Morning After Math
687 Words
Dawn tinted the snowy pine trees outside the cabin windows with pale pink and gold streaks. Ella woke in such leisurely cocooned warmth. For an indefinite blissful, disoriented moment, she forgot. The crisp mountain air, the smell of pine and woodsmoke, that hot body against her back-it felt entirely peaceful. Safe.
Oh, but then memory smashed into her like an avalanche.
Liam. The couch. Spooning.
Now she opened her eyes. She found herself curled against him, butt pressed firmly to his chest. He still had his heavy arm draped over her waist, possessively cradling her hip in his hand. He breathed deep in and even under her hair. He was asleep. Or pretending to be.
Hot panic and sharpness invaded her senses. She had to get away. Now. Before he woke and realized the devastating breach in their ironclad rules. She tried to EASE AWAY INCH BY TORTUROUS INCH.
His arm tightened instantly, bringing her back flush against him. A low murmuring, sleep-roughened sound reverberated across her shoulder. "Cold."
That heavy single word invoked an unwanted jolt in her. It was neither a command nor a complaint. It was… almost plaintive. It was human. Ella was frozen again, caught between the instinct to flee and the bizarre magnetism of his sleepy hold.
"Liam," she hissed when her strained whisper leaked out of her mouth, "Let go."
He moved, and she instantly felt the difference in how it was against her. One moment, she felt him wake, with changes in his breath, pressure much tighter in muscles against her back. The arm locked around her waist did not leave. For a moment which left her heart stuttered, he almost pulled her closer.
Then it would pull away. He shifted back, putting a few miles of cold air between them on the narrow sofa. Flannel pajamas straightened and scurrying upright, Ella's flaming face crimsoned. She could not face him.
A silence stretched, thick and excruciating. Ella's attention was fixed on the dying embers in the fireplace. Slowly, Liam sat up, running a hand through his messy hair. He looked…scruffy. Younger. The icy facade of a CEO was utterly absent. He glanced at her, then quickly away, his expression unreadable but not exhibiting its usual glacial composure.
"Well," he said finally, his voice raspy. "That was...unexpected."
Defensive anger highly charged, Ella found her voice. "You could have shoved me off! Or wakened me up!"
Liam replied dryly: "I tried." "You were really... determined. And very strong," he added, rubbing his shoulder. "Like a limpet in flannel."
Ella huffed in embarrassment and fury. "It was cold! I was asleep!"
"So was I," countered Liam. He stretched and then stood towering over Ella by the sofa. Liam looked down at her trying so hard to make herself disappear on the edge of the cushions. That unreadable expression was back. "For the record," he said, his voice dropping, losing its dry tone, gaining a strange, quiet intensity, "it wasn't terrible."
Ella’s breath rattled. It wasn’t terrible. The words echoed in the silent cabin. Not an apology. Not a confession. But a devastating c***k in the wall. An acknowledgment of… something. Something that wasn’t disgust or contractual obligation.
He turned and walked towards the bathroom without another word, slamming the door tight behind him.
Ella sat there frozen on the sofa, the down comforter torn and tattered around her legs. Still lingering on her skin was the warmth of his body. His words-it wasn't terrible-reverberated in her mind, far more dangerous than any staged kiss or paparazzi photo. He'd felt it too. The terrifying, unexpected rightness of their bodies fitting together in the quiet dark. The rules felt like tissue paper, shredded by sleep and shared warmth. The wall already constructed between Ella Rossi and her fake fiancé developed a fault line. And staring at the closed bathroom door, Ella realized with dawning horror that the most significant threat to their charade wasn't Derek Finch, Isabella Moretti, or even Charles Harrington.
It was the terrifying possibility that Liam Sterling might not be entirely faking it anymore. And worse, that she might not be either.
- Writer
