Page 48 of Out of Control

She nods. “Mm-kay.” Then she closes her eyes.

I spend the next few minutes taking off her boots.

Pulling her dress over her head and telling myself not to peek, not to want, before slipping one of my T-shirts over her head.

But hell if I do either. I peek. And I still fucking want.

“Lie back,” I tell her and pull the covers up and over her. “Get some sleep.”

She makes a noncommittal noise as I brush her hair off her face.

Now this is a side to Sofia Navarro I have never seen before. Sexy and seductive. Professional and cold. But this? Serene and unguarded isn’t something I was ready for. If I wasn’t mildly obsessed with her before, I might just be now.

I go to take a step back.

“It’s okay you know,” she murmurs.

“What is?” I ask, not expecting her to answer.

“Us using each other for whatever it is we both need.”

“I know,” I murmur, thinking that what I thought I needed from her that first night in America and what I need now are two completely separate things. “I know.”

It’s only seconds before a soft snore begins.

I back up a few feet, thoughts on all of the things I’d rather be doing right now with Sofia than watching her sleep. But I drag a chair from the sitting area near the bed.

Don’t leave me.

I sit.

I watch her sleep.

I left her asleep the last time I was with her. I got up as the early morning sky turned gray, stared at her, and walked away to respect her wishes.

This time I’m not leaving. This time is different.

And I wonder if that’s enough for me.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Sofia

The room is as light and airy as my head is groggy. The bed is luxurious—a soft mattress, what feels like miles and miles of a weighted comforter, the cool cotton of the gray sheets against my bare skin—and the shirt I have on smells like Rossi.

And I’m not mad about it.

Before I can question how I ended up here, flashes of last night make their appearance. The club. The balcony. Fuck your pedigree. Peach Rings or Gummy Lifesavers. I wince at that one.

Don’t leave me.

Oh boy. That’s . . . an unexpected one. Thanks for that, Mamá.

What else might I have said that I don’t remember?

What else did I do that I might regret?

I shift in bed and sit up, one thought heavier on my mind than others.