Chapter Four

“You can do this. You can—”

My courage vanishes the second I look at my reflection in the bathroom mirror.

“I can’t,” I whisper.

My hair is twisted into a messy bun, damp strands clinging to my neck. I spent the last thirty minutes in the bathtub, scrubbing my skin raw like I could wash tonight away if I tried hard enough.

The silk pajamas I’m wearing feel impossibly soft against my skin. I’ve slept in stretched-out tees for the past five years. This is the kind of luxury I’ve only seen in magazines.

And yet I’m hiding in the bathroom.

A bathroom with marble floors and more shower heads than I can count.

Because the moment I step outside that door…

My stomach knots.

Adrian Hawthorne’s voice echoes in my head. “You’re sleeping in my bed.”

I didn’t think he meant it,  even when he handed me a folded pajama set and bluntly said I needed a shower. For some reason, it didn’t occur to me to ask if it was his bedroom. 

Until I heard the door open and his voice, drifting towards the door. I ducked down in the bath tub as fast I could, almost drowning myself. 

He was on a call, then. I haven’t heard a sound since, but I don’t want to test my luck. 

I can’t. 

The only person I’ve ever shared a bed with, was my mom. I’ve never kissed anyone either, much less sleeping in the same bed. 

And I still don’t know what he wants with me.  

I slap my hands to my cheeks, groaning. “You need to figure something out, Alina.” I glance around the bathroom, but there’s nothing but tiles. 

The bath-tub. 

It’s cold, but it’s big enough to stretch out. “It’s just one night,” I mumble, psyching myself up. “You’re not going to get hypothermia-

A knock sounds on the door. I freeze instantly, stopping with one foot forward.

“Alina.”

My heart slams against my ribs. Adrian. “I—just a second,” I manage, my voice thinner than I’d like.

There’s a pause on the other side of the door. “If you need help with the toilet—”

“No!” I cut in as my face flames. “I—I’m okay.” Somehow, the thought of him knowing that I use the toilet is more humiliating than sleeping in the same bed with him. 

There’s more silence. “If you’re thinking of sleeping in the bath tub, I suggest you don’t. It would be a foolish thing to do.”

Right. 

“I’m not,” I say. “I’ll be out in a minute.”

I exhale audibly when I hear his footsteps retreating, reaching to the wall for support as my knees turn to jelly. I turn to the tub again, but Adrian’s words echo cruelly in my head.  

Foolish. 

One of the many things my step-father called me when I demanded that he transfer some of the company shares to me. 

“You’re a foolish, ungrateful child. I should’ve thrown you out after your mother died. Yet I’m still providing for you.”

Tears sting my eyes. I brush them away angrily. 

I wanted to tell him that he hadn’t given me a cent since I watched her get lowered into the ground. I was the one bailing him out of trouble. 

The only thing we shared was his house—and my mother paid off his mortgage after she married him. 

She gave everything to him. Until he took her life too. 

I drag my feet back to the mirror, staring hard at my reflection. The tiny scar on my forehead gleams in the overhead light. 

My shoulders straighten. I might’ve been sold, but won’t let Adrian or anyone else bully me. Not the way my step-father did. 

***

Adrian’s seated on a low sofa near the foot of the bed, one ankle resting over the opposite knee. A document is in his hand, the pages shifting quietly as he flips through them.

If he heard me walk in, he doesn’t say anything. Which is good. I turn away, carefully walking towards the end of the bed—closest to the wall. Far away from him. 

“Alina.”

I halt, my heart slamming in my chest. I slowly turn around, to find him watching me. His eyes are different under the warm lights—a shade of blue that darkens as he gaze pins me in place.  

He closes the document.

The soft thud echoes louder than it should in the quiet room.

Adrian sets it aside and rises to his feet. I gulp noisily, frantically searching my brain for something to say. Small talk, maybe. 

I don’t get further than that, because my brain completely stops functioning.

He’s shirtless. I didn’t notice it when I walked in…but he’s shirtless. 

My eyes betray me instantly as they trail over him. Broad shoulders. Lean, sculpted muscle across his chest. I knew he was fit even with his suit on, but I didn’t think it was this— 

Phew. 

My gaze flickers downward before I can stop it, following the v line travelling from his stomach, down to  where his pants hang low on his waist. It drops a little more. 

Oh.

Oh wow. My mouth goes dry. 

Is that—

I snap my eyes back up so fast I nearly give myself whiplash. Huge. I can see the imprint through his pants, pushing against the light cotton fabric. 

My gaze wanders again, my body humming traitorously. I’ve seen plenty. On TV and the occasional indecent creep, but nothing as big…

Focus, Alina! 

