“Let’s go to sleep.”

I remove my shirt and pants and pull back the comforter and sheets. She pauses, then opens her overnight bag, grabs a few toiletries, and steps into the bathroom. We are quiet and methodical, moving through the motions of preparing for bed.

I close my burning eyes. The bed shifts with her weight as she climbs in. She covers her legs with the comforter and lies down beside me. There’s a foot of space between us, and we’re both lying stiff on our backs, looking up to the ceiling. It’s awkward, and there’s no reason for uneasiness.

I reach for her and tug her to me. The smooth silk of her nightdress glides against my side, and one of her long legs covers mine. I press a kiss to the top of her head.

We’re both exhausted, but this position feels natural and right. It’s been an exhausting, emotional day. We both need sleep. We’ll regroup in the morning. Check on Sophia and determine our next steps.

“Sleep,” I tell her. Through her chest pressed up against my side, I can feel the soft thud of her heartbeat. My muscles relax into her warmth, and I ease into sleep.

I sense someone watching me. My eyes are closed, and my hand flattens against a cool surface. My fingers clench down into a surface that gives. A mattress. My eyelids bat open. Shadowed white walls, rays of light piercing through unfamiliar dark curtains. The ornate bedpost triggers my memory. I’m in Jack’s guest room.

My slow train of thought reflects back over yesterday’s events. I rub a hand over my eyes and remove heavy kernels of sleep. The bed dips, and I breathe in coffee.

Alex peers down at me, a white porcelain coffee cup in hand. She’s wearing the silk chemise I curled into last night. The same one that curves around her breasts and rises high on her thighs. But those dark forest eyes drill into me. She’s not here to tempt me. She’s got something on her mind, and the way her focus is on me, it feels personal.

“Morning,” I say cautiously.

“Morning.” She sips her coffee without lifting her gaze.

“Everything okay?” I don’t have a wealth of relationship experience, but I’m not a schmuck. I recognize a woman who wants to talk. Unease in my gut rises because I’m fairly certain talks aren’t good and I thought we settled everything yesterday.

“Are you seeing someone else?” Her tone is light. Steady. Her gaze doesn’t lift from me, because she’s studying me. She’s watching my reactions. She wants the truth.

“I told you, I am not,” I say, but my gaze falls to the lumps of my feet beneath the gold-swirled comforter. I push up and slide back until my back hits the bedframe. It feels a bit like I’m being interrogated, and my defenses rise. “Why?” I practically growl.

Her head snaps back as if my question slapped her. My cottonmouth is heavy, and I push the comforter off my lap and head to the restroom. I close the door, relieve myself, brush my teeth, splash water on my face, and take stock in the mirror. There’s a day’s rough growth covering my jaw, and my eyes are hooded. The skin on the right side of my face is a blustery red from where I was sleeping so hard. Before she positioned herself to wake me by staring at me.