My Contract Husband Promised Not to Touch Me, Then I Started Wishing He Would

EMMA'S POV

I took two pillows from the stack against the headboard and laid them lengthwise down the middle of the bed, end to end, until they formed a wall.

Then I smoothed the top one flat, like that made it more official.

Adrian came out of the bathroom in a gray T-shirt and sweatpants, his hair still damp. He stopped at the foot of the bed and looked at the pillows for a long moment.

"Subtle," he said.

"Effective."

"Is there a penalty for crossing it?"

"Death." I pulled the comforter up to my chin. "Or I tell Marcus. Whichever scares you more."

The corner of his mouth moved again, the same almost-smile from the lawyer's office. He turned off the lamp, lay down on his side of the wall, and didn't say another word.

I lay there in the dark, listening for something. A shift of weight. A sigh. A hand creeping across the sheets.

Nothing.

He slept on his back like a man in a coffin, perfectly still, perfectly on his side. After twenty minutes, I felt almost insulted. After forty, I fell asleep.

---

I woke up because I was warm.

That was the first wrong thing. The second was that my pillow was moving. Slowly, steadily, up and down.

I opened my eyes.

The room was blue-black, lit only by the faint glow of the porch lantern through the paper screen. The temperature had dropped sometime in the night. I could feel cold air on my bare feet, and I knew why: I'd done what I always did when I got cold. I'd stolen the comforter. Most of it was wrapped around me like a burrito.

And I wasn't on my side of the bed anymore.

The pillow wall was somewhere behind me, crushed flat. My cheek was on Adrian's shoulder. One of my legs was hooked over his shin, and my hand was spread across the middle of his chest, right over his heartbeat.

I lifted my head an inch.

He was awake. His eyes were open, and he was looking at me.

For a second, neither of us moved. The clock on the nightstand said 3:07.

"Oh my God," I whispered, and jerked back.

Something tugged hard at my shoulder.

"Slowly," Adrian said, his voice rough with sleep.

I froze. "What?"

"Your strap."

I looked down. The thin strap of my camisole had slipped off my shoulder, and somehow it was caught on the clasp of his watch. His wrist was resting near my arm, and every time I pulled away, the strap pulled tighter, dragging the neckline of my top lower.

"Why are you wearing a watch to bed?" I hissed.

"Why are you on my side of the bed?"

That shut me up.

I tried to twist free. The strap dug into my skin, and the fabric slid down another inch. I grabbed the front of my camisole with my free hand, my face burning.

"Emma." Quieter now. "Stop pulling. You're making it worse."

"I'm aware."

He lifted his other hand and stopped with it hovering beside my shoulder, not touching me. In the dark, I could just make out the shape of his fingers.

"Can I?"

My throat had gone dry. I nodded.

His fingertips touched the bare skin at the side of my shoulder. They were warmer than I expected. He worked carefully, finding the place where the thin strap had looped around the clasp, easing it free one millimeter at a time.

It should have taken two seconds. It took much longer than that.

We were close enough that I could feel every breath he took. I felt the exact moment those breaths slowed, like he was making himself breathe evenly. My heart was pounding so hard I was sure he could feel it through my palm, which was still flat against his chest because I'd forgotten to move it.

The strap came loose. He slid it back up onto my shoulder, his knuckle grazing my collarbone on the way.

Then he didn't move.

His hand stayed where it was, resting lightly on my shoulder. His face was a few inches from mine. I could see the dark line of his lashes, the shadow along his jaw. His gaze dropped, just once, to my mouth.

I stopped breathing. I actually thought, *He's going to kiss me.*

And I wasn't going to stop him.

Adrian took his hand back.

He shifted away, rolled onto his back, and stared up at the ceiling.

"Go back to sleep," he said.

I lay there, stunned, with my heart still racing and the comforter tangled around my legs. Then I yanked half of it over to his side, harder than necessary, turned my back to him, and stared at the wall until the sky went gray.

---

At breakfast, I buttered my toast like it had wronged me.

Adrian poured my coffee before I asked. I said thank you to the server. He mentioned the weather was clearing up. I said, "Mm." He asked if I wanted to sit by the window. I said I was fine where I was.

He set his cup down.

"Did I do something?"

I looked at him. He looked genuinely confused, which somehow made it worse.

What was I supposed to say? *Yes. You didn't kiss me. You had your hand on me and your face right there, and you told me to go to sleep like I was a kid who'd had a nightmare.*

"No," I said.

He studied me for another second. Then he nodded slowly and went back to his coffee, and I hated how much I wanted him to push.

---

Back in the city, the Vale Foundation charity gala was held in a hotel ballroom full of chandeliers, champagne towers, and people who donated money mostly so they could be seen doing it.

According to section four of our agreement, the newlyweds had to open the dancing.

The band started a slow song. Adrian held out his hand, and three hundred people watched me take it.

He led me to the center of the floor. His right hand settled at my waist, warm through the thin silk of my dress. I knew that hand now. I knew what it felt like on my bare shoulder at three in the morning.

We started to move. He was a good dancer, of course. Steady, unhurried, never stepping on my feet.

I kept my smile on for the crowd.

"You're very good at pretending to be married," I said.

He turned me under his arm and drew me back in. "Are you?"

My heart stumbled. "Obviously."

Adrian lowered his head. The distance between us closed so fast I felt his breath against my cheek, and the ballroom seemed to fade around us.

"Then stop looking at my mouth," he said.

Heat rushed up my neck. I had been. I'd been doing it since the song started.

A sensible woman would have looked away, laughed, and blamed the champagne.

I didn't look away.

"What happens if I don't?" I asked.

His hand tightened at my waist, his fingers pressing into the silk, pulling me that last inch closer.

"Then we have a problem."