JASMINE'S POV
"Ready for our first night together?" Aiden asked in a low voice, laced with far too much amusement.
I blinked. Once. Twice.
He smiled, just slightly. "Well, technically our second. But who's counting?"
I scoffed. "You think you're charming."
Aiden grinned like he knew exactly how charming he was and how much I hated that he was right. "I don't think, Jasmine. I know."
Rolling my eyes, I turned away from him and headed toward the doors at the end of the hallway. I refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing me flustered. Or worse—blushing.
But he was already there, moving ahead to open the doors with a smooth, showy gesture like he was welcoming me into some five-star suite.
"After you, Mrs. Frost," he said with all silk and smugness in his tone.
God, I hated how good that sounded coming from him.
I stepped inside—and instantly regretted it.
The room was large and filled with a soft golden light. To the right, a fireplace crackled gently, creating dancing shadows on the dark, stylish furniture.
The air had a faint scent of smoke mixed with something earthy and spicy—something that reminded me of Aiden. Everything about this space felt cosy, luxurious, and so much like him.
And then I saw the bed.
One bed.
Large, king-sized, made with charcoal-grey sheets and too many pillows. It sat right in the center of the room, looking both luxurious and a bit imposing, almost like a throne.
I stopped in my tracks just as a knot formed in my stomach.
"There's only one bed," I said flatly.
Aiden didn't even blink. "Yes."
"You didn't think that was worth mentioning?"
He breezed past me like this wasn't a tactical ambush. "We're married, Jasmine. I thought you'd expect a bed."
"Not one bed. And not like—" I waved toward it like it had personally offended me. "—that."
He unbuttoned his cuffs, rolling up his sleeves with the lazy arrogance of someone far too aware of his own effect. "You're welcome to take the left side."
I narrowed my eyes. "And if I don't want a side?"
He glanced over his shoulder, perfectly unfazed. "Then you can sleep on top of me. I'm flexible."
Fuck!
I was mentally quick to curse before my irritation rolled out of my lips. "Ugh."
"You brought this on yourself when you mentioned you were going to 'your' room," he said, already moving toward the bathroom.
The door clicked shut behind him, leaving me alone in a room that suddenly felt too warm, too quiet, too… something—anything.
My eyes drifted back to the bed.
My heart skipped a few beats.
Which, really, was becoming a pattern around him—and I hated that I couldn't tell if it was nerves… or something far more dangerous.
I stared at the fire for a long moment, chewing on my bottom lip before slowly walking towards the bed.
"You can handle this," I told myself.
It was just one night, which was totally fine.
Right?
Wrong.
A few minutes later, the bathroom door creaked open, and Aiden stepped back into the room. His shirt was untucked, and his sleeves were still rolled as he walked barefoot into the room, looking casual and calm.
Every inch of him was screaming the kind of temptation I had no business acknowledging.
He didn't say anything at first. He just watched me with that blank expression of his, which slowly grew into a half smile.
"This isn't funny," I sighed.
"I'm not laughing."
"Then what exactly is this?"
He tilted his head slightly. "Exactly what it looks like."
I took half a step back. "We agreed on boundaries."
"I didn't say I'd cross any," he murmured, still not breaking eye contact. "Just that we need to look convincing. Greg's not stupid. He'll know if one of us sneaks down the hall in the middle of the night."
"So what—you just expect us to sleep beside each other like it's normal?"
His gaze dropped for the briefest second to my lips. "It can be. If you let it."
The silence between us thickened. My skin was suddenly too warm; my thoughts too loud.
I hated—hated—that a part of me was even considering it.
I crossed my arms. "Fine," I said, though my voice came out thinner than I wanted. "But no funny business."
Aiden raised a brow and a smile tugged at one corner of his mouth. "Define funny."
I narrowed my eyes. "I swear to God, Aiden—"
—
AIDEN'S POV
I didn't wait for her to finish threatening me—because let's be honest, half the time it only made her more irresistible.
Instead, I cut her mid-sentence. "Go to bed, milady. I'll join you soon."
Without waiting for a response, I turned and headed into the walk-in closet.
It wasn't just a closet; it was like a whole room. Dark oak shelves lined the walls, filled with suits in various shades, polished shoes, and watches worth more than some cars.
Jasmine hadn't really had the chance to check it all out yet, and that felt like a missed opportunity.
I stripped down to my boxers, tossing the shirt aside. The cool air grazed my skin, but it wasn't the temperature that sent a shiver down my spine.
It was her.
Jasmine.
In my room. In my bed.
Well… not yet.
I pulled on a black long-sleeved pajama shirt and matching drawstring pants—comfortable, clean, neutral. Not too suggestive, but definitely not the grandpa flannel look either.
I paused at the mirror, running a hand through my hair, then over the stubble on my jaw.
What the hell are you doing? I asked myself.
"You're stalling." Ace's voice slid through my mind like gravel and smoke. "Get back in there. She's your mate. She belongs here. In your bed."
"Not yet."
"She's in your house. Wearing your name. Sleeping in your sheets. I'd say she's already halfway there."
I didn't reply. Not out loud. Because the truth was? Ace wasn't wrong.
And that was the problem. Jasmine wasn't just some beautiful, stubborn, infuriating woman I'd married.
She was mine. chosen by the goddess and claimed by my soul.
Marked only in spirit—for now.
But she didn't know that yet. And until she did… until I told her, I couldn't act on what every part of me screamed to do every time she walked into a room.
Mark her.
Mate her.
Keep her.
I took a slow breath, locking it all down, and returned to the bedroom.
The lights had been dimmed further. The fire glowed like an embered heart, casting the room in soft gold and shadow.
And there she was—in my bed.
Jasmine Frost, under the covers, facing the other way, like she wasn't secretly alert to every sound I made.
Her shoulders rose and fell in slow rhythm, but her heartbeat—it wasn't sleeping. It was racing. Humming just under the surface like a live wire.
I stepped closer, quiet on bare feet, and slid into the bed beside her, careful not to let my body brush hers.
Not yet.
But the mattress shifted, and she stiffened for just a moment before slowly exhaling.
"Comfortable?" I asked quietly.
She didn't turn. "This doesn't mean anything."
"I know."
A moment of silence passed and I tried a tease. "Want to cuddle?"
I heard her heart skip a beat.
"I'm not cuddling," she replied. "You can cuddle the pillow if you want to."
"Answered as expected," I whispered.
"Then why ask?"
I let the silence settle between us again until I broke it. "Why does your heart race when I'm near you?" I asked before I could stop myself.
She didn't reply immediately until finally, she asked a question of her own in a low, surprisingly vulnerable tone. "Why does yours?"