"I'm a thirty-six-year-old man. I don't sleep on the floor, especially a wood one," he claims.

A tad of guilt appears, but I push it away. I cross my arms and give him my most challenging stare.

He grumbles, "Fine. I'll sleep on the floor."

"Okay. Thanks." I slip under the covers.

Sebastian shakes his head at me, goes into the closet, and returns with a blanket and a pillow. He mutters, "This is ridiculous."

"Shh. I'm tired," I claim and turn off the light.

He pleads, "Can we please act like adults? I can sleep on the other side of the bed, far away from you?"

"Nope," I reply, then snuggle down under the covers.

Silence fills the air. It feels like a long time, but it's probably only a few minutes. All of a sudden, I hear a stirring.

Sebastian's warm body slides next to mine under the covers.

I jump up and turn the light on, accusing, "What are you doing?"

He asserts, "I'm not sleeping on the floor, Georgia. I'm sorry, but no. You could have put that in the prenup, but you didn't. So you're just going to have to deal with me sleeping next to you. Got it?"

"I'm not okay with this," I state, but it sounds weak. The heat from his body makes me want to move closer.

"Well, you should have put it in writing," he murmurs, his hot breath tingling my ear.

"And you're back to being rude and disrespectful," I tell him.

He huffs. "Me? You want me to sleep on a wood floor. Who's the real rude one in this situation?"

I bury my face in the pillow, uttering, "You're impossible."

"Are you going to keep the light on all night or turn it off?" he asks.

What Sebastian Cartwright wants, he always gets.

He wants me.

He doesn't really want me. He wants to use me for the next month and then discard me.

Not letting that happen.

I turn off the light, then slide back under the covers. "Make sure you stay on your side of the bed."

His intoxicating scent of praline and a hint of citrus mixed with sandalwood seems to grow more intense. My pulse skyrockets and my heart rapidly beats. Sebastian slides his arm under my back and tugs me into his body, rolling me so I'm facing him.

"What are you doing? I told you to stay on your side of the bed."

He chuckles. "I am on my side of the bed. But you're on my side of the bed too."

"Sebastian," I reprimand, but I also don't move. I can't. His warm frame feels too good against mine. I curse myself for not moving.

He grabs my thigh and slings my leg over his body.

"What are you doing?" I shriek again.

"Shh. This is better, admit it," he challenges.

"Says who?" I manage to get out. But he's right. Every part of our bodies entwined feels like heaven.