My voice goes tight. "Do what?"
"Disappear on me."
Heat flares across my cheeks.
What did I say?
I snap, "It wasn't intentional. And you hovering while I sleep is unnecessary."
His thumb strokes over my hip. "I'm not hovering. I'm making sure you're still breathing."
My breath hitches.
His fingers strum toward my inner thigh.
My core turns to fire. I bite out, "You're being dramatic."
His eyes narrow. "How's that?"
My stomach dips. I blurt out, "You didn't need to put me in your bed."
"I wasn't leaving you on a couch. You're my wife. Remember?" Arrogance flies across his expression.
My pulse pounds between my ears. I open my mouth, but nothing comes out.
"You're welcome," he fires back, turning angry.
We glare at each other. His breathing moves fast. Mine stays uneven.
We're too close. My stomach flutters and betrays me like an amateur. I toss the covers off and turn. "I was just tired."
He catches my wrist, demanding, "Look at me, Valentina."
I slowly meet his gaze.
Too many emotions flicker in his eyes. Relief mixes with confusion, and then his dangerous, hot, and all-consuming sarcastic ego takes over.
It rattles me all over. I yank my wrist back, sitting up straighter, declaring, "I'm fine."
He nods slowly, studying me like I'm a threat to myself.
"Don't look at me like that."
"Like what?"
"That!" I reply, pointing at him.
"Would you rather I look at you like this?" He crosses his eyes and sticks his tongue out.
I laugh. "Really?"
His face falls. "Glad you're back, Minx. You were out of it."
I arch my eyebrows.
He strokes my cheek. "I don't like to see you cry."
Silence detonates between us.
