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I groan, rolling my eyes, but I let him pull me upstairs and toward his room.
Chapter22
Dara
Finn’s room is twice the size of my own. There’s a sitting room, except this one’s complete with big television, leather couch, a record player, and racks of music, movies, and shows. He gestures at the setup dismissively. “Never use it,” he mutters. “Not enough time. Make yourself comfortable.”
I hesitate near the couch as he disappears back into the bedroom. A moment later, he returns wearing loose sweats and a t-shirt, looking at me like he wants to bend me over the couch and spank my butt raw.
Which wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world.
“Maybe this is a bad idea,” I say, looking toward the door.
“It’s our wedding night. I’m not going to stand here and act like we’re going to live like husband and wife for the rest of our lives, but for tonight, I want to start our relationship off right.”
I hesitate. It’s a surprisingly reasonable idea. I mean, in theory, we’re going to be spending a very long time together—we might as well try to get along.
“Do you snore?”
His eyebrows raise. “I snore like a motorcycle backfiring.”
“Move in your sleep?”
“Like a barrel tumbling down Niagara falls.”
I sigh, rubbing my forehead. “You’re not selling this whole sleeping together idea.”
He comes closer, staring at me with those hard eyes of his. “I’m not trying to sell you anything. For one night, I want you in my bed, acting like my wife. That’s all I ask.”
I have a thousand reasons why this is a dumb idea, the biggest being, I’m terrified I’m going to let this guy put his hands on me.
No, scratch that—I’m terrified because IknowI’m going to let him.
But maybe that’s a good thing. Maybe we can get this intimacy out of our system, get a feel for what it’s like to be sleeping together, and maybe we’ll decide it’s not all that great.
I mean, it could work out for the best, right?
He really might snore and thrash, and that’ll cure me of any desire to be anywhere near this guy’s bedroom.
Except that’s a dangerous gamble.
Because it might easily break the other way, and I’ll never want to be anywhere elsebutin his bed.
“Fine,” I say after a short, tense silence. “One night. We’ll do this once, get it out of our system and then—”
“And then you can retreat to the guest room and hide from me.” He turns, walking back into the bedroom.
“I am not hiding.” I follow him, annoyed. “You’re crazy if you think—”
But the words die in my throat.
His bedroom is gorgeous.Lavishis the wrong word. Everything’s a shade of black or gray with several bits of beige and brown thrown in the mix. Recessed lighting, modern furniture, and a bed that looks like a family of seven could easily fit with room to spare. A laugh spills from my throat as I shake my head, pointing. “What the hell isthatmonstrosity?”
He grins, sitting on the edge. “It’s called an Alaskan King.”
“I didn’t know they made bed that big.”
“I like to have plenty of space.”
