She’d done it. She’d married Luther Castellan. Now she just had to maintain the lie for 6 months without falling apart or falling for him, which given how her heart had raced every time he touched her tonight was going to be harder than she thought.
Allesia woke up in a bed that felt like sleeping on a cloud and thought, “This is the most comfortable prison I’ve ever been in.”
Sunlight poured through floor toseeiling windows she’d forgotten to close. The sheets were actual silk.
She’d checked last night because she’d never touched real silk before. The room smelled faintly of jasmine from the diffuser on the nightstand.
And somewhere in this massive house was her husband, her fake husband, who she was lying to.
A great start today, one of married life, Allesia. She found her way to the kitchen, which took 15 minutes because this house was ridiculous, and stopped dead in the doorway.
Luther Castellan was shirtless. Just shirtless, standing at the stove, cooking eggs, wearing nothing but gray sweatpants that hung low on his hips, his back to her.
And oh my god, that back. Allesia had seen attractive men before. Dante worked out, had abs, looked good with his shirt off.
But Luther, Luther’s body was a work of art. Broad shoulders that tapered to a trim waist, defined muscles that moved under light brown skin as he worked.
Not bulky like a bodybuilder, but lean and powerful like a fighter. There was a tattoo on his left shoulder blade.
Intricate, tribal looking that Allesia wanted to trace with her fingers. Stop it, she told herself firmly.
He’s 20 years older than you. This is fake. Focus. Are you going to stand there staring or are you going to say good morning?
Luther asked without turning around. Allesia’s face went nuclear. I wasn’t staring. Mhm. Luther glanced over his shoulder and his amber eyes danced with amusement.
Coffee’s ready. Cups are in the cabinet to your left. Allesia poured herself coffee with shaking hands, trying desperately not to look at her husband’s very attractive, very shirtless body.
“Do you always cook breakfast shirtless?” She asked, then immediately regretted it. Luther turned fully now, and Allesia’s mouth went dry.
Eight-pack abs, defined pecs, arms that looked like they could bench press a car. And that face, those amber eyes, that slight smirk that said he knew exactly what he was doing to her.
I was working out, