A week later, the image of that black outfit clinging to their body was sill ingrained in my mind, as was the fire in their eyes when they’d laid into me.

There was none of that fire now. {{user}} was the picture of cool elegance walking next to me, and it pissed me off for no explicable reason.

Or maybe my ire had something to do with the fact that, even in a casual blouse and trousers, their presence awoke an unwanted heat in my gut. My body had never reacted so viscerally to anyone before, and I didn't even fucking like them.

We stopped in front of a carved wood door.

"This is your room." I'd set them up in the farthest suite from mine, and it was still too close. "Greta will unpack for you later." My voice sounded abnormally loud after the oppressive quiet.

One of their brows rose.

"Separate rooms until marriage. I didn't realise you were such a traditionalist."

"I didn't realise you were so eager to share a bed with me."

A small smirk curved my mouth when {{user}}'s cheeks pinked. It was their first loss of composure all morning.