Apartment check.
I slide out of bed carefully, moving slowly so I don’t jostle her. The room is dim, early light barely bleeding around the edges of the curtains. Elsa shifts, a soft sound in the back of her throat, and I freeze, listening until her breathing evens again.
I pull on my pants and grab the gun from the nightstand. If something is wrong, I’d rather have it in my hand than in another room.
I’m halfway to the bathroom door when her voice stops me.
“Antonio?” Sleepy. Soft. Still rough at the edges.
I turn my head.
She’s propped on one elbow, hair mussed, eyes heavy-lidded. The way she looks so perfect in the bed we just shared makes my chest tighten.
“Bathroom okay?” she asks. “I want to shower.”
“I’ll check first,” I say. “Then it should be fine.”
She gives a small nod like that’s normal too—like it’s normal to have a man doing safety checks in your apartment before you take a shower.
I move to the bathroom and push the door open, scanning the corners before I step in. The place is exactly the way I left it last night. I check the linen closet since it’s the only place in the bathroom anyone could actually fit to hide. Then I check the second door, the one that leads to the hall, and make sure it’s still locked from this side.
Nothing.
Good.
I step back into the bedroom and lock eyes with Elsa—and my brain does that stupid, useless thing where it forgets anything and everything but her.
Because she’s sitting up in bed and she isn’t hiding.
No blanket pulled up. No robe. No attempt to make herself smaller.
Just Elsa—bare skin, relaxed posture, chin lifted slightly like she’s comfortable in her own body in a way that should be illegal.
She’s gorgeous.
A goddess.
My hand tightens on the gun for a second before I force it to loosen, because the urge that hits me is immediate and physical: press her back into the mattress, cover her with my body, and have my way with her. All damn day. Hell, all weekend.
And why the hell not?
It’s not like we have anything else to do.
She must see it on my face because her mouth curves, slow and coy.
“You’re like the Energizer bunny,” she says, voice still sleepy, but the smile is pure trouble.
I step closer, letting my gaze travel—unapologetic. “I mean… look at you,” I say, voice deep and husky. A sexy flush works its way over her skin. “Besides, it’s not like we have anything else to do today.”
Her eyes flick down my body, then back up. Very suggestively.
“Those legs still working, baby?” I ask, because I can’t help myself.
“For now,” she says, and that smile widens.
My pulse thuds low.
“Going to do something about it?” she asks, and then—like she wants to make sure I don’t miss the invitation—she cups her own breasts and rubs her nipples, slow and deliberate.
