Submit (The Underground Book 4) by Becca Jameson

easy. And she stood taller after he presented her with all those characteristics, making her feel like she was the best catch on the planet. Did he truly see her that way?
    He chuckled. “Woman…”
    She set a hand on his rock-hard chest and pushed him out the door. “Give me five minutes.” Before he could speak again, she pushed the door closed, leaving him standing in the hall.
    Before she could change her mind, she crossed the room, stripped out of her clothes, and put the T-shirt on. Dressed in nothing but her panties and the shirt that hung halfway down her thighs, she folded her clothes and set them on the desk chair.
    And then she went back to open the door.
    Nikolav was exiting the bathroom across the hall. His gaze met hers and then roamed down her body. He followed her back into the room and closed the door once more.
    “Which side do you want me to take?”
    He shook his head and smirked. “Any side you want,” he replied as if there were more than two options. “I won’t be in it with you.”
    She set her hands on her hips. “Do you have some crazy notion that sleeping in the same room with me will somehow taint my reputation or give people the wrong idea? Because I’m thirty years old. And so are you. If I wanted to sleep with you—have sex, I mean—I would do so with no regrets. Don’t tell me you’ve never slept with a woman you just met.” No way would she believe that. Every time Nikolav left the house, he undoubtedly had women vying for his attention.
    He lifted a brow and crossed his arms, his legs spread and feet planted. “You telling me you frequently sleep with men you’ve just met?”
    She hesitated. She should lie. But it wasn’t in her nature. “No. But that’s not the point. I could if I wanted to.”
    “Do you?”
    Hell yes . “Do you ?”
    He rubbed his head and turned around to face the wall. “Woman, you’re making my brain hurt.” He pointed behind him toward the bed. “Get in. If I argue with you about this any longer, I’m going to get a headache.”
    She scrambled onto the closest side of the bed, next to the door, and pulled the covers over her chest. His comforter was a fluffy chocolate brown, and the sheets matched.
    Nikolav blew out a breath, turned around, and headed for the other side of the bed. Her breath caught when he tugged his shirt over his head and dropped it on the floor.
    He turned out the light on the bedside table and then tugged off his jeans, letting them fall on the floor. Enough light showed through the sides of the blinds to illuminate him.
    Wearing nothing but boxer briefs, he slid into the opposite side of the bed flat on his back.
    Belinda’s adrenaline was pumping through her veins from the busy day, the chase through the Chicago streets, and hours of perfecting her notes for Chicago Multimedia . There was no way she could possibly sleep anytime soon, but she needed to at least lie still so Nikolav could sleep.
    Every breath made her slowly regret her decision to share this bed, this room, or even this apartment. Everything smelled like him. His T-shirt, his sheets, the pillow, the air in the room…
    Masculine with the faint scent of whatever soap he used. Visions of crossing into his time zone on the other side of the enormous bed and snuggling into his side made her mouth water.
    She would never be able to sleep.
    “You’re breathing like you ran a fast mile,” he muttered.
    “I’m pretty sure that’s your fault.” It totally was. He managed to keep her off-kilter constantly, whether intentional or not.
    He groaned, turning onto his side to face away from her and punching his pillow into submission.
    “Look, I’m sorry, but I feel like I’ve been picked up by a tornado and dumped in another dimension. First food poisoning. Then a long day of work. Then masked gunmen chasing me through Chicago after attempting to blow me to pieces with an explosion. Then I meet with the FBI. The FBI? Who ever meets with the FBI? And then I