“Fuck, you smell good.” His eyes lock onto mine, a slow smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “I bet you taste sweet.”

A shiver rolls down my spine.

His gaze drags over me like he’s already undressing me in his mind. “You can close your eyes and pretend I’m him.”

Him.

My stomach tightens. “Ty⁠—”

His eyes are locked on mine. “I don’t mind.”

My fingers curl into the bedspread beneath me. Every nerve stretched taut, the slow, traitorous thrum of arousal sparks low in my belly. I don’t want to feel this. I don’t want to want this. But it’s been so long since anyone touched me—and my body longs for pleasure even when my mind protests.

Ty’s body is like Alex’s, a rugby powerhouse—tall, broad, solid muscle. I wonder—if he pressed me into this mattress, would it feel the same? Would his weight settle over me the way Alex’s did, grounding me, making me forget everything but the way he felt, the way he moved?

The thought sends a jolt of something sharp through me.

No.

No one could ever feel like Alex.

But Alex isn’t in my life.

And he never will be again.

A sharp knock at the door shatters the tension, followed by a muffled voice. “Housekeeping.”

Ty lets out a quiet curse, the frustration rolling off him in waves. The intensity in his eyes flickers but only for a second.

I move, pushing to my feet, desperate for the space, for the air that feels too thick.

I straighten my clothes, willing my heartbeat to slow. When I glance back at Ty, he’s still sitting on the bed, jaw tight, his hands clenched into fists.

“I’ll get it.”

“Please do. Because I can’t go to the door like this.”

We both know what he means.

I crack the door open. “Hi. No service needed, thank you.”

The woman gives a polite nod and wheels her cart down the hall, oblivious that her new boss is in this room with a raging erection.

I close the door and exhale.

What the hell am I doing? I need to get my head on straight.

Now.

The door clicks softly behind me. Ty leans forward on the bed, forearms balanced on his knees, his gaze pinned to the floor. For once, the relentless arrogance in his posture is gone.

He rubs a hand along his jaw. “I shouldn’t have done that.”

I stand across the room from him, keeping my distance. “No, you shouldn’t have.”

He looks at me for a long moment before shaking his head, a rueful smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Bloody hell, Magnolia. You’re so fucking beautiful, and––”