With a sigh, I bit my lip. “Can I just say one more thing?”
“Only one,” he murmured with a grin clear in his voice.
“You’re really good at this. Cuddling, I mean. If you ever want to go professional, I’m sure Sunshine Cuddle Services would have a spot for you.”
An even longer pause passed before he tightened his grip. “There’s only one person I’m interested in cuddling, and she’s already in my arms.”
My heart tried to explode out of my chest, and I swallowed. “Oh.”
That was it. The big moment they talk about in the movies. The one where your body feels weightless and your heart threatens to burst and you suck in a freshly vomit-free breath because the previously anticuddling guy you’d made an ill-advised deal with just held your hair back while you puked up your guts, promised you all his chocolates, and confessed you were the only one he wants to cuddle with.
Game over.
Pack it up and go home, folks.
I’d officially fallen for Cade-freaking-Westbrook.
hellion
. . .
Ellie
Ellie’s Guide toProfessional CuddlingBeing a Fake FiancéeNOT Falling for Your Fake FiancéHiding Any Trace that You’ve Fallen for Your Fake Fiancé, Tip #19: Just play it cool. And absolutely do not ever—under any circumstances—meet his mother.
I woke up to a pounding headache, wearing a man’s shirt that had no business being this comfy, my tongue replaced by cardboard, and with a furry cat sprawled over my face—very effectively blocking off my airways.
“Whiskey!” I groaned, shoving him off and immediately regretting moving at all. Everything hurt—even my lungs as I sucked in much-needed air. It took every ounce of my strength to push myself up onto my elbows and squint around the room.
With the curtains pulled tight, the room was almost pitch black.
And aside from me and my cat, the bed was empty.
There was no sign of Cade anywhere, which was both relieving and made me want to crawl under the bed and hide.
I groaned again. Last night had been… too much.
Too much wine.
Too much puking.
And way too much flirting with my off-limits client.
My whole body grew warm just thinking about how Cade had almost kissed me. Well, sort of almost. I’d thought he was going to, at least.
In fact, I was a little miffed he hadn’t.
Aside from all the vomit, I’d been very kissable last night.
And now I’d gone and fallen for him.
I took a deep, calming breath—and a delightful whiff of buttery and sweet baked goods pierced my hangover. It was like walking into Sadie’s kitchen, but the source was on my nightstand.
A selection of pastries was stacked precariously high on a platter, with a chocolate croissant showcased on top. Three tall glasses of water accompanied the food, along with orange juice.
A small note sat next to the platter, and I picked up the fancy gold-embossed yacht stationery with polished and precise handwriting.
Harry demanded my presence on deck. Drink water, take the aspirin, eat something without chocolate in it, and dial 33 on the room phone to order more food or an IV.