I tensed when he picked up my clutch.
It would not make me happy if he dug into my purse. I hadn’t even had the occasion to watch him walk, unless that walking was dragging me, lifting me to throw me across the room to the bed, or while he was inside me, again to put me in bed.
We were definitely not at a place where he could help himself to the inside of my purse even if it was only to help me out by bringing me my phone.
And we’d never be at that place.
Considering the fact he’d been talking quietly, he likely thought I was sleep.
So if he helped himself to my purse, it would be for curiosity and not to help me out at all.
My purse in his hand, he turned back toward the bed and I closed my eyes, suddenly more concerned about him discovering me watching him than him looking through my bag.
I felt the bed depress.
I felt a gentle hand at my hip over the covers.
And I felt him give my hip a light sway and his breath on my cheek when he whispered, “Olivia, wake up. Someone’s tryin’ to get in touch with you.”
I opened my eyes.
His blue ones were smiling.
God, I could open my eyes to that every day.
I’d give my life to have that.
“Hey,” he greeted.
Damn.
This had to stop. What we were doing had to stop.
Immediately.
Even having that thought and knowing it was an imperative one, I didn’t catapult myself from the bed, haul on my clothes and dash out of the room, leaving with iron determination never to respond to another text from Nick Sebring again.
No.
I said, “Hey.”
Something amazing happened to his eyes as his hand slid up my hip.
In the light of day, something I’d never seen him in, I found I could swim in those eyes.
Swim in them forever.
Yes.
This had to stop.
Immediately.
I should have stopped it last night. The night before. The one before that.
Instead, last night, I’d stayed. In the dark, powerless against the pull of a living daydream. Being normal. Having something real. Cuddling with a man after you’d had great sex with him. Speaking to him. Falling asleep with him.
So I’d made a big mistake.