Lucas stood frozen at the edge of the bed, staring down at the woman who had so audaciously claimed his space. The moonlight streaming through the partially drawn curtains illuminated Claire's face, softening her features into something almost ethereal.
Just as his thoughts began to drift, she moved again. Her body shifted slightly, and the hem of her nightshirt slipped further down one shoulder. The faint, silvery light caught on the curve of her collarbone, accentuating the smooth expanse of skin beneath. Lucas felt his throat tighten as the fabric revealed more than he had expected, exposing the delicate lines of her figure.
"Damn it," he muttered, running a hand through his already tousled hair. He yanked at the knot of his dark blue tie, loosening it with frustration.
What was wrong with him? He was a grown man, not some hormonal teenager. And yet, the sight of her—so unguarded, so unexpectedly alluring—made his pulse race in ways he hadn't experienced in years.
Turning his back to her, Lucas paced toward the sofa on the far side of the room. "She's completely taken over my bed—where the hell am I supposed to sleep now?" he grumbled under his breath.
The idea of waking her up to reclaim his rightful space flitted through his mind, but he dismissed it just as quickly. Claire had been through enough for one day, and even he wasn't cruel enough to disturb her now.
Resigned, Lucas grabbed a thin blanket from the edge of the bed and draped it over his arm. His gaze lingered on her one last time before he retreated to the sofa. He stretched out, or at least tried to, but his six-foot frame barely fit the narrow space. The armrest dug into his back, and the cushions were far too firm for comfort.
He sighed heavily, closing his eyes. The past few days had been a whirlwind—his carefully constructed plan to deter his mother from meddling in his personal life had spiraled out of control. What had started as a fabricated medical report to get his ex off his back had somehow resulted in this: a stranger lying in his bed, her very presence stirring emotions he didn't want to acknowledge.
As he lay there, his thoughts spiraling, a faint sound broke through the silence.
"No… please, no…"
Lucas's eyes snapped open. The voice was soft and muffled, almost inaudible, but it was enough to pull his attention back to the bed. He turned his head, his gaze locking onto Claire. She was shifting restlessly, her face contorted with distress.
"Dad, don't—" Her voice cracked, the words escaping in a pained, pleading whisper.
For a moment, Lucas simply stared. Her expression was raw, vulnerable in a way that tugged at something deep within him. The sight of her, so fragile and defenseless, stirred a pang of unease in his chest.
"What kind of woman still has nightmares at her age?" he muttered, attempting to mask the flicker of concern with sarcasm.
And yet, despite his words, he found himself rising from the sofa. His feet carried him back to the bed before he could stop himself, and his hand reached out almost instinctively. He rested his palm gently on her back, his touch light and cautious, as though afraid of breaking her.
The effect was immediate. The tension in Claire's body ebbed away, her features softening as the lines of worry melted from her brow. Her breathing steadied, and the faintest hint of a smile graced her lips.
Lucas watched the transformation with a mixture of relief and fascination. He hadn't expected his presence—his touch—to have any impact on her. And yet, here she was, peaceful and at ease beneath his hand.
"You're a puzzle, aren't you?" he murmured, his voice low. For a man who prided himself on his ability to read people, Claire was an enigma.
He shook his head, a wry smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Here I am, comforting a woman I barely know—a woman I was ready to throw out of my house just hours ago."
Satisfied that she was calm, Lucas began to pull away, intent on returning to his makeshift bed. But before he could step back, Claire moved again.
With a soft, sleepy murmur, her arms reached out, wrapping around his torso. The movement was so sudden, so unexpected, that Lucas froze in place. Her grip was gentle but firm, her slender arms locking him in place as she nuzzled against his chest.
"Claire…" he began, his voice trailing off as her legs shifted, brushing against his. The warmth of her body pressed against him sent a jolt of awareness through him, his pulse quickening.
Lucas's first instinct was to push her away, to reestablish the distance he so desperately needed. But something stopped him.
In her sleep, Claire's face was utterly unguarded, free of the tension and uncertainty she carried while awake. Her vulnerability disarmed him, and for a moment, Lucas allowed himself to relax.
He let out a slow breath, his body still tense but unwilling to disturb her. The scent of her shampoo—a faint, floral fragrance—lingered in the air, wrapping around him like a whisper.
As the minutes stretched on, Lucas found himself trapped in a strange mix of emotions. Frustration warred with curiosity, irritation with a burgeoning sense of protectiveness.
What was it about this woman that unsettled him so completely?
He lay there, unmoving, his mind a whirlwind of thoughts. The idea of marriage had always seemed abstract, a distant obligation he could put off indefinitely. But now, with Claire's arms wrapped around him and her warmth seeping into his skin, the reality of it loomed closer than ever.
And for the first time, Lucas found himself wondering what it might mean to let someone into his life—to let her in.