I pinch myself hard enough for it to sting, my attention snapping back to his face.  

There’s an unreadable expression on his face. 

I clear my throat awkwardly, folding my arms like that might somehow hide the fact that my brain just had a full meltdown. “Thank you for the pajamas.”

“The personal stylist will be here tomorrow morning. She’ll get your closet fitted.”

My head bobs. “Okay.” I stand there, as if waiting for orders. 

“Is there something you need?” 

“N-no,” I shake my head. “The bed,” I mutter after a moment. “I’m not sure where I’m supposed to sleep.”

Adrian’s gaze flicks briefly toward the massive bed behind him, then back to me.

“The right side,” he says simply. 

“Oh.” My cheeks go hot. “Right.”

I walk toward it slowly, the mattress looking big enough to swallow me whole. I hover beside it for a second, unsure what to do with myself, before sitting gingerly on the edge like I’m afraid it might reject me.

The mattress sinks softly beneath my weight. It’s… ridiculously comfortable.

Of course it is.

I tuck my hands into my lap, staring at the floor while I try very hard to pretend the shirtless man in the room with me doesn’t exist. Or that my thoughts aren’t wandering back to his—

I shake my head, pushing the image out as I climb on the bed and under the covers. 

Sleep. I just need to close my eyes and pretend like I’m somewhere else. 

The other side of the mattress dips a moment later. 

My spine straightens instantly as a musk-rich cologne drifts toward me, sinking into my senses like honey on satin. I hear him sigh softly, the quiet rustle of fabric following as the covers shift.

A strange, unwelcome tension curls low in my stomach. My body betrays me with a soft, restless pulse between my thighs that I immediately try to ignore.

I squeeze my eyes shut tighter.

This is ridiculous.

He’s just a man.

A terrifying, powerful, shirtless man with a body that looks like it belongs on a Greek statue—but still.

Just a man. That I’m supposed to hate. “A dollar and one cent,” I remind myself under my breath, grabbing my end of the covers and shrinking closer to the edge of the bed. “That’s how much you were worth to him.”

Sleep doesn’t come. 

I curl tighter until my knees touch my chest, fighting the urge to open my eyes and look over my shoulders. I can feel him behind me and hear the sound of soft, even breathing, but I don’t dare turn. 

Sheep. 

I picture numbers in my head and begin counting down. One hundred… ninety-nine… ninety-eight…

Somewhere along the way, the numbers blur and slip through my fingers. My eyelids grow heavy, my limbs sinking into the mattress as the tension slowly drains out of me.

The sheets are soft. Too soft.

I burrow deeper into them with a quiet sigh, my body relaxing despite everything. “Mmm,” I murmur under my breath, shifting slightly, chasing the comfort.

For a moment, I forget where I am. I forget who I’m lying next to.

My hand drifts absently across the bed as I turn, my fingers brushing against something warm. It’s not the sheets.

It’s warmer. Firmer. 

I frown faintly in my half-asleep haze, shifting closer without thinking, my fingers grazing over it again. “So warm…” I mumble drowsily as I reach further, trying to make out the strange object. 

It’s soft in some places, hard in others and it’s…wide. 

Very wide.  

My brows knit slightly, confusion flickering through the fog in my head. Still, my fingers wander lower, curious to find an answer. 

I touch something. 

I blink, my lashes fluttering and my eyes slowly opening. My gaze trails over to my hand. 

That’s not the bed. That’s not the—

I jerk back with a sharp gasp, yanking my hand to my chest like I’ve been burned.

“And here I thought you were fast asleep.”

My head snaps up. Adrian is already looking at me.

His expression is tight as it sweeps over my face. “Were you looking for something?” he asks quietly.

“N-no,” I stammer, shrinking away. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—I sleep alone,” I rush out, words tumbling over each other. “I forgot where I was. I’m sorry.”

Silence stretches between us and my face burns hotter with every passing second.

I wait for a reaction—for irritation, anger, something.

“Perhaps we should reconsider the sleeping arrangement,” he says flatly. I watch him get out of the bed. Still shirtless. 

My mind, shameless as it is, wanders far, tracing the firm lines of his abs and the stretch of his shoulders. My tongue darts out without thinking, wetting my bottom lip as I glimpse the veins along his fingers as he curls them against his thigh. 

“You’ll sleep here tonight.”

“W—” I snap back. “What about you?” 

His brows rise slightly. “I own the house. I’m sure I can find a room where I don’t have to worry about being groped in my sleep.”

Groped!?? My face turns so red I can feel it flaming. 

I open my mouth to argue, but Adrian’s already striding to the door. It opens and shuts with a soft thud. 

Just like that, I’m dismissed.