Natasha woke in the middle of the night from a dream—nightmare, really—where she’d slept through all the next day’s gigs. It didn’t take a psychotherapist to figure out she was stressed about missing so much work.

The room was dark and cool. Next to her, Dimitri’s slow, even breathing and solid presence soothed her, even as her thoughts skittered away from the memory of his earlier words.

Even as she tried to forget them.

If you were stupid, would I be in love with you?

As far as romantic declarations went, it was pretty flimsy. Also, it was a hypothetical. He started with if, and continued with would I. So, to follow it to its logical conclusion, she was stupid, and Dimitri was not in love with her.

Right? He had to be kidding, making some misguided attempt to cheer her up.

She scowled over at him in the dark. Why did he have to joke around so much? One night, when they’d both been dead-ass drunk and lounging in the hot tub, he’d turned to her and said, “Let’s get married.”

When he claimed he was serious and suggested they hop a flight to Vegas, she took that to mean he was drunk enough to drown and dragged him out of the water. The asshole had laughed and laughed, then climbed into his bed soaking wet.

It was easier when she knew the rules. Easier when she knew exactly where they stood, and what they were to each other. Most of the time, they got drunk at a club, or he showed up at her apartment, or invited her over here. They screwed, she left, and she didn’t hear from him for a while.

She’d slept in this bed dozens of times before. She trusted him—on that level, at least. But with her heart?

No way. That was a whole other story.

Sometimes, it was like she got off on the tension, the difference between going so far with him physically, while completely hiding her feelings. It was like a game with high stakes, her very survival depending on how little she could reveal to him, how deeply she could hide her desire for more.

It wasn’t something that had been a problem with other men. With Jackson García, they’d had fun in bed, and made small talk about their careers. Jackson wasn’t a big star yet, but he was easy-going, and their connection hadn’t deepened much beyond sex and laughing at internet memes.

Her old arrangement with action movie star Rocky Lim hadn’t been too different from what she’d had with Jackson. They had a good time together, and she went with him to red carpet events, but when it came down to it, they were just friends. It was easy to keep their conversations on the surface. She didn’t worry about revealing too much. Rocky was back in London now, but he still texted her sometimes. They’d bonded over the British period drama Carlton House, and used to watch episodes in bed together. Whenever he passed a landmark she’d recognize, he snapped a picture and sent it to her. It was sweet, but love? No. And she hadn’t wanted it to be. She hadn’t cared enough.

She did want more from Dimitri, and the admission was like a sickness inside her. Sure, he was acting the part of the caring beau now, but that was decency, not love. He didn’t mind her staying here because it meant easy ass for him. Hell, he probably felt bad for her. Poor Natasha, no money and nowhere to live. She’d made that rule about no sex, and he must have known she wasn’t going to stick to it. He knew all her weaknesses.

She didn’t know what to make of Dimitri’s insistence on questioning her about Jackson. He was always intense, but that had been weird, even for him. They didn’t talk about the other people they saw. After her injury, it hadn’t come up again. And what the hell was his problem with Kevin? She’d heard the two of them shouting in the driveway, but couldn’t make out what they’d said.

One thing was sure. She had to get out of this “playing house” situation. It would look terrible if she were caught living with one of the show’s judges. At least before, she’d convinced herself she was a guest. She had a different bedroom, even her own bathroom, and they weren’t banging. Now?

She looked over at him again, barely able to make out the curve of his face where it was buried in the pillow.

Now, she was sleeping in his bed, her toiletries had been moved into his bathroom, and she’d broken the “no sex” rule. She’d never lived with a guy, but this seemed pretty close to it. She even had a spot in the garage.

Her mother’s words drifted back to her. You can’t rely on men.

Eventually, Dimitri would tire of her. His offer to let her stay was impulsive, made in the moment because he saw her desperation. Nothing more. Maybe he was getting caught up in playing house with her, maybe he liked having available sex, or maybe he just liked her cooking. Who knew? But there was no chance in hell that what he’d said was true.

He didn’t love her.

The certainty of the thought fell on her like a lead blanket, weighing her down. As long as she held on to that, she could keep her heart and her feelings locked up tight, and get through this mess. She’d come out the other side intact, and go back to her life as it was. This time, she’d take care of herself. She wouldn’t rely on anyone. Not Gina, not Dimitri, certainly not her mother.

There. With that settled, she closed her eyes. The bed was comfortable, and the pain in her ankle had dulled. Dimitri was right, damn him. She did sleep better in his bed. There was nothing in the way of drifting off into a deep, restful sleep.

Except now she had to pee.

She breathed deeply and tried to go back to sleep, but now that she was awake, her bladder wasn’t having it. Get up, it urged her. Vete para el baño.

Puñeta. She was going to have to get up.

Moving as quietly as she could so as not to wake Dimitri, she pushed the sheet off her and lowered her feet to the floor. She still couldn’t put much weight on her right foot, and she didn’t know where the crutches were, but she could lean on the wall and furniture while she hobbled to the master bathroom.

In the dark. Without her glasses. This was a great idea.

Still, it was fewer steps than the hall bathroom.

She was wincing by the time she made it to the toilet stall in the master bath. When she was done and opened the door to step out, Dimitri was waiting for her, squinting in the light from the stall and looking sexy and sleep-rumpled in nothing but navy blue briefs.

Her heart gave a lurch. Her blood burned for him. But self-preservation kicked in, and the walls around her heart slammed down.

You can’t rely on him, a little voice whispered through her mind. Resist him.

When he murmured her name and reached for her, she jerked back. And because it was the middle of the night and she was tired and emotionally wrought, she forgot all about her stupid ankle and put her full weight on it.