Elias' POV

My heart does an anxious little tap dance as the car glides to a stop in front of Clark's mansion-like house.

From the gated driveway to the manicured lawn stretching up to the main entrance's stone steps, it's another reminder that we're cut from a different cloth. My heart races for other reasons, too. The biggest one is that I'm afraid of what might happen now that we no longer have an audience watching and judging us.

We're finally alone again. We can say and do whatever we want inside this gigantic house for the rest of the night.

Fuck.

This truly is my greatest test of self-control.

"Let's get inside before the storm throws another fit." Clark shuts the car off and removes the keys from the ignition. "Ready?" he asks after I don't move.

"Sorry. Y-yeah, let's go." I exit the car with my jaw dragging the ground. The rain has lightened to a cool drizzle, which allows me more time to move slowly and gawk at his wealth. "You have a beautiful home, Clark. Seriously. It's stunning."

"It's decent." He replies with a modest shrug, but I look over in time to catch a hint of pride flash in his eyes.

As we walk to the front door, I have to crane my neck to take in the high windows and decorated stone. All of it screams old money and power. I pause when I spot movement from the corner of my eye—a black cat slinking out from the shadows with the most adorable meow.

"Hey, is this the cat you mentioned before?" I smile as the cute little thing struts toward us with its tail held high.

"Yeah, this is her." Clark bends down to pet her and I do the same. "She's made herself quite at home here."

"You haven't named her yet?" I ask.

"Naming her would complicate our relationship and get feelings involved," he jokes. "I'm not ready to be a cat dad right now. I still struggle with managing myself at times."

I laugh. "I get that."

She rubs against Clark's leg, purring contentedly as he scratches behind her ears. I slowly extend my hand to join in. She pauses to sniff my fingers before butting her head against my palm, accepting me into her inner circle.

"There's something oddly satisfying about gaining a cat's trust," I state, and he nods in agreement. "For the record, I think you'd make an amazing cat dad."

"Thanks for having faith in me," he chuckles.

"Do you want kids someday?" I blurt out. "Wait. Sorry! You don't have to answer that."

"It's fine." He smiles, briefly making eye contact. "My answer is...I don't know. I'll need to see where I'm at in five years. Not just financially, but mentally. You?"

I shrug, rising to my feet. "I love kids, but I'm not sure I want any of my own. At least not right now."

We ensure the cat has access to the garage in case the weather worsens, and then we head inside the house.

The interior is just as impressive as the exterior. I try to keep my cool as he takes me on a quick tour, leading me through the spacious rooms, one of them a full bar and entertainment area. The living room is also a sight to behold with its soaring ceiling, massive furniture, and what has to be the largest TV I've ever seen in my life.

"Do you spend a lot of time in here?" I ask, gesturing toward the television. "Please tell me you don't let this big expensive thing go to waste, man."

"I don't." He playfully rolls his eyes. "I actually spend a lot of time here on my days off."

"So what's your go-to thing to watch when you have absolutely nothing to do?" I follow him out of the room, still taking in all the luxury while keeping an eye on him. "My guilty pleasure is low-budget horror movies. They suck like hell, but I can't stop watching them when all my shows go on break."

"Would you believe me if I said the same thing?" He laughs and then takes me into the kitchen.

Hands down, this has to be my favorite spot in the house. His kitchen is a baker's dream with state-of-the-art appliances and gleaming marble countertops.

"Impressive, Mr. Ashford." I run my hand over the smooth countertop, not a crumb or a speck of dust in sight. "And how much time do you spend here?"

"I may have a driver, but I have never had a private cook," he says confidently. "I use everything in here."

"Well, just so you know, I like my eggs scrambled," I tease. "What else is there to see around here?"

"The bedrooms. Follow me."

To my surprise, the guest bedroom where I'll be staying is on the same floor as Clark's bedroom.

From the thunderstorm to getting locked out of my house to Clark graciously offering me a place to stay for the night, I swear this is all beginning to feel like the universe is setting up one big trap for me.

How is it that everything is going both right and wrong at the same time?

"I rarely have many guests over, but you should still be able to find something to wear in the dresser. And there are thicker sheets in the closet if you need them." He lingers by the door as I step inside the room to get a better look around. "The bathroom is down the hall to the right. Feel free to use anything you find around here."

"Thanks again." I sit on the bed and bounce a little, testing its stiffness. "Not that I had a complaint, but this is perfect. Everything is perfect."

"Glad you approve."

"Still, I wish I could repay you somehow."

"Nonsense. You're already doing enough for me as it is." His eyes hold mine for a beat too long. "Uh, anyway. I should let you...settle in." He clears his throat and takes a step back into the hall. "I'm going to change and head downstairs for a bit. You can join me if you're up for it."

I nod, smiling. "Sounds good."

