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It’s late now. I lie in bed staring at the ceiling and replay the kitchen. Her turning around. Her chin tilting up. Her eyes dropping to my mouth.

I press the heels of my hands against my eyes and exhale.

I’ve known this woman for a week. She lives down the hall from me. She sleeps in my guest room in my T-shirts. She cooks my breakfast while I feed her baby—not her baby.

Every morning she cooks and I handle Ella and we move around each other in the kitchen like we’ve been doing this for years, and it terrifies me. Not the domesticity. Not the routine.

The fact that I want it. All of it. Her humming at the stove, Ella’s hands grabbing my shirt, the coffee in my mug that she makes without asking, the hair ties on every surface. I want mornings that smell like bacon and sound like her. I want to come home to the light in the kitchen window. I want to cover them with blankets on the couch and stand there like an idiot watching them breathe.

I want her to look at my mouth again, and next time, I don’t want the phone to ring.

I roll onto my side and stare at the wall between her room and mine. Twelve feet. She’s twelve feet away, probably asleep, her jaw soft, her hair across the pillow. I know how she sleeps now. I’ve seen it. I can’t unsee it.

I close my eyes and try to think about Sunday’s game. San Francisco’s defensive line. Coverage schemes. Anything.

All I see is blue eyes and bare feet on marble and a strip of warm skin above her shorts.

I’m in trouble. Real, deep, no-exit-strategy trouble.

And I don’t want a way out.

Chapter Seven

Ryleigh

These last few nights have been nice, but apparently Alexei has gone and lost his freaking mind.

When he told me this morning he’s flying to California later today for an away game, I started packing, assuming I’d obviously have to find another place to go. He disagreed, and now we’ve been arguing about this for the past thirty minutes.

He’s insane, absolutely insane. And now he’s staring at me with that sexy, determined expression, his fists clenched at his sides. If it’s a fight he wants, it’s a fight he’s going to get. Bring it, buddy.

I square my shoulders and summon the most commanding tone I can muster. “I can’t stay here while you’re gone.”

He swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing in the most distracting way. “Of course you can. I offered. You’ll accept. It’s a done deal.” His eyes are playful, but his stance says he means business.

Well, two can play at that game, dude. I’m not intimidated by the fact he’s a professional athlete. I can and will hold my own.

“It’s not a done deal. I won’t stay here, Alexei. End of story. You’ve already been too generous, too kind. I won’t take advantage of you like that. I’m practically a stranger, and you can’t possibly trust me alone in your home.”

I mean, seriously. The dinners, the shower head, the heavenly comfortable bed—everything has been great, but I’ve known all along it’s a very temporary solution to my problem.

He smirks, somehow going from angry to amused in about 3.5 seconds. “Oh yeah? And why not? Are you going to make chicken parmesan? Take a bath in my tub? Use all the towels? Do a load of laundry? Be my guest.”

I roll my eyes. “Have you been hit in the head too many times on the field? No, you big bossy man. You can’t invite a random woman to live here while you’re away. I could . . .” I look around, searching. “Steal your TV, or . . .” Jeez, I would make the worst criminal ever. “I could go through your bank statements and tax returns, start a fake identity with your social security number. Maybe commit a murder in your bedroom.”

His eyes widen as he considers my words.

There. Take that, you big oaf!

Then Alexei chuckles and shakes his head. “You’re not going to do any of that.” He stalks closer to where I’m standing until we’re just a foot apart. Then he places his big calloused palms on my upper arms and gives them a light squeeze. I’ve wondered since the day I met him what his touch would feel like. It’s the first time he’s touched me so intimately, and I know he’s not doing it to be sensuous, he’s only doing it to convey his trust in me, but the effect is the same. My skin tingles pleasantly and my breath hitches in my throat. Desiree’s words about Alex Ivan being one of the world’s most sought-after men in Chicago ring through my head.

His voice drops lower, his anger gone. “I trust you, okay? Is that so crazy?”

His hands fall away and I pull in a deep breath, his words both calming and alarming me. We hardly know each other, but there’s this thing happening between us—undeniable as it is. I’ve felt it stirring for the past few days, growing with each passing hour.

“It’s crazy, yes. You and I both know it’s insane.”

Alexei mulls this over, his perfectly straight white teeth biting into his bottom lip as he does. “I didn’t want to say this, I wanted you to stay because you wanted to, but . . .”