Page 39 of When She Loves
I’m not planning to get used to shit. I also have no intention of letting him touch me. Does he think I’ll soften up to him because he didn’t hurt me last night?
I cross my arms over my chest. “I’m not sleeping with you.”
He takes off his tie and places it on top of his jacket. “We’re married, so we’re going to share a bedroom. If you don’t want to sleep in the same bed as me, you can sleep on the floor.”
The floor? Even with the nice carpet, that option doesn’t seem particularly inviting.
I glance around. There’s an ottoman by the window, not exactly large, but big enough for me to fit. I walk over to the bed, snatch a pillow and the duvet, and carry them to the ottoman. “I’ll sleep here.”
“Suit yourself,” he says calmly as he begins to unbutton his shirt. “I’m going to go shower.”
I watch him disappear behind one of the doors. He’s playing it very cool today. If I want to get on his nerves, I’m going to have to figure out exactly what makes him angry.
While he’s in the shower, I explore the rest of the room.
There’s a huge walk-in closet with freestanding cabinetry in the center and two armchairs. On one side of the closet are Rafaele’s clothes, and the other side is sparsely filled with what I realize are some of my clothes from home. He must have asked Mamma to pack me a bag at some point, and of course she packed my least favorite outfits.
I wander back into the bedroom. I find a black credit card with my new name on it on one of the nightstands.
Cleo Messero.
God, this is so weird.
I run my thumb over the raised letters. I’ll have to put this thing to use soon to buy clothes I actually want to wear.
The bathroom door swings open.
I turn in time to see Rafaele come out in a pair of black boxer briefs, his hair tousled and wet. A choked sound escapes the back of my throat at the sight of all that tattooed skin.
Holy shit.
He’s covered in ink from his collarbone down to the waistband of his boxers.
And he’s fit. Eight-pack abs, well-defined chest, and broad, muscled shoulders. My eyes follow the V that disappears behind his waistband along with his ink. A wave of heat crashes through me.
Slowly, I lift my gaze back to his face. There’s a challenge in his eyes. Is he trying to play dirty? I realize my jaw is hanging open, and I quickly close it. Fuck. I need to keep my poker face around him.
He walks toward the closet, giving me a view of his muscular back and the intricate snake tattoo on it. He looks even more lethal without his clothes on. I can’t stop staring at the way his body moves, confident and powerful, like a predator.
He returns with another duvet in his arms and dumps it on the bed. “This Friday, I’m taking you out for dinner.”
My gaze lingers on that damn V. “I’ll pass.”
“It’s not a request.”
I blink at him, struggling to formulate a sentence that doesn’t end with me drooling on myself. I must be tired. It’s been an exhausting twenty-four hours.
“Okay, whatever,” I mumble.
It’s not until I’m in my pajamas and lying on the hard ottoman in the darkness that the haze induced by his naked body lifts. I rub my eyes and let out a sigh. I can’t let my insides turn to mush every time he comes out of a shower. Now that he’s seen my less-than-ideal reaction, he’s going to keep doing it.
I stare at the star-speckled sky outside the window and try to ignore the sound of Rafaele’s deep breaths from where he’s lying in his comfortable bed. The bastard’s already asleep.
Sleep doesn’t come as easily to me, so I stay up for a while longer and slowly piece together my plan.
CHAPTER14
RAFAELE