There's a crackle in the air, the kind that can ignite or burn, and I swallow hard after he closes the door.

It doesn't matter that we're off the clock. I still need to be professional at all times... After freshening up in the bathroom, I return to my room and slip into the softest pajama set I've ever touched. They smell faintly of Clark's cologne, and I continually remind myself to breathe.

"Be professional," I murmur to my flustered reflection in the mirror on the wall. "I got this. Hopefully."

But it doesn't feel like I have shit together as I notice how well Clark's clothes fit me. I look strangely at ease among all this affluence, so much so that it's getting harder to remember why I even have a contract with Clark.

Be professional!

With a sigh, I push those thoughts aside and leave the room. In passing a hallway lined with framed photos I don't recall seeing on the quick tour I'd been given, I can't help but slow down and be nosy.

"Oh my God, how cute is this!" I squeal as quietly as I can after spotting one picture of Christian and Clark as young boys. The contrast between little Christian and adult Christian is stark. I bet little Christian had no idea he'd grow up to become such a massive snake.

Clark, on the other had, still has a smidgen of that childlike innocence when he smiles. He had chubby, round cheeks and a grin that lacked a few teeth in the front.

They're flanked by a young couple who must be their parents. There's also an older couple who I assume are the grandparents. It appears Clark gets his greenish-brown eyes from his father, and Christian's blue eyes from their mother.

My heart tightens at the thought of what they've lost.

Clark has only ever mentioned his grandparents during our more intimate chats involving our families, which makes me think the worst about his parents. I hope I'm wrong, though.

"Wow. Something smells good..." I enter the kitchen and nearly trip over my feet after finding Clark shirtless.

He has nothing else on but a pair of grey sweat shorts. Of course they just had to be grey.

"Late night snack before bed?" My question comes out too high-pitched, and he chuckles as I struggle to maintain eye contact.

"Something like that." He empties a bag of popcorn into a large bowl before placing another bag into the microwave. "I'm going to watch a movie and wait for the storm to pass. I checked the news before washing up and we're apparently in a severe thunderstorm warning. Last time I slept through one, a tornado hit nearby."

"Oh, damn."

"Care to join me for the movie?" He lifts a brow while popping a few pieces of popcorn into his mouth. "Or did you want to tap out for the night?"

I want to tap you—

"Yeah, I'll join you." I change the subject to get my mind out of the gutter. "Hey, can I ask you something?"

"You just did." He smirks.

"Cállate." I roll my eyes, smiling. "On my way down, I noticed the family photos on the wall. It reminded me of something you said on one of our dates about how your grandparents raised you," I begin carefully. "If you don't mind me asking, where are your parents?"

Clark stills, his shoulders tensing.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have asked."

"No, it's..." He sighs, shaking his head. "We're in this lie for a year, so you deserve to know all of me, I guess."

"Only if you're comfortable giving me all of you."

"I am." His eyes meet mine again. "My grandparents raised my brother and I after the deaths of our parents. They passed away in a boating accident when I was ten years old. Other people lost their lives, too. It was a big mess."

See where being nosy gets you?

"I'm so sorry, Clark." I step closer and place a hand on his arm. "I can't imagine how difficult that must have been."

"Thanks," he murmurs, his voice tight. "I'll, uh, finish up here if you want to head to the living room and find something for us to watch," he says after the microwave beeps. But I don't budge. "I'm good. Promise."

I nod, sensing his need for a moment to compose himself. To be honest, I need a moment, too.

***

Between us on the couch, the bowl of popcorn serves as a delicious barrier. My fingers brush against Clark's as we reach into the bowl at the same time, and a spark of electricity zips up my arm.

I refuse to react, as does he.

"What are we watching?" he asks.

"Shaun of the Dead. A classic."

"Never heard of it." He pops a few pieces into his mouth before looking my way. "What's it about?"

"Yo, there is no way..." My jaw hits the floor and I almost toss the remote at his head. "I am so concerned right now."

"What? Why?" He laughs. "You know I'm a workaholic. I barely have time to breathe, let alone watch the latest shows and movies."

"But is that not what you implied you do on your days off?"

"Yes, but I don't remember every single thing that I watched. It's all just passing entertainment."

"Ew. Can you not sound like you're eighty years old right now?" I flick popcorn at him. "We all have favorites. Even you have to have a favorite...something. Anything."

He smirks. "I have lots of favorites."

"Then tell me one."

He ponders for a moment and then smiles softly. "I can't remember how old we were, but for one of his birthdays, my older brother, Christian, wanted the family to go camping. It was a fun disaster," he laughs.

It irks me to hear Christian's name, but still, I plaster on a smile for the sake of the story.

"How so?" I ask.

"Well, the first two nights we did the whole shebang; made s'mores, fished, and slept in tents that took us forever to set up because none of us knew what we were doing."

