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“Do you have any—”
Dominic stopped talking. His eyes took me in—his wrinkled shirt barely holding itself up on my shoulders, falling all the way down to my knees like a dress.
Here we go again, I thought to myself.
“Don’t look at me like that,” I said, hands on my hips. I wasn’t naked.
“Why are you wearing my shirt?” he demanded, his voice low, hoarse, like he was about to start growling soon.
“You said I need to smell like you, remember? This smells like you.” I pointed at the shirt. “We’re obviously not going to cuddle.”
Unless he’d planned to cuddle?
In which case, I would…
No.
Not going there.
He groaned, closing his eyes. “Damn it, Theodora.”
“I’m wearing pajama shorts, too!” I pulled up the shirt to show him because I needed to not think about how my full name had sounded on his lips. Not going there, either.
But he looked at me again and saw the pale pink pajama shorts I wore underneath his shirt.
The next second, he turned around and walked out of the room without another word.
I slapped my forehead with my ice-cold hand. How were we going to survive in this place for three days? We couldn’t even deal with each other for three minutes!
I went to the bed, taking the left because I always sleep on the left in my apartment, too. I lay down on the soft pillow made of feathers, and my head sank in it. So nice. The silk around my naked limbs made me feel like I was lying on clouds, not a bed.
Is this how the other half lived? I’ve never cared much about money, but now that I was here, it did make me wonder what it would be like to live like this every single day.
To live in a place where Dominic Dane could stand to look at me without flinching and groaning for two minutes.
A sigh escaped me, and I pulled up the cover over my head. I’d forgotten to turn the light off, and I was too lazy to leave this silk heaven right now. He could flip the switch when he came to bed.
If he ever came to bed.
This bed.
Ugh. Shivers washed down the length of me, gathering in the pit of my stomach. My thighs clenched from the need suddenly taking over me. My mind must have been conspiring against me because the impulse to imagine what Dominic’s large hands would feel like on my body was too strong to resist. And before I knew it, I found my own hand under his shirt, flat against my stomach, and I imagined it was his hand there instead, and…
I was so screwed.
With a groan, I pulled down the cover and breathed deeply. I was being ridiculous. Yeah, I was attracted to the looks of that wolf-ass, but that didn’t mean anything. He was good-looking. Nobody could deny that. It didn’t mean anything.
Still, no matter how many times I told myself that, a part of me never fully believed it. But I grabbed my phone instead, determined to distract myself from this absurd situation, and I read everything Google had to show me about Noah Bennet and his pixie girlfriend. By the time I was done, sunlight started streaming through the window, and I was still restless. Still not distracted.
Damn you, Dominic Dane.
