I find Tristan making himself a drink in the kitchen after I put Cole to sleep. Tristan’s wearing a white t-shirt and jeans. I catch myself biting my lip as I run my eyes over the way his arms stretch the sleeves. He runs a hand through his wild hair, pushing it to the side before he turns and notices me. “Can’t sleep?” he asks.

“It’s only nine,” I say.

“Fair point,” he says, taking a sip of his drink and then titling the liquor bottle toward me. “Want some?”

“No. I’m okay.”

“Let me guess, you don’t drink?” he asks.

Something in the challenge of his tone makes me bristle. I close the distance between us, reach for the glass in his hand, and throw back a gulp that burns all the way down to my stomach. I try not to cough but fail, bending over as it feels like I’m hacking up a lung.

He puts a hand on my back, laughing. “Well, I give you ten out of ten for spirit. Zero out of ten for execution.”

“Shut up,” I say, grinning. “Maybe I’ll take one, but something that tastes less like gasoline would be good.”

He goes to a cabinet full of liquor and picks out a few bottles I don’t recognize to mix me a drink. He finishes it off with a splash of orange juice from the fridge and hands me the glass.

I give it a cautious sip and then nod in surprised approval. “That’s actually good.”

He leans against the counter and sips at his drink, watching me over the rim of his glass. “How long do you think this’ll take?”

“Getting custody of Cole?” I ask. “It depends, honestly. If they think we’re in a relationship, that should help a little. I mean, it’d obviously help more if we were engaged or something, but I think—”

“It would?” he interrupts.

“Well, probably. Yeah. The courts look for stability. They want to put kids into families if they can, not just into the hands of a bachelor or a bachelorette.”

He frowns, taking another sip from his drink and not taking his eyes from me.

“You’re not seriously considering…” I say breathlessly.

“What’s the harm?” he asks. “You pretend to be my fiancée instead of just my girlfriend. Once it’s all over we can just call off our fake wedding.”

I shake my head. “I’ve already agreed to do something completely insane for you, but pretending to be your wife is a step too far.”

“For me?” he asks. “I was under the impression you were doing this because you wanted to adopt Cole.”

“You know what I meant.”

“Why do you want to adopt him so badly anyway?”

“It’s none of your business,” I say, feeling suddenly irritable. I set down the drink and cross my arms.

“No? This is going to be a tough pretend relationship if you shut me out.”

“That’s not funny.”

“I wasn’t trying to be,” he says.

“My reasons are my reasons. Okay? You made it perfectly clear four months ago that you didn’t want what happened between us to mean anything, so let’s just keep it simple. I’ll keep to myself and you’ll keep to yourself. You’ll let me take care of Cole and the adoption process, and then when this is all over, we can both go our separate ways once and for all.”

“Damn,” he says. “I didn’t realize you liked me that much.” He takes another obnoxious sip of his drink, grinning at me like he has me all figured out and he knows it.

“You’re unbelievable.”

“Just trying to lighten the mood. Seriously though, consider my offer. I think a ring would look good on your finger.”

The next few days pass in an odd kind of silent battle of attrition. Tristan seems intent on letting me make the first move—assuming there is even a move to be made, and I am trying my damnedest to stay focused on what should be the only reason I’m doing any of this: Cole. Tristan leaves the house for work at odd, inconsistent hours, and when he does join us for meals, he watches me with an unreadable expression from over his food. What galls me the most is how his silent treatment has the infuriating effect of making me think about him every minute of the day.

If he would just act obnoxious and cocky I could make myself hate him. But this? It’s like I can’t help wanting to make him notice me and like me. Either way, I may feel conflicted on the inside, but I’m strong enough to keep all those mixed emotions bottled up, right next to everything else I keep crammed into the darkest corners of my mind.

Maybe the strangest part of all has been how as much as I’ve loved all the time I’ve already been able to spend getting to know Cole, that emptiness I’ve always felt inside is still there. I always believed the moment I was with my future adoptive child I’d feel full again, like I was a complete human for once in my life.

I’m not going to let myself dwell on it too much, though, because the real problem is likely just that I know we still haven’t won the battle for Cole yet.

Tristan surprises me on my fourth day in his house when he knocks on my door a few minutes after I put Cole to bed.

“Just a minute,” I say, wrapping my towel tighter around myself and scrambling to find some clothes to throw on after my shower.

He opens the door without waiting for permission. “Glad I caught you at a bad time,” he says with a look I haven’t seen on his face since my first day in his house. He looks amused.

I pull my towel close and glare at him before shoving my blanket over the bra and panties I was about to reach for on my bed. “Would you mind waiting until I get dressed?” I ask. I want my voice to sound more angry, but the sad truth is that after only four days of the silent treatment, part of me is just glad he’s acknowledging me. The only company I’ve had is Cole—who has been adorable and amazing—and the representatives at Child Services who are helping us get the paperwork started on his case.

“No need,” he says casually, like I’m not half-naked while he looks completely put together in a suit and tie. “I’m taking you out tonight. You have something nice to wear?”

“What?” The half-whispered question is all I can seem to manage after the confusing turn of events.

“Four star restaurant,” he says. “It’s on a boat, though, so you’ll need a jacket.”

I frown in confusion. “Who said we were going on a date?”

“I did. This,” he says, gesturing between us with his index finger. “It’s not working. Consider it a peace offering. Or just a free meal, if that makes it easier to swallow.”

“A peace offering? From where I’m standing, the only one trying to make a war out of this is you. I’ve tried to be civil and all you’ve done since I got here is glare at me and play the silent game. I don’t know if you remember, but you’re the one who asked me to help you.”

“Call it a free meal then,” he says nonchalantly.

I growl in frustration. “No. Let’s call it, you tell me what the hell is going through your head if you expect me to say another word to you, let alone go on a date with you.”

He seems to consider my offer for a few moments before he crosses his arms and leans against the doorframe. “You want to know the truth?”

I throw my hands up. “Yes. I think I’ve made that pretty goddamn clear.”

He sighs, letting his confidence falter for a split second. “I thought it’d be easier.”

“That what would be easier?”

“Resisting you. But the truth is, ever since the moment you walked into my house, all I can think about is getting my hands on you again.” He pushes off the doorframe, stepping closer until I’m vividly aware of the thin, wet towel being the only thing standing between him and my naked body. “I keep remembering how fucking good it sounded to hear you moan for me. How good it felt to wrestle the submission out of you. And late at night when I know you’re just across the hall? It’s like fucking torture trying to keep myself from coming over here and giving you the night of your life again.”

It feels like my mouth is full of cotton balls, but I swallow and lick my dry lips, looking down to avoid the intensity of his eyes. Words tumble out of my mouth before my brain can catch up. “I never said the first time was the night of my life,” I say breathlessly, totally aware that whatever I might say, my body language is sending an entirely different message. I want you too.

“Ouch,” he says. “Then I guess I’d have to ratchet it up a couple notches if I got you in my bed again, wouldn’t I?”

I feel a little dizzy, but I make a concerted effort to gain some of my composure.

“So?” he asks. “Can you be ready in thirty minutes?”

“Yes,” I say. “But I’m only going with you for the free food.”

“Right,” he says. “I got a sitter coming for Cole, by the way. So don’t worry about that.”

I feel a jolt of shame that I wasn’t worried about that. I’m sure it would’ve occurred to me once I wasn’t staring at Tristan and all of his distractingly gorgeous features, but it still should’ve been the first thing on my mind. In truth, I was more worried about how I was going to survive a date—whether he calls it that or not—without letting things get out of hand.