“I'll just...” She gestured vaguely toward the bathroom.
“Go ahead.” I stepped aside to let her pass.
Our fingers brushed accidentally as she moved past me, and the brief contact sent an electric current up my arm. Her sharp intake of breath told me she'd felt it too, but she quickened her pace, disappearing into the bathroom without another word. The door closed behind her, and I released a breath I hadn't realized I was holding.
What the fuck was I doing?
Moving to my walk-in closet, I stripped off my suit with mechanical precision. The events of the day crashed over me in waves. Each decision had seemed logical in the moment, necessary even. But now, with her in my bathroom and the reality of what I'd set in motion settling around me, doubt crept in.
I changed into pajama pants and a t-shirt, my mind racing with thoughts of her. Cecelia had always been off-limits—my best friend's sister-in-law, thirteen years my junior, a complication I couldn't afford. I'd kept my distance as much as possible, limited our interactions to gatherings where otherscould serve as buffers. But I'd noticed her. Fuck, had I noticed her.
The sound of the shower running filtered through the door, and my imagination immediately conjured images of water cascading over her body. I swore under my breath. Moving to the bed, I sat on the edge and rubbed my hands over my face as if I could physically wipe the thoughts away.
“Stupido.”
Yeah, I was as stupid as stupid could be.
When I looked up, I noticed the bathroom door wasn't fully closed. A sliver of space, barely an inch wide, allowed steam to escape in wispy tendrils. Through that gap, I could see a fragment of the shower—fogged glass that obscured details but still showed the outline of a body moving behind it.
In all the craziness it’d slipped my mind to inform Cecelia that the lock didn’t work properly. It’d never bothered me because I didn’t bring women here. I had another place across town for that.
It bothered me now.
She was behind that door. Naked and wet.
I should look away. I knew I should. But my feet were moving before my brain could override the impulse, carrying me toward that treacherous gap in the door. I stopped just short of it, warring with myself. This wasn't right. This was an invasion of her privacy, a breach of the tenuous trust we were building.
But my body betrayed me, my head tilting just enough to peer through the gap.
Cecelia stood with her back to me as she reached for a towel. Water streamed down the curve of her spine, following the dip of her waist before coursing over the rounded fullness of her ass. Her wet hair clung to her shoulders, black as ink against her pale skin. As she turned slightly to wrap the towel around herself, I caught a glimpse of the side of her full and perfect breast.
My hand moved to the front of my pajama pants before I could stop it, adjusting the hardness that had sprung to life instantly. A jolt of self-disgust hit me as I realized what I was doing—standing in my own bedroom, spying on a woman who was only here because I'd manipulated her into it.
I stepped back from the door, a silent curse escaping my lips as I quickly moved to the bed. This wasn't me. Or at least, it wasn't who I wanted to be with her. I threw myself onto the mattress and flung an arm over my eyes as I tried to beat back the desire that throbbed with each heartbeat.
I'd just managed to get myself under some semblance of control when the bathroom door opened fully. I lifted my arm to see Cecelia emerge wearing only shorts and a faded t-shirt. Her damp hair left wet patches on the fabric, causing it to cling to her body in ways that threatened my precarious newly found self-control.
She approached the bed cautiously, eyeing me as if I might pounce at any moment. Without a word, she began gathering pillows and stacked them in the center of the mattress.
“What are you doing?” I asked, propping myself up on my elbows.
“Building a pillow wall,” she replied matter-of-factly as she continued her construction. “I don't want you touching me or accidentally rolling to my side.”
I watched her stack the pillows, creating a barrier between what would be her side of the bed and mine. The irony wasn't lost on me. I'd spent years building my own walls to keep her at a safe distance, and now here she was, physically manifesting that separation.
“Seems excessive,” I commented, unable to keep the amusement from my voice.
“Seems necessary,” she countered, finally meeting my gaze. The defiance there was familiar, comforting even. This was theCecelia I knew—stubborn, uncompromising, refusing to back down even when cornered.
Once her barricade was complete, she climbed into bed and pulled the covers up to her chin before she reached for her lamp and plunged her side into darkness. I did the same, leaving only the ambient light from the windows illuminating the ceiling above us.
“Good night, wife,” I said into the darkness. The word feeling strange and right on my tongue all at once.
“I'm not your wife.”
I couldn't help but smile. “But after tomorrow you will be.”
The silence that followed was heavy with implication. I stared at the ceiling, listening to her breathing on the other side of the barrier, wondering if she was as aware of me as I was of her. Sleep seemed impossible with her so close yet deliberately out of reach, but I closed my eyes anyway, trying to ignore the scent of her on my pillows and the knowledge that by this time tomorrow, Cecelia Sutton would legally be mine.
