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“Umm, why not?” he asks, looking truly puzzled. The bed is massive. Iknowit’s like a super king on steroids or something, but all I see when I look at it is a tiny single with Lycus wrapped around me like a vine. A naked and writhing vine.
I swallow and hastily push those images away.
“Because!” I huff in frustration and take a deep breath to try and gather my composure. “What happened before. At my flat. It can’t happen again.”
Lycus nods, not seeming to want to push the matter any further, though I suspect he’s less than happy about the arrangement. Maybe I’m being too harsh. We could take it in turns to sleep in the bed. Or the car. It’s not like it’s cold here.
“Okay, I understand. I’ll sleep on the floor,” he acquiesces.
It doesn’t make me feel better. Why do I feel like shit? The logical part of my brain knows I’m being irrational, overreacting, but the louder part of my brain is screaming that I’m overwhelmed and stressed, exhausted and wrung-out. Maybe tomorrow we can come up with another plan, but for tonight, I just need some space.
“Good.” I pause for a moment, trying to think of anything else I need to establish. “And if anything else happens, anything at all,” I point a finger at him, “you’re out of here and you can sleep in the car.”
He nods again, “I got it. Loud and clear.”
I let out a sigh, feeling slightly better now that we’ve established some ground rules and that he’s agreed to my crazy demands without complaint. I expected him to push back.
He seems like the kind of guy who’s used to getting what he wants. And I doubt sleeping on the floor is high on his list of desires. But the thought of even sharing aroomwith Lycus is still unnerving me.
“Have you finished in the bathroom?” he asks.
“Yeah.” I nod, uncomfortable.
“I’m going to take a shower and then go out for some food. Give you that quiet night to yourself that you wanted.”
“Oh…thank you.” That’s actually really considerate of him.
“You’re welcome, Angelica. The last thing I want is to make you uncomfortable or spoil this trip for you.”
As he walks towards the bathroom, I can’t tear my eyes away from him. I’ve never really paidthatmuch attention to Lycus before – obviously he’s gorgeous – but now I can’t stop thinking about him, especially after what happened between us at my flat. I’m desperate to know why he left, but I can’t bring myself to ask because what if the reason is even more humiliating than beingrunout on in the first place?
I try to push those thoughts to the back of my mind and focus on getting ready for bed instead. I change into my pyjamas, which consist of a matching silk and lace set that my mum got me for Christmas.
I wish I’d packed an old T-shirt and some shorts now, not a skimpy deep red camisole and French knickers that barely skim my ass. I gulp. I can’t let Lycus see me like this. I don’t want him thinking I dressed up for him.
Mortifying.
I climb into the bed. It’s comfortable, and I’m grateful for the luxury, but I can’t shake the feeling that something is off. Sharing a room with a colleague is one thing, but sharing a bed would be crossing a line. Wouldn’t it?
I close my eyes and take a deep breath, trying to calm my racing thoughts.
When Lycus emerges from the bathroom, he’s wearing a pair of grey sweatpants and a tight white T-shirt. I’m relieved –and not at all disappointed– that he’s not just wrapped in a towel.
But he still looks good. Too good. Better than fucking good actually if I’m honest with myself.
I’m a little bit envious of his toned physique. That’s all. So what if he’s attractive? You can stick a dog in grey sweatpants and any woman will pant after him.
“I’ll be back in a bit,” he says, grabbing his wallet and keys. I try to tamp down my irrational jealousy that he’s going out dressed like that andother women will get to see him.
“Angel…ica?” He cringes. “Do you want anything from the vending machine?”
“No, I’m good. Thanks.” It’s on the tip of my tongue to ask if he wants to stay and order room service, but he nods and leaves before I can work up the courage, closing the door behind him.
I’m left alone in the room, but it doesn’t feel like it. The air is thick with tension, and I can feel Lycus’ presence lingering even though he’s not here. His cologne is suffocating me but it’s the damn AC that has my nipples harder than diamonds, not his scent…which I refuse to admit is heavenly.
The thought of him sleeping on the floor sends a twinge of guilt through me. Maybe I’m being overly paranoid and cautious. But then again, I don’t want to take any chances.
I try to distract myself by getting lost in a book, but reading a raunchy romance by my favourite author is a seriously bad idea. It doesn’t matter that the book is awhy choosescenario. Every male character morphs into Lycus in my mind, and suddenlyI’mthe FMC getting railed by the men of her dreams.
