When had this girl climbed into his bed? Lucas Zeller rubbed his temples, replaying the distant echo of a door slamming earlier. Had she slammed *his* door shut? The audacity of Claire Grace never ceased to amaze him, yet here she was, curled up like a cat in the very spot he had planned to occupy.
"Claire?" he called softly, leaning closer. A gentle tap on her shoulder did nothing to stir her. "Are you actually asleep?"
No answer.
Lucas crouched beside the bed, studying her face. Her expression was peaceful, lips slightly parted as if lost in some pleasant dream. Or maybe… she was pretending?
"Claire," he murmured again, his lips curving into a sly smile. "Do you really think that just because you're asleep, I'll let you get away with this?" He tilted his head, his voice dropping to a teasing whisper. "Maybe I should just carry you back to your room. No one would ever know."
The idea amused him, and before he could overthink it, he reached out. But the moment his hand brushed her shoulder, Claire's eyes shot open. With the precision of a snake, she threw her arms around his neck, yanking him down with surprising strength.
Before Lucas could react, her lips met his—soft, untrained, and wildly eager. The kiss was so unexpected that his body stiffened in shock. Yet, within seconds, warmth surged through him, catching him off guard. Her clumsy kisses were maddeningly innocent, stirring a reaction he hadn't expected from someone as composed as himself.
Lucas's eyes widened as Claire peeked up at him through half-closed lids, her expression a mix of nerves and triumph. Then, just as abruptly, she accidentally bit his tongue.
"Ah!" Lucas winced, pulling back with a sharp groan.
"Oh no! I'm so sorry!" Claire's hands flew to her face, her cheeks turning a deep crimson. "I didn't mean to—let me see!" She grabbed his face, her brows knitted with concern. "Is it bleeding? Oh my gosh, it's all my fault!"
Lucas stared at her, half in disbelief, half in reluctant amusement. Her panicked apologies tumbled out so fast that he couldn't even get a word in.
"It hurts," he said finally, his voice low, though it wasn't just his tongue that ached. His dark eyes bore into hers, searching for something he couldn't quite name.
"Does it hurt a lot? I'm so, so sorry!" Claire's voice cracked as her hands trembled against his jaw.
"It hurts," he repeated, more softly this time. Then, after a beat, he added, "Claire… how much do you like me?"
The question came out of nowhere, catching Claire completely off guard.
"Huh?" Her wide eyes blinked at him in confusion.
"You heard me." His tone grew more insistent. "How much do you actually like me?"
Claire fidgeted under his gaze, her voice faltering as she replied, "I… I like you a lot."
"A lot?" Lucas scoffed, leaning in as if daring her to look away. "What does 'a lot' even mean? Be specific."
Her hesitation only fueled his curiosity.
"Do you really want to know?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
"Of course," he shot back without hesitation.
Claire's chest rose and fell as she took a deep breath. "If I told you it wasn't just 'like,' but something more, what would you do?"
Lucas froze. The room seemed to shrink as her words hung in the air. "Something more? What do you mean?"
"I mean…" Claire swallowed hard, her voice steadying despite the tremor in her hands. "I've been in love with you for five years."
The admission hit him like a thunderclap.
"You've… loved me?" Lucas echoed, his voice laced with disbelief. "For five years?"
Claire nodded, her eyes unwavering. "Why else would I run to the airport the moment I heard you were coming back? Or insist on moving in with you, even though it embarrassed me to no end? If it weren't for love, I wouldn't have…" She trailed off, her cheeks flushing as memories flashed through her mind. "I wouldn't have done half the crazy things I've done since we met."
Her voice trembled, yet she held nothing back. It was raw, unpolished, and utterly sincere.
Lucas sat there, stunned into silence. He had always dismissed her boldness as fleeting infatuation, but now… the pieces began to fall into place. To her, this wasn't some spontaneous crush; it was something she had nurtured for years, and every action had been driven by it.
For a moment, an unfamiliar warmth swelled in his chest, leaving him breathless.
"You're not going to say anything, are you?" Claire's voice cut through his thoughts, her expression crumpling. "I knew it. You think I'm just some silly girl with an obsession. Fine." She stood abruptly, brushing him off. "If my feelings are such a burden, I'll stop. I'll cancel the arrangement we made. You're free now."
The finality in her tone sent a jolt through Lucas. As she turned away, he reached out instinctively, grabbing her wrist.
"Claire," he said sharply, pulling her back. "Where do you think you're going?"
"To bed," she snapped, her voice brimming with frustration. "Unless you want me to leave in the middle of the night with nowhere to go."
Lucas clicked his tongue, his grip firm yet gentle. "Who said anything about you moving out? Stop jumping to conclusions."
"But you—"
"Enough," he interrupted, exhaling heavily. "You're still recovering. Where are you going to sleep? On the floor?"
Claire hesitated, her gaze darting between him and the bed. "Are you saying we should… both sleep here?"
Without answering, Lucas began unbuttoning his shirt, his movements deliberate. "Suit yourself," he muttered, leaving her to interpret his actions.
Claire froze, her cheeks flaming. But just as she stepped closer, Lucas moved faster. In a swift motion, he wrapped an arm around her waist, pinning her to the bed.
Her startled gasp was silenced as his lips crashed into hers, this time with no hesitation. The kiss was demanding, yet achingly tender, as if he were pouring every unspoken word into that single moment.
For once, Lucas Zeller let his carefully constructed walls crumble, embracing the chaos—and the girl—he had been resisting for so long.