"Your turn to rest," I say, touching his shoulder. "I'll keep watch."
"I'm fine," he insists, but his voice is rough with exhaustion.
"Of course you are, but I need you at your most alert tomorrow.” I figure if I make it about protecting me, he might listen. “I can handle this for a few hours."
He hesitates, looking torn between duty and necessity.
"Please," I add. "Let me help. I'm not completely useless, you know."
This draws a tired smile from him. "Never said you were."
After another moment of reluctance, he rises from the chair. "Wake me at the slightest sound," he instructs.
I nod, taking his place in the chair as he finally surrenders to the bed.
At first, I’m excited to be the bodyguard for once. But the novelty wears off quickly. It’s boring to sit in the dark.
I jolt awake to a shadow looming over me. I'm still in the chair by the window. A small strip of sunlight streams through the gap in the curtains.
“Some lookout you are,” Cristian says, smirking at me. “I left to get coffee, took a shower, and you slept through it all.”
Droplets of water drip down his chest and I realize he’s mocking me in only a towel.
"What time is it?"
"Almost eight." He gestures to two paper cups on the nightstand. "Yours is getting cold."
Embarrassment heats my cheeks.
I was supposed to keep watch, to prove I wasn't helpless.
Instead, I fell asleep like a child while he continued to handle everything.
"You should have woken me," I grumble, stretching my stiff neck.
"You looked peaceful. I didn't have the heart."
That smug expression is still on his face.
My eyes drift to the towel wrapped around his waist, and inspiration strikes.
"Well, I'm awake now," I say, my fingers darting out to tug at the edge of his towel.
The white fabric falls away easily, pooling around his feet.
His eyes widen in surprise as he stands before me in all his naked glory.
Broad shoulders, muscular chest tapering to narrow hips, and everything else on magnificent display, rising toward me as if to greet me.
Instead of covering himself, Cristian raises an eyebrow. "See something you like?"
My mouth goes dry. "Maybe," I whisper, reaching out to touch the warm skin of his abdomen, feeling the muscles contract beneath my fingertips.
I want to move lower, but Cristian catches my wrist before I can make contact.
"We need to get back to reality," he says, voice rough. "Call your brother. Go home."
I look up at him, drinking in every detail of his face, especially the conflict in his eyes.