"And the third night?"

"My mother spotted a bear and freaked out," he chuckles. "My brother and I were more excited than scared. But that was enough for my parents. They packed us up right after and we never went camping outside again."

Clark's eyes suddenly take on a distant look, clearly lost in the memory.

"It was such a simple, normal activity, but we all had so much fun," he says. "When I think about my parents, that's a favorite memory that jumps to the forefront."

Actions speak louder than words, so I grab his hand, giving it a little squeeze. And for a while, we sit in silence, lost in our own world of memories—him with his family and me with him.

Near the end of the movie, I glance over at Clark again.

He's fast asleep with his head lolled back against the couch. A soft giggle escapes me as I drag my hand from his to cover him with a nearby blanket. But then a loud rumble of thunder jolts him awake, and he blinks, disoriented.

"Time for bed, sleepyhead." I find the remote and shut off the TV before gathering the blanket and nodding toward the stairs. "We should turn in for the night. The storm has to be past us by now."

"Sorry for dozing off." His apology comes out groggy, laced with a hint of embarrassment. "Between work, our arrangement, and my brother, I can't tell whether I'm going or coming these days."

"No worries. With as much as you have on your plate, you need all the rest you can get. Now come."

I lend him my free hand and he takes it with a lazy grin. We head upstairs, then pause just outside my door.

"If you need anything, please don't hesitate to wake me."

I nod, my heart still fluttering at his proximity. "Thanks again for having me over."

"It was never a problem, trust me." He smiles, releases my hand, and turns to walk away.

I almost let him go before remembering the blanket clutched in my hand. "Clark!" I call out, moving forward hastily. Of course the long and bulky fabric tangles around my ankles and sends me lurching toward the ground.

Not this shit again!

Clark's strong arms catch me before I can hit the ground, and I soon find myself pressed against his chest. My breath catches as I look into his eyes, our faces mere inches apart.

"Are you alright?" Clark's voice is steady, but rough at the same time. It immediately does something to my heart rate.

Be professional, be professional...

"Yeah, I-I was just...trying to give you the blanket back." My words come out breathless and way too loud in this quiet hall. I'm acutely aware of his hands shifting on my waist, his scent, and the warmth of his body against mine.

Something unspoken buzzes around us when his eyes lower to my parted mouth. I lick my lips on impulse.

"We should separate," he whispers, but the contradiction lies in his fingers that grip me a fraction tighter. "Elias."

I can't speak but I want to agree even though every fiber of my being screams to stay right where I am.

Maybe just a taste? It's not like we haven't kissed before.

"If you don't move, then..." Clark's gaze shifts back to my eyes and then to my lips again. His next words are barely audible. "I need to know if you want me to—"

"I do," I cut him off, not needing to hear the end of that sentence because, while I can't read his mind, I know for a fact that our bodies are on the same page right now.

A sigh escapes him, and then his lips crash against mine.

Fuck yes, finally.

All rational thought flees my mind as I drop the blanket to sink my fingers into his hair, kissing him back with equal desperation. My senses go into overdrive within an instant, and I'm suddenly hit with the urge to do things with this man that I know I shouldn't.

The taste of him is utterly intoxicating. Desire coils low in my belly when he spins us around, my back now pressed against the wall. The blood rushing through my veins travels straight to my swelling cock, and I know his body is equally on edge because I can feel his nudged against me. I moan when our tongues greet and his hands pull me impossibly closer, a silent plea for more.

I want to give it to him; all of me, every inch, until a louder crack of thunder shatters the silence like a gunshot, and we immediately jump apart.

"Shit. That was...I'm sorry—"

I'm not.

"No, I'm sorry—"

It's almost like coming up from deep underwater, how quickly reality comes rushing in as you take that first deep breath knowing you're not going to drown. My chest heaves trying to catch up with all the breaths I've lost to him. I don't miss his labored breathing either, his eyes wide and dark with the same intensity still buzzing between us.

"I should go. Goodnight, Clark." Without waiting for his response, I rush into my bedroom, shut the door, and then lock it.

That taste almost turned into something else entirely.

Leaning against the door with my eyes closed, my heart pounds so fast it nearly hurts. My fingers graze my lips, still tingling from Clark's kisses. God knows I want to succumb to the reckless part of me so I can finally find out where this forbidden attraction could lead.

But then I open my eyes to see the reality of our situation.

This fancy bedroom isn't mine. The clothes I'm wearing aren't mine. I'm not here because I have something special with Clark. I'm here because I need a place to sleep for the night, and he was kind enough to offer me a room. I'm with him to do a job. I'm with him because we're in a business arrangement.

We are not in a relationship.

Sex will ruin everything that we're working toward...or maybe it's actually the answer to everything. Oh, shit.