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“Sorry,” he muttered, grabbing clothes from his dresser. “Thought you’d be in the kitchen or watching a movie.”

I shook my head, clutching my nightgown tighter. “The boys just texted. They’re on their way home.”

He nodded, retreating back to the bathroom with a pair of sweatpants and a T-shirt. When he emerged again, fully clothed, some of the tension had left his shoulders, though he still avoided looking at me.

“I’ll change in here,” I said, nodding toward the bathroom he’d just vacated.

My nightgown was nothing special -- a knee-length cotton thing, modest as a nun’s habit.

I’d packed it without thinking, never imagining I’d be wearing it while sharing a bed with a man I was legally married to yet barely knew.

In the mirror, I looked pale, my eyes too wide, my hair a tangled mess from when Hammer’s fingers had threaded through it during our kiss.

I brushed it quickly, trying to calm my racing heart.

When I came out, Hammer was already in bed, propped against the headboard, pretending to read a motorcycle magazine.

The bed was king-size, plenty large enough for two people to sleep without touching.

He’d positioned himself on the far right edge, leaving a vast expanse of mattress between where he lay and where I would sleep.

I slipped under the covers on my side, the sheets cool against my skin. We lay there like strangers, two islands separated by an ocean of Egyptian cotton. The ceiling fan whirred softly overhead, the only sound besides our carefully measured breathing.

“Boys get home okay?” Hammer asked finally, his deep voice startling in the quiet room.

“Yes,” I replied, staring at the ceiling. “Aura texted while I was in the bathroom, saying they were all going to clean up and head to bed.”

He grunted in acknowledgment, turning a page in his magazine without looking at me. I wondered what it would be like to feel the texture of his beard against my palms again.

I shifted slightly on the mattress, turning to face him. “We should talk about earlier.”

His jaw tightened visibly. “Nothing to talk about.”

“You kissed me,” I said softly.

“Mistake,” he replied, still not looking at me. “Won’t happen again.”

The dismissal stung more than it should have. “Didn’t feel like a mistake to me.”

Hammer sighed, finally setting down his magazine. “Amelia,” he said, my name somehow both gentle and firm on his lips. “This isn’t what you signed up for.”

“Actually, it is.” I propped myself up on one elbow, facing him directly. “I offered to be your old lady, remember? That usually implies more than just sharing a mailing address.”

His eyes met mine, dark with something unreadable. “You offered because you needed protection. Not because you wanted…” He gestured vaguely between us. “This.”

“Maybe both can be true,” I suggested, inching closer to him on the mattress. “Maybe I needed protection and maybe I’m attracted to you.”

Hammer tensed visibly as the distance between us narrowed. “This isn’t working,” he grumbled, throwing back the covers. “I’ll sleep on the couch.”

I reached out instinctively, my hand catching his forearm.

“Stay,” I said, the word half command, half plea.

It felt like he was running away from me.

I just didn’t understand why. If I said this was what I wanted, why did he insist on pushing me away?

“Please. We don’t have to do anything. Just… stay.”

He hesitated, his weight half-on, half-off the bed, muscles corded with tension beneath my fingers. Finally, he sank back onto the mattress, though he maintained his position at the far edge. “Fine. But we sleep. Just sleep.”

I nodded, retreating to my side. “Deal.”

We lay in silence, backs to each other, an invisible line drawn down the center of the bed.

Despite the distance, I was acutely aware of his presence -- the subtle dip of the mattress beneath his weight, the rhythm of his breathing gradually slowing as he drifted toward sleep.

Eventually, my own eyes grew heavy, and I surrendered to exhaustion, the ghost of our kiss still tingling on my lips.

The next night followed the same pattern -- awkward preparations for bed, careful distance maintained, minimal conversation.

The night after that was the same. By the fourth night after our heated kiss, frustration had begun to simmer beneath my skin.

This man had kissed me like he was drowning and I was air, then retreated behind walls so thick I couldn’t find a way through.

On the fifth night, I decided on a different approach.

The modest nightgown stayed in the drawer, replaced by a soft tank top and shorts I’d bought during a quick shopping trip with Aura.

