Sorrel
So apparently my life has become one of those romance novels I tried to hide on Day One. You know, the ones with the shirtless billionaires and the improbable circumstances?
Yeah.
That’s me now.
Except instead of some convenient plot device bringing us together, you know, the whole he-needs-a-fake-wife-so-he-can-get-his-inheritance-or-save-his-company thing, I’m stuck in a freezing mountain chalet with Gregory Falk, the man who technically represents everything I’ve spent my entire academic career fuming against.
And we’ve crossed about seventeen different lines in the past twenty-four hours.
Starting with the one where we had mind-blowing sex on the floor.
Jesus Christ, Sorrel.
You hadsexwith Gregory Falk.
On.
The.
Floor.
And now we’re about to take a bath together.
Well, it was my idea...
“How much longer?” Gregory calls from the kitchen, where he’s heating yet another pot of snow-water on the gas range.
I check the tub level. We’ve been at this for a while. Heating snow pot by pot, and hauling it down the hall to the guest bathroom.
My arms are going to fall off. “Almost there. One more load?”
Bad choice of words.
I know who’sloadI want...
Real classy, Sorrel.
“Christ.” But he’s already refilling the pot.
I lean against the simple white vanity and stare at the slowly filling tub. The thing is decent, but definitely not the massive soaking tub he probably has in the master suite upstairs. This is just... a normal bathtub. The kind regular people have. Which means we’re going to be very, very close in there.
Oh god.
The mirror is already starting to fog from the steam rising off the water we’ve added. I catch my reflection. My hair is in a messy braid, and I’m still wearing his Columbia hoodie over thermals that desperately need washing. My face is flushed from hauling the heavy pots.
Looking real glamorous.
This isdefinitelyhow heroines look right before their big bath scenes.
Well, here’s the thing.
After last night, after he spent several minutes proving that every unwashed inch of my body was apparently his personal temple?
I’m not actually embarrassed anymore.
Well.
