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Oh no. Topher …
If he saw us here, sharing a room like this, he would absolutely murder me. Especially if he saw the singular bed taking up most of the space. I mean, sure, it’s tastefully decorated with a seashell-shaped headboard and light olive-colored comforter, flanked by two side tables. The walls are painted a lavender hue, and there’s a private en suite bathroom. In any other circumstance, I’d consider the room to be quite cozy.
Butcozyis the furthest thing from what I want when I’m sharing a room with a princess I can’t have.
“I know it’s not ideal,” Chloe says from somewhere behind me, “but think of it this way. At least you can keep a closer eye on me here than you could from next door. Every waking moment.” She laughs, and I can tell it’s just as forced as mine was earlier. “Every sleeping moment too.”
Blimey. I shut my eyes against the thoughts that pervade my brain. Watching Chloe when she’s awake is hard enough. But seeing her at her most vulnerable in sleep?
Forget Topher. He’s the least of my worries. My biggest concern is not going completely mental before the wedding arrives. Because it will take every ounce of restraint to keep myself from revealing to Chloe Huntington how much I completely worship her, body and soul, before the week is up.
Butthere’s no alternative. Nowhere to retreat to, no bunkers to hide in.Time to man up, mate.Reopening my eyes, I say, “It’ll be fine.” Then I roll my luggage around the bed and set it beside Chloe’s behemoth suitcase. The contrast would make me smile if my brain wasn’t still sending painful shockwaves through my head.
Chloe closes the door to our room and hangs her handbag on a peg to the right. Then she studies me. “Relax, Muscles. I’m safely tucked away for the night. We’ll figure this out, okay?” After a few beats, she yawns. It’s fake as anything I’ve ever seen on her, but I know she’s trying. This isn’t her fault any more than it is mine. We are victims of our circumstances, and I need to get my head on straight.
“You’re right. Your safety is my number one—my only—priority here.” All of this fake engagement and wedding stuff is secondary to that. And I can’t forget it.
Chloe rounds the bed and pulls back a gauzy white curtain hanging alongside the window behind one of the side tables. “We have a great view of the marina. Come see.”
“I’m fine here, thanks.”
She looks at me over her shoulder, and my mouth goes dry at the sight of her framed in the moonlight that’s streaming down from the heavens, encircling her. “So stubborn.” Then she yawns again, this time for real.
Her yawn is contagious, triggering one of my own, and I take the moment to kick off my trainers and stretch my arms over my head.
Chloe’s eyes flit down to my stomach and her irises seem to darken, briefly becoming a stormy Black Sea instead of the usual clear blue Caribbean. What in the world? Glancing down, I realize the bottom of my shirt has ridden up to expose my lower abdomen. Quickly I drop my arms, the skin at the back of my neck flushing with heat.
Did she like what she saw?
Irrelevant, dude.
I clear my throat. “We should probably—”
“—get some sleep. Right.”Chloe averts her eyes and squats in front of her luggage, tugging at the zip.
The unzippering fills the silence in the room and then Chloe pulls an article of clothing from her suitcase. I catch a glimpse of something pink and silky, and steel my jaw as she stands and heads into the restroom.
Blimey. I was so focused on the bed situation that I forgot to consider the sleepwear situation. Surely the princess is too proper to put on anything scandalous. Right? Then again, she didn’t count on having a roommate.
Determined to focus on something else, I begin internally counting to one hundred as I assess the possible places for me to create a bed on the floor. There’s minimal space between the foot of the bed and the TV stand-slash-dresser, and I’m not sure my large frame would fit there without massive discomfort. Besides that, I wouldn’t be able to get an easy visual on the princess if something were to happen in the middle of the night. The bed is also closer to the restroom than the room’s entrance, so I finally opt for the space between the main door and the bed. If someone were to attempt to come in at night, he’d run into me first.
That decided, I rummage through the dresser until I find an extra pillow and blanket. Then I kneel to make a nest on the floor. I suppose it’s pointless to wish that carpet would magically appear beneath my knees rather than hardwood, but I close my eyes briefly and reopen them anyway. No luck.
I hear the door to the restroom squeak open. Glancing up and over the side of the bed, I see the upper half of her—blessedly covered in a long-sleeved, button-up pajama top with the initials CMH on one side—as she brushes her long hair.
A few seconds later, she marches my way, swinging around the bottom edge of the bed and placing her hands on her hips when she sees my homemade sleeping bag. “Frederick Shaw, what are you doing?”
My eyes nearly bug out of my head at the sight of the rest of her PJs—shorts that are by no means indecent, but provide far less coverage than I’m used to seeing on her. Her long, toned, tan legs are nearly my undoing, but I fling myself onto the floor and inside the extra blanket. “Just about to go to bed. Why?”
“You arenotsleeping on the floor.”
Here we go. “I am, Princess.”
“But it looks so uncomfortable.”
“Looks can be deceiving.”
Chloe laughs, staccato and disbelieving. “You aren’t even ready for bed.”
