Chapter 21

He looked up. "Guest room excuse didn't work, huh?"

"Your mom is terrifying."

"She really is."

And then, with no more protests and a heart that wouldn't settle, she stepped inside and closed the door behind her.

The room was... not what she expected.

For all his sharp edges and glass-and-steel aesthetic in the city, Cassian's room in the Hayes ancestral home looked untouched by time. Earthy tones, heavy furniture, the unmistakable scent of cedar and old books. There were still trophies on the shelves—football, debate, some weird science thing with a tiny gold microscope on top. A guitar leaned against the corner, strings dusty. The bed was large, but not obscenely so. Comfortable, masculine.

And clearly not meant to be shared.

Sienna hovered near the door as Cassian peeled off his jacket and tossed it onto the chair in the corner.

"You can take the bed," she said. "I'll sleep on the floor."

He arched a brow. "Absolutely not."

"Cassian."

"Sienna."

"I'm serious. It's your room. I'm the imposter."

"You're my fake girlfriend. Not my hostage. We're sharing."

She groaned. "You're impossible."

"You keep saying that like I'll change."

She started unpacking her things with sharp movements, trying not to think about how normal this all felt. Like they were a couple. Like this wasn't a ridiculous lie.

Cassian disappeared into the en suite bathroom and returned a few minutes later in grey sweatpants and a fitted white shirt that clung to him entirely unfairly.

Sienna refused to look directly at him. "You didn't bring pajamas?"

"This is pajamas."

Of course it was.

She muttered something about men and grabbed her own things before locking herself in the bathroom. She changed into her softest shirt and sleep shorts, brushed her teeth with shaking hands, and stared at herself in the mirror.

Get it together.

When she stepped back out, the lights were low, only the bedside lamp casting a warm amber glow over the room. Cassian was lying on the bed, one arm behind his head, scrolling his phone like he didn't look like a sculpted Roman statue of temptation.

She climbed onto the other side, as far from him as possible. There was a gulf of sheets between them.

And yet—

When she laid on her side, her toes accidentally brushed his shin.

She yanked her leg back like she'd touched a stove.

Cassian looked over, amused. "You okay over there?"

"Fine. Just... limbs. I have too many."

He chuckled softly, then tossed his phone onto the nightstand. "Lights?"

"Sure."

The room plunged into darkness, and suddenly the sound of her heartbeat was louder than anything else.

The mattress dipped slightly when he shifted.

"Cassian."

"Hmm?"

"Stay on your side."

"Wasn't planning to climb on top of you."

She rolled her eyes. "Don't say things like that when we're in bed together."

Another pause.

"Noted."

But the silence that followed was not peaceful.

His breathing was steady. Too steady. And every time he shifted, she felt the brush of his leg under the covers. Once, his foot tangled with hers, and instead of pulling back, he just… stayed there.

Skin. Warmth.

It wasn't like before. It wasn't just his hands. It was his whole presence. The weight of him next to her. The heat radiating from his body. The memory of his breath near her ear. His smell—clean, cedar, shampoo. Familiar now.

And gods help her, she was getting wet.

She clamped her legs together and turned onto her back, staring at the ceiling like it held the answers to life, death, and why the hell she was like this.

She tried not to glance at him. She failed.

He was on his back too. The sheet barely covered his hips. His arm had fallen down between them, brushing the side of her waist. She didn't move.

Because somehow, this stupid, idiotic lie had become something her body believed.

Then she saw it.

The outline.

His sweatpants had shifted and… yeah. He was definitely not thinking about taxes.

Her breath hitched.

He noticed.

"Need the bathroom?" he asked, voice lower now. Rough.

She couldn't look at him. "Yeah. Yeah, I should... yes."

She bolted.

Inside the bathroom, she splashed cold water on her face. Then stared at herself again in the mirror. Her pupils were blown, her lips parted. Her skin was flushed.

This was getting dangerous.

She stayed in there too long.

When she emerged, Cassian was sitting on the edge of the bed, shirtless now, running a hand through his hair.

He stood.

"I'm gonna take a cold shower."

She nodded. Couldn't speak.

He disappeared into the bathroom without another word.

And Sienna climbed into the bed alone, sheets still warm from his body, trying not to imagine what cold water running down his body looked like.

Failing miserably.