Unbelievable:

The mirror didn't lie.

Water clung to his hair, trickling in slow rivulets down his bare chest, dripping from his jaw as he stared at his reflection like it had betrayed him.

He should've been irritated. He should've been confused. Or at least concerned that Erin—his maid—had sleepwalked into his bed in the middle of the night. But none of those emotions came.

Only a quiet, burning disbelief.

He didn't throw her out. He didn't even wake her up.

No, the moment she had curled into him, warm and soft and so painfully unaware of what she was doing, he'd stilled, arms tense with restraint, heart pounding like a drum.

And then—he'd relaxed. As if it was the most natural thing in the world to let a girl into his bed. Her.

"Unbelievable," he muttered under his breath, raking a hand through his wet hair.

What the hell was wrong with him?

She'd moaned his name. In her sleep.

That breathy, drawn-out whisper of Xander, sensual and pleading, like she was dreaming about something she had no business dreaming about.

His stomach clenched as the memory echoed in his ears again.

And that was when he realized it—still half-asleep himself, after stiffening up in his own damn room to give her space to sleep comfortably and not notice how close he'd gotten to losing it—

He was hard.

Not just mildly aroused or distracted. No.

He was aching.

The kind of ache that demanded release.

"Damn it," he whispered under his breath as he stepped fully into the shower of the guest bathroom. Cold water be damned—he needed to cool off. But it didn't help. Not even a little.

His hand gripped himself, slick and firm, movements mechanical at first. But it didn't stay clinical for long.

The images returned.

Her flushed cheeks.

That startled expression.

The way her lips parted in that soft little gasp when he told her what he heard.

Her name fell from his mouth in a groan—"Erin…"—low, ragged, lost to the spray of the shower.

He leaned a hand against the tile wall, head lowered, breathing hard, his muscles taut with pent-up tension and the undeniable truth:

She was driving him mad.

Not just her looks—though they'd been a curse from day one. No, it was her. Her defiance. The way she challenged him, stared him down like she wasn't afraid, even when she clearly was.

He liked it.

Too much.

When he finally came, it was with a sigh that sounded suspiciously like surrender.

The water carried away the evidence, but not the thoughts. Those clung harder than anything.

A few moments later, towel slung around his waist, he stood before the mirror again, staring at himself like he didn't recognize who he was becoming.

"You really let a woman sleep in your bed," he muttered to himself, a smirk tugging at his lips. "And you even let her hug you to keep from ruining her sleep."

He shook his head, then exhaled a breathless laugh. "Erin, look what you've done to me."

His eyes flicked to his own reflection—wild hair, damp skin, and a storm brewing just beneath his cool surface.

He hadn't driven her away. Not even when he had every excuse to.

And it wasn't just because she'd been unconscious.

It was because a part of him—one that was growing louder with every passing day—liked having her near.

Liked her body tucked against his side. Liked waking up and finding her scent on his sheets.

It was dangerous.

It was stupid.

It was exactly what he wasn't supposed to want.

And yet, as he walked back down the hall with a smug curl of his lips, one thought refused to leave him.

He didn't want her to leave his bed.

Next time—he might not let her.

…

Xander was already in the dining room when she got there. He had asked the chef to prepare the breakfast this time. Erin sat across from him and saw that he was almost done. After a few moments of silence, she finally asked the question that had been hovering on her mind.

"Are you sure you heard me… you know, what you said? You must've misheard it . I didn't—"

"You did," he said smoothly. "Clear as day."

Her breath hitched. "Why were you even listening?"

He arched a brow. "Because you woke me up."

She stared at him in mortification, unable to form any defense.

He stepped back just slightly, just enough to sweep a hand through his hair.

"I had to go take a cold shower," he added, almost thoughtfully. "To stop myself from doing something very, very stupid."

Her eyes snapped to his.

He gave her a look—dark, suggestive, and maddeningly pleased with himself. "Because hearing you moan my name like that? Soft, breathy, like you wanted me? It was… a lot to take."

She looked like she might combust on the spot.

"You're disgusting," she blurted, face flushed to the roots of her hair. "You're making things up—"

"Am I?" he asked, leaning in again, his voice velvet now. "You tell me, Erin. Was it a dream… or a fantasy?"

She didn't answer. Couldn't.

And then, just before he walked away, he leaned in one last time—so close his lips brushed her cheek.

A featherlight kiss. Teasing. Nothing more than a spark.

"Have a nice day, that is if you can with all the thinking you'll be doing about me." he said with a wink, and then strolled out of the room, leaving behind nothing but utter chaos.

Erin stood there, stunned into silence.

Her cheek still tingled.

Her mind was a mess.

She stared at the door he'd just exited through, her thoughts a noisy blur of what just happened and what the hell is wrong with him?

Or… no. Wait.

What if something was wrong?

Her chest tightened with suspicion. He had been acting too calm lately. Too comfortable. First the kiss, then the hallway teasing, now this?

Could he… could he have figured it out?

Could he know who she really was?

Her stomach twisted.

Yes. That had to be it. Why else would he be trying to fluster her so much, knock her off balance, mess with her head? He had found something—maybe just a piece—and he was trying to distract her.

Not because he was attracted to her.

Not because he cared.

It was strategy. Psychological warfare. That's all it was.

Erin stood up with a renewed sense of focus.

Two could play at that game.

She marched to the mirror and tied her hair back, her jaw set and eyes gleaming with determination.

If he was trying to throw her off, he was going to regret it.

She would level up.

Charm him. Distract him. Win.

Whatever fire he thought he had lit inside her, she'd make sure to burn hotter—and be the one in control of the flame.