Leo's jaw tightened.
She wiggled again.
His hand, which had been resting on the pillow, curled into a fist.
She was killing him. Slowly. Deliberately. Unconsciously. Her soft body pressed against his, her warmth seeping through the thin fabric of his shirt, her hair tickling his chin.
He closed his eyes, trying to think of something else. Spreadsheets. Meetings. The dead assassin. Anything.
She wiggled again, her leg sliding higher, her knee brushing against—
His eyes snapped open.
She was still asleep. Still peaceful. Still completely unaware of what she was doing to him.
"Bella," he said, his voice low, rough.
She didn't stir.
"Bella."
She mumbled something, her brow furrowing, and burrowed deeper into his chest.
His hand moved to her waist, intending to shift her, to create some space, to save what was left of his sanity. But the moment his fingers touched her skin—bare, warm, soft—he forgot why he was moving her.
His thumb traced a small circle on her hip.
