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Was it possible he was regretting what he had done earlier?

Was he worried he'd pushed me too far?

It was almost too much to hope for…that Sebastian Diamanti might actually be feeling guilty for the emotional game he was playing with me.

He returned holding a navy blue cable-knit sweater, thick and expensive-looking.

Sneaking my arm out from under the blanket and towel, I tried to reach for it, my fingers barely grazing the soft material.

He held it away from my grasp and knelt next to me, the firelight casting half his face in shadow, turning him into the living embodiment of the duality that haunted me. "Arms up."

"I can dress myself." I sounded pathetic even to my own ears.

His lips thinned as he just stared down at me with those dark, unreadable eyes. The mask was back in place, his moment of genuine concern locked away behind the wall of control he maintained so effortlessly.

I sighed then rearranged the blanket to cover my breasts, the rough wool scraping against my sensitive nipples, and stretched my arms up in surrender. Soon the warmth of his sweater enveloped me.

It smelled like him. I immediately wanted to take it off.

"I brought my own clothes."

He pulled a pair of black leggings he had slung over his shoulder. "I have them too."

My mouth dropped open. I snatched them from his hand, my fingers brushing his. Even that brief contact sent a jolt through me.

"You went through my bag? Those are my private things."

He raised an eyebrow, the gesture arrogant and infuriatingly sexy. "My cock was in your ass while you came earlier, and you're going to complain about me rifling through your overnight bag?"

Heat flooded my cheeks, the crudeness of his words contrasting with the tender way he'd dressed me.

Shoving my legs into the leggings, I glowered at him. "Don't be rude."

I lifted my hips and slid them up over my waist, acutely aware of his eyes tracking the movement. I quickly brought the blanket back up around me, needing the barrier.

He rose with feline grace and crossed to the table of food.

The risotto still steamed, its earthy perfume mingling with the citrus notes of the grilled branzino. "I'll fix you a plate. What do you want?"

The heat from the fire warmed the chill that went straight to my bones, but nothing could touch the cold knot of confusion in my stomach.

"I'm not hungry."

He turned to stare at me, his jaw set. The flames reflected in his dark eyes made them appear to burn from within.

"You should eat."

"I'm. Not. Hungry," I said, each word a stone wall I tried to build between us.

There should be some kind of rule in relationships that when you did something super kinky and completely out of your comfort zone—in public no less—that the person you did it with needed to disappear out of your life for at least twenty-four hours to give you space to process it.

Rising, I let the towel drop and moved to the sofa, which faced the fireplace. The leather was cool against my legging-clad thighs as I curled up in a corner, wrapping the blanket tightly around me.

Sebastian left the room, and I took my first full breath.

The man just took up so much space.

In my head.