“Baby steps, princess.” I retrieve our phones from the drawer and hand hers over.
Emboldened by the moment, I decide to push my luck. “So, about sleeping arrangements. How about we alternate nights in the bed? It’s only fair.” I’ve tried not to complain, but that couch is more like a torture rack than a piece of furniture.
Ana considers this for a moment, then surprises me. “Actually, it’s a king-size bed. We could… share it. If you promise not to try any funny business.”
I can’t help but laugh at her phrasing. “Funny business? What are you, a character from a 1950s sitcom?”
She swats my arm, but she’s smiling. “You know what I mean.”
“Alright, alright,” I hold up my hands in surrender. “I solemnly swear not to touch you. At least, not until you ask me to.”
Ana’s cheeks flush crimson. “That will never happen, Mr. Night.”
The name lands harder than she could know. I swallow the old reflex—a flash of my father’s voice, my mother’s silence—and shove it down deep.
“Careful,” I say lightly, trying to make it sound like a tease. “When you say my name like that, it sounds almost… intimate.”
She rolls her eyes, but the corner of her mouth lifts. “Don’t flatter yourself.”
I wink at her, enjoying the way it makes her blush deepen. “Never say never, princess. You’re full of surprises these days.”
As we head to bed, something fundamental feels different between us. There’s a weight in the air, something expectant, like the pause before a song drops its first note.
The mattress dips under her as she climbs in, the faint rustle of sheets slicing through the quiet. I switch off the lamp and lie there, telling myself to relax. I don’t. Every sense is tuned to her—her breathing, the tiny sigh when she settles, the whisper of fabric against skin.
She shifts, and the faint brush of her leg against mine sets off every alarm in my nervous system. The heat of her body seepsthrough the cotton like sunlight through glass. I can almost taste the electricity between us.
I clench my jaw, count heartbeats. One, two, a thousand. The ache in me builds until it’s almost a rhythm, the same tempo I hear when she plays—measured, perfect, merciless. I want to touch her. Just once. Trace the curve of her shoulder, find the pulse at her throat, learn the sound she makes when she stops pretending not to want this.
Instead, I stare at the ceiling, fists curled, every muscle locked.
“Good night, Nyxx,” she whispers. My name trembles on her tongue like a note she doesn’t quite finish.
“‘Night, Ana.” My voice comes out lower than I intend. Rough. Hungry.
She turns away, and I stare at the outline of her back in the moonlight. Desire throbs through me, relentless. My mind floods with images I shouldn’t be having—the taste of her mouth, the slide of silk, her body arching into mine. It’s a slow, exquisite torture, the kind that makes you want to laugh and groan at the same time.
I drag a hand over my face. I promised not to touch her, and I keep my promises. But I can’t promise not to want her. That ship’s long gone.
When sleep finally drags me under, she’s still a breath away, her warmth curling around me like a siren song. Tomorrow,I’ll pretend I don’t remember the imagined sound of her sighs. Tonight, I memorize every one of them.
Chapter Nine
Anastasia
Sleep came eventually, though it felt more like a truce than rest. All night, I was aware of him—the heat of his body, the rhythm of his breathing, the careful distance he maintained like a promise kept.
Morning light now spills across the sheets, warm and indecently cheerful. For a blissful second I forget why my heart is racing—then I spot the empty space beside me, the faint dent in the pillow that still smells like sandalwood and sin.
Nyxx is gone.
Relief and disappointment wrestle in my chest until both collapse into a shaky laugh. I survived sharing a bed with a half-naked rock star without combusting. Barely.
I sit up, shove my hair out of my face, and glance toward the kitchen. The cottage is quiet except for the distant glug of a coffee pot. He must’ve started it before heading outside. A picture of him doing yoga naked in the woods surrounding our cottage flashes through my mind.
Down Ana. One night of sleeping next to a rock god and you’ve lost your mind.
Maybe I should do something useful before he comes back. Like breakfast.
