Page 150 of Unlock My Heart

Having run out of steam before the process is completed—namely drying and styling my hair—my damp head falls on my pillow as I flip off the lamp.

A rumble that rattles my bones has me flipping on the light in a panic. I hate storms, and I hate that Fabien’s not here. And I hate that I hate that he’s not here.

Punching my pillow, I slip out of bed and out into the hallway, nearly running into the man.

“Are you okay?” he asks, still wearing a suit.

There’s an electric feeling in the air, and it’s not just from the change in barometric pressure.

“I’m fine,” I lie, stopping myself from hopping into his arms on the next boom of thunder.

“Dammit, Sienna.” Fabien releases a frustrated breath. “You don’t always have to have your guard up.”

But I do.

“Heard a rumor of spaghetti and meatballs.” His hands slip into his pockets. “Please don’t toy with a man like this.”

I sigh heavily, acting like I’m put out. “Come on. I’ll heat you up a plate.”

“As much as it pains me to say this, could you put on a robe? I’m tired, and I’d rather not have to gouge someone’s eyes out.” His gaze roams my body, and it feels like he’s physically touching me.

With a long-suffering sigh, I tell him, “Give me a minute to save the eyes of our household.”

His look is so intense that it makes me squirm.

“What?”

“You said our household.”

“I meant my household. Do you want spaghetti or not?” I say crossly.

“Is that even a question? You know I love your cooking.”

“What if I’ve become a horrible cook since the last time you ate my food?” I challenge.

“Then I’d take some pregame antacid and hope for the best,” he decides.

With a laugh, I smack his chest before stepping inside my room. Grabbing the robe hanging from the back of the closet, I refuse to check out my reflection in the mirror. Because I know what I’ll see, and it isn’t hope. It’s worse than that.

A glimmer of happiness.

My mind churns as I rejoin Fabien, and he watches as I cinch my robe. “Better?”

“Better would be that scrap of silk and lace crumbled in the floor of our room, with you riding my cock until both of us pass out, but yes, it’ll do.”

Ignoring the image he’s painted, I say primly, “We don’t have a shared room.”

“Yet,” he says confidently.

“Presumptuous.”

“Guilty.”

“Of so many crimes, and yet here you stand,” I muse.

“Here I stand,” he agrees. “Until my wife orders me on my knees.” His voice drops to a seductive octave. “Ready when you are.”

“Come eat before the offer’s rescinded,” I tell him, taking off down the hallway to escape his sexiness.