Page 36

Enough, Ruby. Stop thinking about it! I couldn't let myself fall into this. This job meant too much. I'd spent four years graduating from FIT, finally landing this opportunity. I couldn't destroy it all because of one man.

I had to keep my distance. Professional. Cool. Like I'd told him in the car—purely boss and employee.

Yes. That's what I needed.

The thought made me feel slightly better. I changed into my most conservative cotton pajamas—long sleeves, long pants, every button fastened up to my collarbone.

When I emerged from the bathroom, the master bedroom was silent. The bed was made with flawless Egyptian cotton sheets, and there was even welcome champagne and turndown chocolates on the nightstand.

Staring at that bed, his menacing gaze from the car flashed through my mind again. I took a deep breath, bent down without hesitation, yanked the extra throw blanket from the foot of the bed, grabbed two fluffy down pillows, turned on my heel, and headed straight for the gray velvet sofa in the living room.

The sofa was narrow, but enough for me to curl up. As long as I slept out here and closed the bedroom door, tonight would be peaceful.

But the moment I reached the archway between the bedroom and living room with my armful of bedding, a shadow fell across my path.

The floor lamp by the fireplace cast a dim yellow glow.

Marcelo had appeared from the study on the other side of the suite. He'd clearly showered too—his dark hair still damp, a few strands falling messily across his forehead. He wore a loose dark silk robe, the belt carelessly tied, exposing a broad expanse of toned bronze chest and the line of his collarbones.

He held half a glass of neat whiskey, leaning against the doorframe, those deep gray-green eyes looking down at the bulky bundle of blankets in my arms.

"What are you doing, Ms. Caldwell?" His voice was low and rough, the tail end laced with dangerous amusement.

My fingers tightened around the pillow. I lifted my chin defiantly. "As you can see, Mr. Moretti. I'm sleeping on the living room sofa tonight. The master bedroom is yours. I only took the spare blanket and pillows—I won't disturb your rest."

Marcelo took a sip of his liquor, one eyebrow arching. "When did I approve you sleeping on the sofa?"

"I didn't think I needed your approval." I jutted out my neck stubbornly. "You're the CEO of IS·MA, and I'm your intern assistant. Having a superior and subordinate share a suite is already a serious violation. If I then brazenly hogged the master bed and kicked the company president to the couch, all of Manhattan would think I had no manners—or worse, they'd run me out of the fashion world. So me sleeping on the sofa makes perfect sense."

"Perfect sense?" Marcelo snorted coldly, set down his glass, and stepped toward me.

His presence—that mix of expensive body wash and sharp alcohol—suddenly pressed close. I instinctively retreated half a step, but my back hit the wooden archway.

"Ms. Caldwell, if anyone found out I left a woman alone in the living room, I'd be crucified in the press for violating the gentleman's code for the next year."

"I won't tell anyone!" I clutched the pillow tighter, eyes wide. "I swear! If I say anything, I'll go to hell!"

"Your oath means nothing, Miss." Instead of backing off, he reached out and gripped the edge of the pillow I was holding.

"Let go!" I yanked backward.

"Ms. Caldwell, let me remind you—in this suite, only I have final say." He pulled effortlessly with one hand, wresting the bundle from me and tossing it onto a nearby armchair.

My empty arms left me completely exposed.

Through the thin cotton pajamas, I could feel the scorching heat of his gaze sweeping across my chest and collarbones. In the dark, empty room, only our increasingly heavy breathing remained. The air was thick enough to drip.

He showed no intention of yielding. Those gray-green eyes fixed on me like a patient predator, waiting for its prey to exhaust itself and fall into the trap.

I had nowhere to retreat, back pressed against the cold doorframe, legs aching, temples throbbing from the long flight and sustained pressure.

If I kept fighting, I'd be the only one losing. This man had control carved into his bones. If I actually slept on the couch, God knows what he'd do in the middle of the night to drag me back to the room by force.

Exhaustion and frustration tangled together. I bit down hard, rolled my eyes massively in my head, and finally broke.

"Fine. Whatever you say, BOSS." I ground out the words. "Since neither of us wants to sleep on the sofa, there's only one option."

Marcelo watched me with interest. "What's that?"