Chapter 32

MADDIE

Despite my inconvenience, I decided to wash my face in the kitchen sink. I picked up a small towel and dampened it with water to wipe around my body to at least remove the dirt and sweat from it. I washed my face on the sink to remove every traces of make-up. 

Once I'm done, I go back to the room to change clothes, only to realize that I have no clothes to change into. Everything was moving so fast, including me moving in with him, that I overlooked these simple things. 

I blew a loud sigh as I tried to figure out what to do. I don't like sleeping in the same underwear I used the whole day. And sleeping without underwear was definitely not an option. 

I decided to take matters into my own hands and invited myself into his walk-in closet. The tension from our recent encounter still lingered. But right now, all I needed was something to wear.

My mouth dropped as soon as I stepped inside his closet. It was massive, far more spacious than I had imagined. Rows of perfectly arranged suits, dress shirts, and casual wear lined the walls, each item meticulously cared for. It smelled like him—a subtle blend of cedar and something undeniably masculine that made my heart skip a beat despite myself. I pushed the thought aside, reminding myself why I'm here to begin with.

I ran my fingers along the fabric of a few shirts, their softness surprising me. They were all high-quality, clearly tailored to fit his broad frame. I paused for a moment, hesitating as I realized how intimate this felt—invading his personal space like this. But I quickly brushed the thought away. I had every right to be here, especially after the way he’d barged into me earlier.

After a brief search, I found a plain white shirt that looked comfortable enough. It was oversized, but that was exactly what I needed.

As I slipped the shirt over my head, the fabric brushed against my skin, cool and soft. It hung down to mid-thigh, effectively covering me and making me feel more secure. The scent of him clung to the fabric, a reminder of the man just a few steps away. But I pushed the thought aside, determined to focus on getting through the night without any more complications.

I pulled one of the drawers and found his underwear. I grabbed one boxer brief and put it on. I'd rather use his clean underwear than wear my dirty one. I left as soon as I got what I needed.

I was startled when we both came out of the respective rooms we were in. I was too stunned to move, as I felt like a toddler who had caught my hand inside a cookie jar. Based on his reaction, he seems surprised as he stares at me from head to foot, checking my clothes.

At the same time, I also got the chance to stare at him. He was wearing nothing but a white towel wrapped around his waist. Small droplets of water were running along his chiseled abs while his other hand was holding a towel as he dried his hair with it. 

"What are you doing?" he asked, breaking the silence.

I gulped as I tried to calm myself down. Once I finally succeeded, I tried to act normal. "Getting ready for bed?" I answered sarcastically, as if I had no idea what he was asking exactly.

He squinted his eyes at me as if he's not having any of it. He remained silent and waited for me to give him the right explanation.

I roll my eyes at him before walking towards the bed. "I have no clothes here, and I don't like sleeping with my dirty underwear." I gave him a brief explanation.

He smirked, "There are a few women's clothes in there. You can use that in the meantime."

I looked at him, frowning. There's only one logical explanation why he would have female undergarments inside his closet. I don't know why, but something about that thought makes my blood boil. I'd rather wear his clothes than have the scent of his women stick into my body.

I shot him a sharp, deadly glare as I busied myself with the pillows on the bed, my hands moving with unnecessary force. "I'm not comfortable wearing your women's clothes. So, pardon me if I have to borrow yours," I snapped, rolling my eyes at him for emphasis. "I'll wash this once I get my things from my apartment."

The pillows, innocent as they were, took the brunt of my frustration. I fluffed and rearranged them with more force than necessary, as if they were somehow to blame. I couldn’t quite pinpoint why I was so annoyed—maybe it was because I was in his space, wearing his clothes, or perhaps it was the tension that had been building between us since he walked in.

As I kept busy with the pillows, I felt him move closer, his presence impossible to ignore. The clean scent of his aftershave filled the air as soon as he stood beside the bed, mixing with the frustration I was trying so hard to push down. His nearness was overwhelming, and despite my efforts, I could feel my resolve weakening.

I tried to stay focused on what I was doing, but it was getting harder. His scent, his presence—everything about him was making it difficult to concentrate, and I hated how easily he seemed to get under my skin.

"It's fine," he said calmly, his voice low and smooth, almost soothing. "You can wear my clothes as much as you want."

His words caught me off guard, making me pause mid-fluff. I hadn’t expected him to be so... accommodating. I glanced up at him, my irritation faltering for just a moment as I met his gaze. There was something in his eyes, something that made my heart skip a beat despite my best efforts to stay angry.

But I wasn’t ready to let go of my frustration just yet. "Don’t get used to it," I muttered, turning my attention back to the pillows, trying to regain some semblance of control. 

He didn’t say anything right away, but I could feel his gaze on me, steady and unwavering. The silence between us grew thicker with each passing second, heavy with the words we weren’t saying. Finally, he broke it with a soft chuckle. "If pillows could talk, they’d probably be filing a complaint by now," he teased, his voice light despite the tension in the room.

I shot him a look, trying to keep my irritation in check. "What, are you the pillow’s lawyer now?" I quipped as I lined up the last pillow in the middle of the bed, creating a clear boundary. Once I finished, I placed my hands on my hips and turned to face him. "That’s your side," I said, pointing firmly to the left side of the bed. "This is mine. And don’t even think about crossing that line, got it?"

He raised an eyebrow, the corners of his mouth twitching with amusement. "Crystal clear," he replied, his tone almost too agreeable, making me wonder if he was already plotting how to push my buttons again.

But I was determined to hold my ground, even if my heart was racing being this close to him. The thought that we were about to share a bed with nothing but a line of pillows between us makes my legs weaken. It was just one night, I told myself. One night, and I could handle it—no matter how hard he tried to test that line.

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