Desperately Seeking Shapeshifter by Jessica Sims Page A

hair. “Oh. Of course. I know that. I was just figuring out how to get out of bed without waking you up.”
    As his large hand moved off my back, I rolled away and got to my feet, straightening my clothes. My hair felt like a stiff mess and my eyes felt puffy, but the rest of me felt . . . pretty good, oddly enough. I stretched, testing my muscles. Who would have known I’d have slept so well next to a giant? Except for one small thing, of course. “I know we have this fake marriage thing going, but in the future can you not grab me when I’m sleeping?”
    Ramsey swung his legs over the side of the bed, and I was relieved to see that he had slept in his jeans. He scratched his chest and my gaze was drawn to that big hand, the hard, rippling layer of muscles over his big chest . . . he was enormous. Gorgeous, but enormous.
    “It was you.”
    “Huh?”
    “You grabbed me,” he said. “You had bad dreams and trembled in your sleep. Then you rolled over and grabbed me, and slept quietly. I left you there.” His level gaze seemed to add, Because I’m a nice guy.
    “Oh. Thanks. I think.” Jeez, I was pretty sure I was blushing. Had I clung to him while I’d slept? My sleeping self was either a total coward or a cuddler. Neither one was optimal. I adjusted the knots on my shirt, which had held up overnight but looked ready to go. “Where did you put my bag?”
    “First we will talk about this ‘Roy’ person.”
    I moved toward the door. “No, we’re not talking about him.”
    Lightning fast, Ramsey’s big form blocked my way. “We’ll talk now.”
    Memories flashed through my mind, and I immediately began to tremble all over at the sight of the blocked exit, panic looming in my mind. “Please . . . please move.”
    Remorse flickered across Ramsey’s face, and he immediately moved to the side and held the door open. “Not trying to frighten you.”
    “It’s okay,” I said, blinking to clear my mind offoul memories. “Just reminded me of . . . bad things. Can we talk about stuff later? I’m hungry.”
    He nodded silently, and I fled down the stairs.
    A cursory search of the house showed me that my bag had been left in the foyer. I rummaged through it, looking for my favorite pink T-shirt. I took it to the bathroom and yanked it over my head, tossing the other. The bathrooms were cleaner than the rest of the house, thank goodness. This one had peeling wallpaper and a broken mirror, but the tub, toilet, and sink were intact. I frowned at my reflection. Dried blood had run into my hairline on one side of my face, the black makeup had landed underneath my eyelids, and my hair stuck out in all directions. Charming. I turned on one of the faucets, and the entire wall groaned as if in pain. I quickly shut it off again and took a step backward. “Do you have water, Ramsey?” I yelled up the stairs.
    “Sometimes.”
    “Great,” I muttered. Using a clean sock from my bag, I spit-cleaned my face as best I could. At least I could use the sink at work. My wild blue hair was tamed with a shoelace headband, and I was ready to face the day. Day one as Mrs. Ramsey Bjorn. Yikes.
    The kitchen proved as empty and broken down as the rest of the house, and I opened the fridge and quickly shut it again, waving a hand in front of my face to clear the smell. “Did something die in your fridge?”
    “No,” Ramsey said, turning the corner and entering the room to the side of me.
    I glanced at him out of the corner of my eye. His shaggy blond hair was wet and slicked away from his face, curling around the dark blue collar of his security T-shirt tucked into his pants. It emphasized the breadth of his body, and I found myself oddly fascinated as those hands slipped underneath his belt, adjusting the shirt. “Where’d you get the water?” I asked.
    “Well. It’s outside.”
    That sounded . . . rustic. I frowned and gestured at the fridge. “Your cupboard’s bare, dude.”
    “I don’t eat here.”
    I