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The room was darker now, the space illuminated by the soft glow of a single bedside lamp, and Adrien was in the process of laying a blanket out on the floor like a makeshift mattress.
“Okay. Listen,” he started. “Maybe I shouldn’t have taken things—”
He cut himself off when he saw me, his jaw falling open. It took him ten full seconds to recover enough to ask, “What the… what isthat?”
I glanced down at myself, feigning innocence. My nipples were poking right through the buttery silk.
“Pajamas,” I answered simply. Wasn’t it obvious?
“What.” He was talking to my breasts. His eyes were glued to them.
“These are the pajamas the personal shopper picked out for me. Cute, no?”
I watched with fluttery satisfaction as his demeanor changed—darkened. His gaze traveled all over me, shamelessly drinking in every inch of my body.
I crossed my arms, effectively shoving my breasts together without covering my nipples.
“You’re drooling, Cloutier.”
His eyes snapped to mine, blazing. The tips of his ears were crimson. “What are you doing?”
“Getting ready for bed.” Again, wasn’t it obvious?
“This is because of the bet? Downstairs?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
He shifted on his feet, tension worming through his jaw. “You need to change. Right now.”
I cocked my head and pushed my lips into a little pout. “No can do. I wouldn’t want to hurt your poor mother’s feelings.”
“I’m not fucking around, Sanchez.”
“Neither am I,” I said. “You’re the one who insisted I wear the clothes your mom got me, and this is what my private shopper selected for my sleepwear. I don’t understand why you’re complaining.”
This was already so fucking gratifying.
“You really don’t want to start this game with me,” he promised. The muscles in his shoulders and neck were tensing, the veins in his forearms popping as his fists clenched, unclenched.
Still, a little smirk kept pulling at the corner of his lips; like he was somehow also enjoying this.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I purred sweetly.
“Last chance to call that truce,” he practically growled. “Stop being a brat and go put on some fucking clothes. We’ll call it even and move on.”
Fuck his truce. And fuck him.
“No.”
His whole face twitched.
I floated to the bed and crawled onto the covers, allowing the slip to ride up my thighs and hips as I twisted to my side, facing him.
He didn’t even try to pretend like he wasn’t staring.
He let his eyes roam over me slowly, head to toe. Heat licked at the trail his gaze left behind, and I squirmed, my knees inching up to my stomach.
Adrien shut his eyes with a breathy curse and scrubbed a hand over his face.
