The room was too quiet.

Ava lay on her side with the blanket pulled up to her chin, her back rigidly turned toward the stranger who had stolen half her bed. She could hear him breathing—steady, unbothered, like this was nothing new to him. Like he was used to sharing space with women who wanted nothing to do with him.

Her jaw clenched. God, I hate him.

Except she didn’t really hate him. Not the way she wanted to. Hate wasn’t supposed to feel like this—like awareness prickling under her skin, like a pulse that quickened every time she caught the faint scent of his cologne drifting across the pillows.

She flopped onto her back with a groan, startling herself with the noise. Across the bed, Ethan chuckled.

“Trouble sleeping?”

“Obviously,” she muttered, staring at the ceiling.

“I could tell. You toss like a restless cat.”

Ava sat up, glaring at him. “Do you ever shut up?”

“Rarely.” He rolled onto his side, propping his head on one hand. Even in the dim light, his gray eyes gleamed with something that looked far too close to amusement. “You’re wound tighter than a drum. If you keep this up, you’ll give yourself wrinkles before you’re twenty-five.”

Her mouth dropped open. “Did you seriously just—”

He held up a hand. “Observation, not insult.”

“Some observation.” She crossed her arms, realizing too late that the motion tugged her robe loose. His gaze flicked down, lingered for half a heartbeat, then returned to her face with infuriating calmness.

Heat rushed up her neck. She yanked the robe tighter. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re bored,” he countered. “We’re both stuck here with nothing to do. Might as well make the best of it.”

“I’m not making the best of anything with you.”

“Big words.” He reached casually for his suitcase, pulled out a deck of cards still sealed in plastic. “How about a game?”

Ava narrowed her eyes. “Seriously? You carry cards?”

“Always.” He cracked the pack open with practiced ease, shuffling with quick, confident flicks of his fingers. “Never know when you’ll need to pass the time.”

She hesitated. It wasn’t like she could sleep anyway, and the thought of sitting in silence with him, pretending she didn’t exist, was unbearable. But playing cards with him? That sounded like a trap.

Still, she found herself sliding closer, perching cautiously on the edge of the bed. “Fine. One game. Then you leave me alone.”

“Deal.”

They played. At first, it was ordinary—poker hands, easy wins, light banter. He was good, maddeningly good, and he had the nerve to smirk every time she lost.

“You’re cheating,” she accused after her fifth consecutive loss.

He spread his hands innocently. “Don’t hate the player, princess. Hate your terrible poker face.”

She grabbed a pillow and hurled it at him. He caught it with a laugh, tossing it back onto the bed.

“Let’s make it interesting,” he said then, his voice lower, threaded with a challenge.

Ava’s stomach tightened. “Interesting how?”

“Strip poker.”

Her brain blanked. “You’re joking.”

He tilted his head, lips curving in that infuriating half-smile. “Do I look like I’m joking?”

“You—You can’t be serious!”

“Why not? You’re already losing. Might as well get something out of it.”

Her face burned. “You’re insane.”

“Or maybe you’re just scared.”

That did it. She’d never been good at backing down from a challenge, and he clearly knew it. Gritting her teeth, she snatched up the deck and shuffled furiously. “Fine. But don’t cry when you’re the one stripping.”

“Fair warning,” he said smoothly, “I never lose.”

The first hand went fast. Ava tried to bluff, but his gaze was too sharp, too knowing. She lost. With trembling fingers, she peeled off her socks and tossed them aside.

He smirked. “Cute.”

Next round, she won. He shrugged off his tie with deliberate slowness, then draped it across the chair. Her eyes betrayed her, following the motion of his long fingers, the play of muscle in his forearm.

“Your turn to smile,” he said.

Her throat felt dry. “Shut up and deal.”

The game escalated. Clothes piled onto the chair—her sweater, his shirt, her leggings, his belt. Each round stripped away more than fabric. It stripped away space, comfort, the fragile line between them.

By the time Ava was down to her camisole and panties, her skin hummed with awareness. She could feel his gaze on her like a physical touch, lingering, unashamed.

“This is ridiculous,” she muttered, clutching the blanket to her chest.

“Ridiculous,” he agreed softly, “and fun.”

She looked up, ready to snap, but the words froze on her tongue. His eyes weren’t mocking now. They were hot, intense, sparking with something she didn’t want to name.

Her breath hitched.

He leaned closer, voice dropping. “You know…I still owe you.”

Her mind scrambled. “Owe me what?”

“For the orgasm I interrupted.”

The air between them charged, thick and heavy, every nerve in Ava’s body screaming with tension. She couldn’t move, couldn’t speak, caught in the pull of his gaze.

“Want me to make it up to you?” he asked.