She tipped her head back, eyes half-lidded, still catching her breath. “Okay.”
I huffed a quiet laugh. “Okay?”
She gestured vaguely between us. “That was efficient. Borderline aggressive.”
“That’s not the word I’d use.”
Her mouth twitched. “Don’t ruin it by getting sentimental.”
“Wasn’t planning on it.”
“Good.”
She peeled herself off the desk, slow this time. Grabbed the sheet off the bed and wrapped it around herself without ceremony, already moving like she owned the space.
Because she did.
She glanced back at me. “You’re not leaving.”
Not a question.
I leaned one shoulder against the timber post, watching her like I didn’t have a single good reason to argue with that. “No?”
“No.” She crossed to the small table, poured water into a glass like this was just another evening, not whatever the hell that had been. “Logistically inefficient. I prefer repeatable systems.”
“Right. Copy that.”
She handed me the glass. Our fingers brushed. Stayed there a second longer than necessary.
Problem.
I took the water and drank, watching her over the rim.
She held my stare. No retreat. No softness.
But the room had changed around us.
She reached for my shirt off the floor, dropped the sheet, then pulled it on like it belonged to her. The hem hit mid-thigh. Bare legs. No effort made to fix her hair.
Jesus.
“This is going to get me killed.”
She glanced down at herself. “You seem to be managing.”
“Barely.”
“Try harder.”
I exhaled through my nose, shaking my head, and that’s when my phone buzzed on the table behind me.
Once. Then again.
Didn’t need to look to know who it was. Trousers came first, because some instincts outranked lust. By the time the phone reached my ear, that version of me was gone. “Hey, love.”
Juliette’s attention snapped to me like I’d just grown a second head.
“How was your day?” I turned from the table and paced a few steps, staying close without meaning to. “Yeah? First week and already surviving, that’s impressive.”
