Nicholas returned minutes later, holding a glass of water, the muscles in his forearm flexing as he handed it to her. His jaw was set tight, like he was still wrestling with himself, but his eyes—God, those eyes—were softer now, tinted with something almost tender.
Ella took the glass gratefully, her hands still trembling faintly from everything that had just happened. As she drank, he hovered nearby, folding his arms across his broad chest, watching her carefully like she might fall apart at any second.
But she didn't. Instead, when she set the glass down on the side table, she lifted her gaze to his, steady and sure.
"Stay," she whispered.
His brow lifted. "I'm not going anywhere."
She shook her head, a small smile curling her lips. "No. I mean here. With me. Sleep with me."
The sharp flicker of amusement in his eyes was immediate, his mouth twitching into a slow, wicked grin. "Ella," he drawled, his voice going low and dangerous, "you're playing a dangerous game."
