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I scoot backwards a little, fitting the shape of my body into his.

“Mm-hmm,” he murmurs, his breath tickling the nape of my neck, his breathing slow and even, suggesting he’s already drifting towards sleep.

That won’t do. Quite deliberately, I move my bum from side to side, as though trying to get comfortable, rubbing it across Aidan’s crotch in the process.

Maybe it’s shock, but Aidan doesn’t say anything, so again I adjust my position, once more shimmying my arse against him.

His breath hitches. Awake now, he says, “Er, Grace—”

“Shh! No more talking. It’s time to sleep.”

He falls quiet, but his entire body is stiff, and something is growing against me.

“Hmm, still not comfortable.” This time, I really grind my arse cheeks back and forth over his hardening length.

“Fuck!” he gasps under his breath.

I hear it but don’t acknowledge it. Instead, satisfied with this response, and still with his erection nestled against my backside, I settle down to sleep.

Two can play at this game. If he’s going to mess with me with his semi-nakedness and his flirting with my yoga students, I’ll mess with him too. Let’s see how he sleeps now.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

AIDAN

Grace’s alarm blares, jolting me awake. Far from feeling refreshed, I’m absolutely knackered. I groan and rub my eyes. Grace, meanwhile, nimbly climbs over me and hops out of bed.

“Morning!” She draws back the curtains with a flourish.

“Morning,” I grumble, giving my eyes another rub, though it doesn’t help me feel any more alive.

“Ready for another action-packed day of exploring London while I work? How did you sleep?”

“Not great.” I sit up and stretch.

Grace fills the kettle and takes down a couple of mugs. A few wayward curls have escaped the confines of her headscarf, and in the light that streams in through the window, her smooth skin is radiant. God, even in fluffy pyjamas, she really is something.

She catches me watching her and smiles. Her sparkling dark-brown eyes and full lips are enough to perk me up even before my morning coffee. I swing my legs over the side of the bed and manage a groggy smile of my own.

“If you didn’t have a good night, why don’t you go back to sleep?”

“Nah. Once I’m up, I’m up.”

“That’s a shame.” She pops a teabag in one mug and some coffee granules in the other. “What was it that kept you awake?”

“Oh . . . nothing.” Avoiding her eye, I stand and have another quick stretch, accompanied by a yawn.

She raises an eyebrow but lets it go. “Are you for toast again? Or there’s muesli?”

“Toast would be great, but you sit down—I should be making breakfast. You’re the one who’s working today.”

“Don’t be silly.” She waves to the table. “Sit!”

Too tired to argue, I do, scratching my arm. “Maybe when I’m out today, I’ll pick up a blow-up mattress. That way, I can go back to the floor, where you originally wanted me.”

She halts the breakfast preparations and turns to me, her brows drawing together, her lips pressing into a thin line. “Why? Are you saying I’m getting so fat there’s not enough room in the bed for both of us?”

“What? No! Nothing like that. I just . . .” I trail off, no idea how to explain.