“Haven’t really broken it in, I guess. Spend most of my time in my bedroom.”
“You have money, so hire people to break it in for you.”
“Why hire someone when I can have my fiancée break it in? I’ll grab you some sheets and blankets.”
“Oh no, you don’t.” I stand, grabbing my suitcase and marching it toward his bedroom, at least what I think is his bedroom. When I open the door, I’m greeted by the biggest bed I’ve ever seen. Pristinely made, corners folded and tucked, and the perfect amount of decorative pillows to make it seem inviting but not overwhelming. I set my suitcase down and say, “This will do. There’s plenty of room for the both of us. You better not snore.”
“I was just going to say the same thing.”
“Pfft, I sleep like an angel.”
He looks me up and down. “We’ll see about that.”
Since it’s already late, we don’t bother hanging out, but get ready for bed. I get changed in the bathroom while he changes in his closet and then together we brush our teeth. Him in a plain black T-shirt and flannel pants, me in what I call my convent pajamas—basically no skin is showing besides my hands and feet.
When we turn off the light to the bathroom, I go to get in the bed when Rath asks, “What do you think you’re doing?”
“I told you I’m not sleeping on the couch.”
“Yeah, I get that, but that’s my side of the bed.”
I stare at his nightstand and see his phone already charging. “But I like this side.”
“And I like sleep, so scoot over or there’s going to be a problem.”
I scoot and say, “You’re not being very husband-y.”
“Not your husband yet.” He sits on the side of the bed and I watch as he shucks his pants and then pulls his shirt off, folding both articles of clothing and setting them to the side. Slipping under the covers, he keeps his back toward me and says, “Good night.”
But I’m not ready to say good night yet. “What was the point of putting pants and a shirt on if you were just going to take them off?”
He rotates to face me and from the little light that’s filtering into the room, I see the strength of his collarbone and shoulders, but that’s about it. Damn covers.
“I didn’t want to scare you right off the bat and walk around in my boxer briefs. I was being respectful.” A small smile passes over his lips. “Sad you missed the show?”
“Oh yeah, uh-huh, yup, real sad. I’m crying a river over here. Oh, woe is me, I didn’t get to see my boss in his boxer briefs,” I say, hamming it up. “How will I ever live?”
With the snap of his wrist, the covers are yanked off both of us and Rath places both his hands behind his head, lying flat on the bed.
“Can’t have my fiancée upset. Go on, take in your fill.”
I don’t think I’ve ever felt my cheeks flame as quickly as they do the second Rath tosses the blankets to the side.
Holy mother . . . dare I say . . . aah-ooo-ga?
I knew the man had muscles—it’s hard not to notice when his suits are tailored specifically to every contour of his body—but I wasn’t expecting him to be so ripped.
The man eats a pastry a day, for Christ’s sake. He should have two love handles and a pouch over his abs that he playfully pokes and calls it his Danish daddy.
But no, the man has no ounce of fat on him. His stomach is ripped with abs stacked on top of abs and where his love handles should be is the magical V that’s cut into his side.
How on earth?
How.
HOW, GOD, HOW?
Already, from being around the man for so long, I’ve developed some Danish friends of my own and I work out almost every day. So how on earth is Rath maintaining such an amazing physique?
It’s because he’s rich, I know it. Rich people pay for secret fat-sucking services. It’s clandestine knowledge amongst them that they don’t share with us peons. It’s bad enough they have more money, now they’re just shoving their beautiful bodies in front of us.
“Why are you sneering at me?”
“You’re an asshole,” I say, twisting around so I don’t have to see his body for one more second.
“What?” He chuckles. “Why am I an asshole?”
I don’t answer, instead I bury myself further into my pillow.
“Charlee.”
Nope, I’m not turning—
He grips my shoulder and forcibly lays me flat on my back while he hovers over me—not completely, slightly off to the side—and I’m still staring at him, taking in his thick pecs that have a small splattering of hair across them. Sculpted shoulders, thick biceps, corded muscles that weave and twine together . . . he’s a gorgeous specimen, one I can’t seem to tear my eyes off. I can’t decide if it’s going to be the worst punishment for all my lies, or the unspoken, undeserved blessing that I have to face his half-naked body daily. It’s torture and it’s only night one. Torture. But . . . given I’m a half-glass full girl, it’s a burden I’ll gladly bear.
With a genuine smile on his face that is very rare to capture, he says, “Why am I an asshole?”
“Well, just look at you,” I say, trying to hide the sigh that wants to escape when I look down his torso. “You eat Danishes every freaking day. How do you have abs?”
He glances at his chiseled stomach and then back up. “Fast metabolism.”
“Ugh, men.” I go to turn around again, but he stops me.
“You can’t be mad at me for having abs. That’s ridiculous, and there’s one thing my mom told me about marriage.”
“You know we’re not actually husband and wife yet.”
“I know that, but still—”
“And, we haven’t told your parents yet . . . so do her rules really apply?” Although I’m teasing him, I am wondering when we’ll tell his parents. And how . . .
“Yes, her rules apply, because they’re good rules. Are you listening, Bag of Dicks?”
“Ah. Are you always going to call me that?” I roll my eyes.
“Well, you coined it first. Anyway, as my mother has always said, you should never go to bed angry.”
“Right, then you better not say things that make me angry. And we’re still not married—”
“We will be, and when we are, I expect you to abide by my rules.” His voice is playful.
I’m about to go off on him when a smile stretches across his face and he starts to chuckle.
“Oh, you’re lucky you’re just joking, because you were about to get schooled, mister.”
Still chuckling, he says, “Oh, I could see it, the way your hand cocked back, the anger in your eyes. You were going to deliver a punch, weren’t you?”
“I don’t know what was going to happen; all I saw was red starting to take over.”
He gently pushes some hair behind my ear and says, “Don’t worry, babe, it’s an equal partnership where I’m concerned.” He studies me for a few beats, his eyes scouring across my face, and I wonder if he’s going to kiss me again, but this time longer. Would he kiss me in bed? Is that one of his mom’s rules too? Always kiss before falling asleep? My greedy little self hopes so. Unfortunately, before I can ask, he pushes off the mattress and goes to his side of the bed. “Now stay on your side and try to contain yourself. No groping.” Arrogant ass.