One Night Wife (The Confidence Game 1)

“I don’t understand how you can sound surprised by that. But to be clear, I feel like death warmed over. I want you to get into bed with me because I ache and I’m freezing, and it would be nice not to be alone.”

It was impossible to say no. “You had better be asleep after I get out of the bathroom.”

She grinned with her eyes jammed shut, and when he washed up and changed into sleep shorts and a T-shirt, she was breathing evenly, curled up tightly. He eased in beside her and lay on his back. She faced away from him, her hair streaming out on the pillow.

“Thank you,” she murmured.

“You’re welcome. How do you feel?”

“Imagine someone stabbing you in the gut and back repeatedly with a dozen rusty serrated knives.”

He rolled to his side, facing her, and played with an errant curl of hair, hoping she wouldn’t feel it, wishing there was something he could do so she didn’t feel this pain. “Is it like that every month?”

“No. I usually lack energy, feel achy, and nauseous for a couple of days. It’s not often as bad as this.”

“This is why women are tough. Remind me to tell you how tough my mom is.”

“Tell me now.”

He pulled on the curl. He felt incredibly protective of her. It was a steady hum in his chest, a hot glow of contentment. “Go to sleep.”

There was a moment or two of silence, but it was hollow, as though they were both waiting for something to fill it.

“Cal.”

If she could see him, he’d have to moderate his expression. He knew his joy at hearing her say his name was disproportionately enormous for a man who could be her ruin.

“You know what would help me sleep.”

“I am not singing you a lullaby.”

She snort-giggled. “What would help me sleep is if you would slide up behind me and be the big spoon.

“Finley.” He had to force a censure out through smiling lips. That giggle was life.

“Knives, rusty serrated knives. It’s not like you’re getting lucky tonight.”

But that’s exactly how he felt when he slid across the bed and settled her in his arms. Her toes nudged his shins. “Jesus, your feet are freezing.”

“Not for long,” she said, pressing into him.

He rearranged his pillow to avoid a mouthful of her hair. She was curled in his lap, his chest brushing her back. He’d sworn he wouldn’t touch her like this again. “Does this work?”

“You know what would be better?”

That he wasn’t a master con artist, and she wasn’t his unknowing victim. That being with her like this wasn’t unbearably lovely to him. “I’m still not singing.”

She reached back under the covers for his hand and dragged it around her waist. He hesitated a moment, then let her flatten his palm against her swollen belly. “Now you’re my hot water bottle,” she said, and her whole body softened against him as if she was dissolving.

“Go to sleep, Fin.”

The only answer he got was a tiny faked snore. It was the best sound in the world.

Chapter Fifteen

Fin woke once during the night to find Cal still wrapped around her. She wasn’t chilled anymore. She was so comfortable she didn’t want to move, except the heaviness in her gut told her she needed the bathroom. She shimmied out of his hold, trying not to wake him.

And failed.