“It wouldn’t be the worst way to spend the evening.” He wasn’t wrong.
“It is late,” I reminded him. “And we’ve all got work tomorrow. Some more than others.”
He stopped swaying but didn’t let me go. His fingers pressed against my back, slightly digging into the skin there. “Don’t go back to your room. Stay with me.”
That made my pulse skip and my legs feel a little weak. Was he asking what it sounded like he was asking? “What?”
“I hate when you go. It’s the worst part of my day.”
I pushed against his shoulders and backed up so that he wouldn’t keep wooing me with his masculine wiles. I crossed my arms. “That doesn’t sound very friendish.”
“You sleep in the same place as Shelby and she’s your friend.”
“Not in the same bed.”
“We don’t have to sleep in the same bed. I’ll sleep on the floor,” he said as he approached me cautiously, reaching out for my hands and kissing the backs of them gently. “There’s another bedroom. And several couches,” I said as I willed myself not to respond to his soft, firm mouth on my heated skin.
“That would miss the point. I want to be with you. I don’t want tonight to end.”
I still hesitated. We’d been doing some pretty serious making out over the last few weeks, and my anxiety attacks had practically become a thing of the past. In this moment, though, it felt like one might return. I didn’t think I was ready for things to move to the next level.
“There are no expectations here. Nothing’s going to happen unless you want it to happen,” he promised. “But then I’ll have to think about whether or not I’m up for it.”
That made me laugh and broke some of the tension I was feeling. Thing was, I didn’t want to go, either. Leaving him every night was easily the worst part of my day, too.
“Plus,” he added, “we can eat cake for breakfast.”
“You had me at cake,” I said, smiling shyly at him, my mind made up.
He grinned and stepped back, pulling me toward him as he walked backward to his room. When we walked in, he let go of my hands to walk around and turn off the lights, leaving on a single lamp on the nightstand. He grabbed a blanket and a couple of pillows from the bed and made himself a makeshift bed on the floor.
I’d thought he was kidding about the sleeping on the floor thing, but apparently he wasn’t. “That can’t be comfortable.”
“Ever sleep in a cot? This is about the same,” he said.
He came over and pulled me in close. “I’m going to kiss you now.”
“I know,” I said and let him make all the rest of my anxiety disappear.
When things started to get heated, he stopped the kiss, shaking his head ruefully. He stepped back and lay down on the floor.
I climbed into the very soft and very comfortable bed and immediately felt guilty. He was paying so much money for me and my best friend and her new husband to sleep in these amazing rooms, and he was going to sleep on the floor. He was willing to forsake his own comfort just to be close to me.
It says something about how he feels about you, an inner voice whispered, and I didn’t know whether to trust it. I’d spent so much time ignoring the voices in my head that discouraged and disheartened me that I wasn’t sure what to do with one that told me there might be something more here.
I pulled the leftover blanket up over my shoulders and tugged at the corners. I hated when they were all tucked in. I needed my feet to hang out. I turned onto my side to face him and felt my phone in my pocket. I took it out and placed it on the bed next to me. Then I reached over and turned out the last lamp.
“Try not to snore too loudly,” he teased as the darkness descended, and I threw one of the pillows at him, which he easily caught while laughing.
He put the pillow under his head and said, “Good night, Juliet.”
“Good night, Noah.”
“I’m glad you stayed.”
“Me too.”
I watched him, the way his chest expanded in and out, how his breathing started to slow, and I wanted to reach out and touch him. To have his warmth envelop me and spend the night in his arms.
I realized that I needed more than to just be in the same room with him. I had to see if that voice of mine was right.
“Noah.”
“Hmm?” He sounded like he was on the edge of sleep.
“Come here.”
I scooted over, pushing back the blanket. He turned his head toward me. “Are you sure?”
“Just to sleep,” I said. “You shouldn’t be on the floor.”
“Is that the only reason?”
I hesitated and felt the weight of the word I was about to say. “No.”
He got up, leaving his bedding behind. He paused next to the bed, staring down at me. He put his hand over his chest, and I didn’t recognize the emotion on his face, but he almost looked . . . pained. Maybe even a little overwhelmed. But his expression was gone before I could understand it. Then I felt the mattress sink under his weight as he climbed into bed next to me and the covers being lifted up as he pulled them over his body.
“Turn over,” he said in a voice that sounded rough with feeling, and I did, my heart pulsating in my throat. He pulled me against him and put one of his arms under my head, the other around my waist. His legs curved into mine. I put my arm on top of his, holding him the only way I could as he spooned me. His warmth surrounded me, and I sighed happily. We fit so well together.
He reached down and gently kissed my shoulder once before laying his head against the pillows.
His breath was warm against my neck, and I felt the tension leave his body as he drifted off to sleep. But he didn’t let go of me. Not even once sleep overtook him.
I smiled. I wasn’t the only person in this room who snored.
My eyelids started to feel heavy—cuddling like this with him was making me feel utterly relaxed. It was almost funny: a month ago the idea of this would have terrified me.
But now? This was where I always wanted to be.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
The next morning I woke up to the sound of my phone buzzing repeatedly. I was facing Noah, our legs intertwined and our arms wrapped around each other. I carefully extricated myself as much as possible and then turned over to find my phone, which was only a few inches from my head. I turned it on, glancing at the battery indicator. It was almost dead, since I hadn’t charged it last night.
Then I looked at my messages. They were all from Shelby.
I texted her back as quickly as I could, although my eyes weren’t exactly cooperating. I felt like Noah had drugged me with his expert sleep-holding skills.
Her response was instant.
Then:
I smiled and texted:
I grimaced. I don’t know why, but I’d always hated that word. Lover. It was like the word moist in my book.
I turned toward Noah and pushed back his hair from his face. He looked so boyishly handsome while he was sleeping, all the worries of the world wiped away. His lashes were thick and dark against his cheeks.
“We have to get up,” I told him as I kissed his forehead. “Shelby’s looking for me, and we’re supposed to head back to LA.”