I woke to a pair of strong arms slipping from around my waist. In the faint moonlight, I caught sight of my boyfriend moving away from me.
"Jameson?" I reached for him, my arms insisting he return to bed with me.
"Can't sleep," he replied, sitting on the edge of my bed.
His shirtless back gleaned in the moonlight pouring through the window. Still half-asleep, I grappled for his hand. When I couldn't find it, I began to panic.
Sighing, Jameson turned his body.
Apologetically, I said, "If you aren't here, then neither of us are going to sleep."
"You make a fair point, heiress." Slowly, he laid back beside me. "I do seem to be of consolation."
"No," I mumbled. "You're just my pillow."
The sentiment startled a laugh from Jameson. "I think I like you better half-asleep."
"I think I like you better when you're holding me."
"You don't think that, heiress," Jameson murmured, obtaining his previous position beside me. Before we tangled ourselves in each others arms once more, though, he kissed me, hard. "You know that."