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“What are you doing?” Elena demands. She’s stillaverting her eyes, but her voice cracks with something like guilt.

“What does itlooklike?” I grumble.

“This is your room,” she says, her voice small and helpless. “I’ll . . . sleep on the couch.”

“Fine,” I hiss, launching myself off the sofa and ripping back the covers before climbing into bed.

Silence stretches between us, long and heavy. Guilt gnaws at my insides.

I might be angry, but not angry enough to make her sleep on the uncomfortable loveseat. She needs to be rested for the wedding, though I certainly don’t want to squeeze myself onto that horrible couch again, either.

“You don’t have to sleep on the couch,” I say slowly, my voice ringing out in the dimly lit room.

“What?”

I take a deep breath and let it out slowly. “The bed’s plenty big . . . if you want to share.”

Elena’s throat bobs as she considers my offer. She looks startled but weirdly relieved. “Oh . . . okay.”

I roll onto my side, kneading my pillow. When Raf asked me to look out for Elena this weekend, I jumped at the chance. Part of me was hoping to get back in her good graces after all this time.

It was a stupid thought — not to mention reckless — and I’ve already shot it to hell. Elena fucking hates my guts.

I toss and turn as Elena digs in her suitcase, grabbing her toiletry bag, a lacy thong that she hides underneath, and two tiny scraps of silk.

Ho-ly shit.

“You’re not wearingthat,” I growl before I can stop myself, startling her so badly that she jumps.

Elena’s hair flies around as she turns with a glare. “Trying to tell me what to wear again?”

“I’mtryingto be a gentleman.”

Okay, so the gentleman ship might have sailed already, but at least I’m making an effort.

“These are the only pajamas I brought,” she says in a tremulous voice. “I thought I’d be in a roomalone.”

“You wear those skimpy pajamas when you sleep alone?”

It’s too dark to tell if she’s blushing, but I can scent her embarrassment.

“That’s none of your business.”

I grind my teeth and rub a hand down my face. She isnotmaking this easy.

I take a deep breath. “If you wear that to bed, I’m not promising that I’ll be able to keep my hands to myself.” I crack a grin. “Now that I know you still like me.”

The cocky wolf in me can’t resist tacking on that last bit, and I know immediately that I’ve riled her.

“Who said Ilikeyou?” Elena squeaks. I notice she doesn’t touch my use of the word “still” with a ten-foot pole.

A slow smirk spreads across my mouth. “Youdid when you let me put my hands all over you at the club.”

Elena scoffs. “Somebody’sfull of himself. It wasjust a dance.”

Come the fuck on. Is shereallygoing to pretend she wasn’t just as turned on as I was?

“Sweetheart, I may not be a professional like you, but evenIknow that there’s no such thing as ‘just a dance.’”