"I think I should leave now," Rachel said softly.
She was lying beside me on the dusty hotel mattress, her head resting against my shoulder, one hand folded loosely against my chest. The room around us was dark except for the faint silver light pressing through the gap in the broken curtains—moonlight.
It had been nearly half an hour since we'd stopped pretending we were going to sleep anytime here. And we were still here, tangled in each other's warmth with no particular urgency to change that fact.
"Just a little longer," I said, tightening my arm around her.
Rachel made a small sound that was halfway between a laugh and a sigh. She shifted and propped herself up on one elbow, looking down at me with an expression of amusement.
"That is exactly what you said ten minutes ago," she pointed out.
"Ten minutes ago I meant it differently," I said.
"And now?"
"Now I mean it more," I replied.
She laughed properly at that—and let her head drop back to my shoulder.
