pervert. Her eyelids flicker, like she’s dreaming, and for a minute I think she might wake. But she doesn’t.
Chalk that up to things I’m learning about her: she sleeps like the dead. Thank god.
Marisa makes the bed and I lay Ava down onto the fresh sheets, pulling the blanket up over her. She’s got a pair of earrings in with those long backs that look like they might poke into her skin. So I slip them out and place them on the little table beside the bed. Immediately, she snuggles into the covers, wrapping herself up like a human burrito.
It’s better for me this way, with her fully clothed and covered in blankets. Easier for me to think of last night as something I dreamed up while getting off. Easier for me to keepthatversion of Ava totally separate from the sweet and spirited woman I see during the day.
I turn to head back to my chair but I halt when I hear a rustling behind me.
“Daniel?” Her just-woken-up voice is sexy and husky and my poor cock leaps to response. “What happened?”
When I turn to face her, she’s sitting up. Her hair is a fluffy cloud around her shoulders and she scrubs a hand over her face.
“I put you to bed.”
Is it my imagination or do her eyes seem to get darker?
“You were asleep on the couch,” I continue, refusing to let my brain catch on anything that might tempt me to get closer. “I thought you might be more comfortable in a proper bed.”
“I was just resting my eyes.” She yawns and stretches, causing her bust to strain against the confines of her cotton dress.
“You should rest more than your eyes.”
“What about you?” She’s slipping her cardigan off her shoulders and the bare skin of her arms is way sexier than it should be.
“I have work to do.”
Ava frowns. “You said the work never ends. Does that mean you never sleep?”
“Are you asking me if I’m immortal?” I try to make light of the situation. I know what she’s doing.
“Are you avoiding sleeping because of me?” Her eyes nail me with a direct look. She has no hesitation in calling me on my bullshit.
“You made a comment about there only being one bed, so...” I gesture in her direction. “I always want my guests to feel comfortable.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. It’s like, what—” She gropes for her phone “—five in the morning? You have to sleep.”
“I need less sleep than the average person.”
She makes a noise of frustration and gets out of the bed. “I’m going to put my pyjamas on and when I get back, I expect you to be changed and in bed.”
I blink. “Excuse me?”
“We’re engaged, remember,” she says softly. “Don’t you think the airline crew will find it odd that you refused to get into bed with your fiancée?”
Well, fuck.
“It’s not unusual for a man in my position to work through the night,” I reply crisply. “It’s part of the job.”
“And part of your job as a future-husband is to get into bed with your soon-to-be wife.” She plucks her carry-on bag from the overhead compartment and without another word heads in the direction of the bathroom at the end of the cabin.
For a moment I stand there, my feet stuck to the spot like roots are holding me in place. Lying next to Ava all night long, knowing what it sounds like when she comes, is going to be pure torture. I feel like we’re playing chess, each maneuver analysed and countered. And just when I thought I have my strategy under control, she queens me.