Nothing overtly sexy, but more revealing than what I’d been wearing.

When I emerged from the bathroom, Hammer’s gaze flicked up, then quickly away, but not before I caught the flare of appreciation in them.

“New pajamas?” he asked, his voice carefully neutral.

I shrugged, slipping under the covers. “Aura took me shopping. Said I needed to ‘expand my wardrobe.’”

“Hmm,” was all he said, but I noticed he kept his gaze firmly fixed on his magazine after that.

Small victories , I told myself as I settled in for another night of enforced distance.

The next night, I was bolder. As I reached to turn off the bedside lamp, I “accidentally” brushed against him, my arm grazing his chest. He stiffened immediately, his breath catching audibly.

“Sorry,” I murmured, letting my hand linger a moment longer than necessary.

He cleared his throat, shifting away slightly. “No problem.”

By the seventh night, subtle wasn’t working. I waited until we were both in bed, the lights dimmed, before I spoke.

“Hammer,” I said into the darkness. “We need to talk about what’s happening between us.”

He was silent so long I thought he might be pretending to sleep. Finally, he sighed. “Nothing’s happening, Amelia. That’s the point.”

“Exactly,” I agreed, turning to face his profile in the dim light. “Nothing’s happening, but something should be. I know you want me. I felt it when you kissed me.”

His jaw worked beneath his beard. “Wanting isn’t the same as should.”

“Why not?” I shifted closer, emboldened by the darkness. “We’re adults. We’re married, even if it wasn’t our choice. We’re attracted to each other.”

“You don’t know what you’re asking,” he said, his voice strained.

“I think I do.” I reached out, my fingers tracing his arm through the thin fabric of his T-shirt. “I’m asking my husband to touch me. To want me. To stop fighting whatever this is between us.”

Hammer caught my wrist, gently but firmly stopping my exploration. “I’m old enough to be your dad. Hell, my son is older than you,” he reminded me. “I’ve been to prison. I’ve killed men. I’m not some fantasy of a bad boy with a heart of gold, Amelia. I’m just bad.”

“If you were just bad,” I countered, “you wouldn’t be fighting this so hard. You wouldn’t care about taking advantage. You wouldn’t have helped me and my boys escape Piston. You wouldn’t have saved Aura.”

He released my wrist, turning away. “Go to sleep, Amelia.”

The stonewalling continued each night, despite my increasingly direct attempts to break through. More revealing sleepwear was met with studious avoidance. Physical proximity earned me nothing but tense muscles and careful distance. Conversations about our relationship were deflected or cut short.

But I noticed other things too -- the way his gaze followed me when he thought I wasn’t looking, how his breathing changed when I emerged from the bathroom in my tank top, the way he sometimes reached for me in his sleep before catching himself and pulling away.

He wanted me. He just wouldn’t let himself have me.

On our tenth night of sharing a bed post-kiss, but not really sharing it, I lay awake long after Hammer’s breathing had deepened into sleep.

In the dim glow of moonlight through the curtains, I studied his profile -- the strong nose, the full lips partially hidden by his beard, the furrow between his brows that didn’t completely relax even in sleep.

Something protective uncurled in my chest at the sight.

This man, with all his scars and history, had offered shelter when we’d had nowhere else to go.

Had given my boys a sense of security they’d never known with their own father.

Had fought his own desire rather than risk pressuring me.

His restraint, which had first frustrated me, now seemed like its own kind of tenderness.

Still, as I watched the slow rise and fall of his chest, I knew I needed a new strategy.

Subtle wasn’t working. Direct approaches were being deflected.

What I needed was something that would make it impossible for him to maintain this careful distance between us.

Something that would force him to acknowledge what was growing between us, whether he wanted to or not.

As I drifted toward sleep, a plan began to form -- risky, perhaps, but I was tired of playing it safe. Tomorrow, I’d enlist Aura’s help. Tomorrow, I’d stop trying to seduce Hammer and instead make him realize exactly what he stood to lose by keeping me at arm’s length.

Tomorrow, the real battle would begin.