Later that evening, Ethan pushed open his bedroom door and came face to face with another surprise.
Hailey was lying belly-down on his bed, wearing a pair of pale blue pajama shorts and a loose t-shirt, flipping through his design portfolio like she owned the place. Her legs were bent at the knees, bare feet swaying lazily in the air.
It was distracting. In a totally infuriating way.
"My mom left. You don't need to keep pretending anymore," Ethan said dryly.
Hailey barely glanced at him. "Yeah, but she also arranged for people to check in on us. If we don't sleep together, she'll definitely come back."
"Oh, so this is just your excuse to stay?"
She gestured to the sofa. "I put a pillow and blanket there. You can sleep on the couch. Or go find another room. Your choice."
He turned to look at the pathetic excuse for a sleeping arrangement she'd set up for him, then gave her a slow, mocking smile. "You're making me sleep on the sofa?"
"Obviously," she said sweetly. "You're the man, aren't you?"
Ethan walked to the edge of the bed, arms akimbo. "Two things, Hailey. First, the sofa is 180 centimeters. I'm 188. You do the math. Second, this is my house. You're just a guest."
Hailey smiled up at him innocently. "A guest? Correction—I'm your wife, remember? Even if it's temporary, that makes me the mistress of this house."
She folded her arms with triumph. "So, unless you want your mom to find out we're not really a couple, I suggest you take the sofa."
Ethan squinted at her.
She wasn't backing down.
Fine. Two could play at this game.
Without a word, he suddenly lunged forward.
Before she could react, he pounced onto the bed, pressing her down with his full weight.
"Hey—what are you doing?!" Hailey squirmed beneath him, her eyes wide with disbelief.
He leaned in, his face mere inches from hers. "You don't want me on the sofa. I don't want me on the sofa. So… the solution's simple. We both sleep here."
"In your dreams! Get off me!" she shouted, twisting helplessly under him.
But the more she struggled, the more aware he became of her soft, warm body beneath him. Her scent, her skin, her breath—everything was intoxicating.
His voice dropped to a low, dangerous murmur. "You do remember I'm a man, right?"
She blinked. "Wh—what's that supposed to mean?"
"It means…" he leaned even closer, his lips nearly brushing hers, "…even if I don't like you, I'm still a man with normal urges."
Her heart skipped a beat. Her brain screamed at her to say something intelligent.
Instead, her mouth blurted out, "I don't think you're normal in front of me."
The words hung in the air like a slap.
Her eyes widened in horror.
Oh. My. God.
Why did she say that?!
Ethan's eyes darkened, gleaming with dangerous intent.
This night was far from over.