“You said you weren’t sleeping with me,” he said with a shrug, his voice dripping with mock innocence. “This is your alternative.”
Grinding my teeth, I snatched up the pillow and blanket and marched to the far side of the room. The floor was cold and hard, and as I arranged the bedding, I could already tell I’d be miserable. Still, I wasn’t about to admit defeat.
The lights dimmed, and I heard him settle onto the bed with a contented sigh. “Goodnight, Vivian.”
“Go to hell,” I muttered, wrapping the blanket around me and trying to find a position that didn’t make my back scream in protest.
I lay there for what felt like hours, the silence only broken by the occasional rustle of the sheets as he shifted. I could feel his emotions through the bond—his calm amusement, tinged with the faintest hint of annoyance. He wasn’t going to sleep until I gave in.
The floor was unbearable. My hips ached, my neck felt like it was twisting into a pretzel, and the blanket offered no cushioning whatsoever. With a groan of frustration, I sat up and glared at the bed.
“Fine,” I snapped, grabbing the pillow and blanket and stomping over to the other side. “But don’t get any ideas.”
He didn’t even bother to hide his satisfaction. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”
I climbed onto the bed, putting as much distance between us as possible. The mattress was like heaven compared to the floor, and I couldn’t help the sigh of relief that escaped me as I sank into it.
“I want a TV in here,” I said.
Raffaele turned his head to look at me, one brow arching. “A TV?”
“Yes. I want to watch trash TV. It brings me joy.”
I felt his disdain ripple through the bond, followed by a flash of reluctant amusement. “Trash TV?”
“You heard me.” I turned my back to him, pulling the blanket up to my chin. “Don’t knock it until you try it.”
He laughed, and for a moment, the tension between us felt lighter. “You never cease to surprise me, Vivian.”
“And you’re an ass,” I muttered, though there was no real bite in my tone. “Which never surprises me in the least.”
Through the bond, I felt his lingering amusement as I drifted into sleep.
I wokeup to warmth pressed against my back that wasn’t just the blankets. My body stiffened as I realized I wasn’t alone in the bed, and the steady rise and fall of breath behind me confirmed it. I blinked, the events of the previous night rushing back: the bond, the argument, the compromise that had me reluctantly sharing his bed.
And now, Raffaele was spooning me.
His arm was draped over my waist, his breath tickling the back of my neck. But the worst—the most mortifying—part was the unmistakable pressure against my ass. My cheeks flushed as I registered what it was. The solid heat of his erection pressing into me was impossible to ignore.
Oh, hell no.
I carefully wriggled out from under his arm to avoid waking him. His arm twitched slightly as I slipped free, but he didn’t stir. Finally, I was free, and I bolted from the bed as quietly as I could, my feet padding against the cold floor as I made my way to his bathroom.
Once inside, I shut the door softly and leaned against it. The bathroom was massive, sleek, and modern, with dark marble and gleaming chrome fixtures. It screamedRaffaele—minimalist, intimidating, and a little too perfect.
I stripped out of my pajamas and stepped into the shower, turning the water on as hot as I could stand it. The spray hit my skin, and I sighed in relief. The tension in my body melted away as the heat soaked into my muscles. I lathered up shampoo and worked it into my hair, scrubbing harder than necessary, as if the water could wash away the confusion of the last twenty-four hours.
As I rinsed my hair, I heard the door open, and my stomach dropped.
I peeked over my shoulder just as Raffaele stepped into the bathroom. He was gloriously shirtless, his hair tousled from sleep, and he had the audacity to look completely unbothered by the fact that I was naked in his shower. His eyes flicked over me, smoldering with something I didn’t have the energy to process right now.
“What the fuck, Raffaele? Ever heard of privacy?” I snapped, instinctively crossing my arms over my chest.
His lips twitched into a faint smirk as he stepped into the shower, obviously trying to get a rise out of me. The glass door swung shut behind him, and he moved past me, his body brushing mine just enough to make me flinch. “I hate when you fucking call me that.”
I clenched my jaw and decided to ignore him. The last thing I wanted was to give him the satisfaction of a fight. Instead, I grabbed the loofah and squirted soap onto it, focusing on washing myself as quickly as possible so I could pretend this wasn’t happening.
But I could feel his eyes burning into my back as I worked the loofah over my skin. When I turned slightly, his gaze dropped to my body, lingering in a way that made my stomach flip. His arousal buzzed through the bond like static electricity, and I knew without looking that he was hard. The thought sent a rush of heat through me.
