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But I wake in strong arms, and somehow, that makes it all seem easier to swallow. I doze, half in, half out, and smile, because Archer has made me his little spoon. His chest hugs my back, his thighs pressed to the backs of mine. His injured arm is draped across my body, careful to minimize movement and pain, but his hand long ago snaked beneath my towel to perch between my breasts the way someone might place their palm between a pillow and their face.
His warm breath tickles the back of my neck.
His very presence makes it easy for me to ignore the dryness of my eyes.
Is this what it could be like? To give my life to someone else, to forgo the chance to be alone for comfort’s sake, does it mean I’ll always wake in his arms? I’ll always be loved, cherished, hugged?
Six months ago, I probably would’ve laughed and said the trade wasn’t worth it. But right now, in this bed, with this man cocooning my body with his? I’m not sure I can think of anything I wouldn’t trade.
Slowly, knowing I could bring him a lot of pain if I jostle him too hard, I lift Archer’s hand and free my boobs from his touch, then I spin under the sheets in a twisted towel I don’t remember falling asleep in last night.
I turn over until I face Archer and his perfect sleeping expression, then I lower his arm again so it rests across my hip.
The sun has come up in the sky outside. Curtains cover my windows, but bright sunlight bites at the edges and illuminates the room enough for me to see Archer’s face in detail. His stubble-covered jaw, and the slight upturn of his nose that I know he got from his mother, despite having never met the woman. I study the long lashes that kiss his cheeks, and the pores that line his skin just below that.
I’m surprised Aubree hasn’t talked him into an exfoliation routine yet.
With the outside world as bright as it is, I know it must almost be time to get up. To go to work and join the rest of society outside this bed. But for just a few minutes, I want to stay here. I want to stare at my husband and ensure he gets every possible moment to rest.
I should’ve known better.
“I can feel you staring at me.” His eyes remain shut, and his words come out rumbling and sleepy. When his hand cups my ass, I know in my heart his shoulder is truly on the mend. “Staring is for weird people.”
A quiet snicker rolls along my throat as I push up to press a kiss to his lips. The coarse scratch of his stubble should hurt my skin, but instead, it sends licks of sensation racing inside my veins. “Staring is allowed. We said so in our vows.”
Slowly, his eyes flicker open to reveal beautiful green orbs that somehow see everything. “You mean the vows we rushed out in front of a judge?” He kneads my ass with a strong hand. “The ‘Do you take him? Sure I do, I’ve got nowhere better to be today’?” Tugging me closer so our legs twine together and my hip touches his thigh, he leans in and nips at my bottom lip. “Those vows?”
“I didn’t say I had nowhere better to be.” Wrapping my arm across his ribs and up to hook onto his shoulder, I tug myself closer and hum when his hard length taps my stomach. “You’re making that up.”
“You were thinking it.”
“I absolutely was not, unless you consider getting you to your apartment and in bed to restsomewhere better to be.”
Gently, I nudge him back, and smile when he follows my unspoken instructions. He falls flat to his back and opens his body wide, so when I follow his momentum and climb onto his lap, letting my towel fall away, we both breathe a sigh of pleasure as bare flesh meets bare flesh.
The only thing between us now are a solitary pair of silk boxer shorts.
“You seem better today.” Leaning over him, I kiss his healing wound. The yellowing bruises. “What time did you get back?”
“About three. I don’t think you’d been asleep long when I walked in.” He uses one hand to hold my thigh. The other goes to my neck and tugs me close until our lips touch. “Your skin wasn’t even dry from your shower when I climbed into bed.”
“I tried to wait for you.”
A small velvet box on the bedside table brings my memory hurtling to the forefront of my mind: the jewelry store, and Eli, Aubree’s fabulously gay big brother, who sells nothing with less than three zeroes on the tag. Not even a gumball machine candy ring can be bought at Emeri’s unless you want to swipe your card for at least a thousand dollars at the register.
Curious, Archer follows my gaze, turning his head on the pillow, until his eyes lock on the box. Then, because he can be mildly immature about gifts, he pushes up to his elbow and reaches across to grab the cube from the table.
“Emeri’s?” He turns it over. Over. Over, as though that’ll somehow allow him to see inside. “You went shopping?”
“At two in the morning.” Pushing up to sit straight, inadvertently showing off my naked torso and drawing Archer’s eyes to the movement, I steal the box from his hand and purr when his fingers instead go to massage my thighs. “Did you know Aubree’s brother owns a store downtown?”
He shakes his head. “Can’t say I knew that. I never thought to look.”
“Well, it’s true. Eli lives in the apartment above, kinda like how Tim lives above the bar. And because Aubree got it in her head she wanted us to have best friend chains—”
“Mmm.” A pleasure-filled rumble rolls along his chest as he stretches down to tap my ankle. “Which explains this.”
“Right. She had it soldered onto my body!” My eyes grow wide with the disbelief that I allowed her to do that. “I can’t take it off without breaking it, Archer.”
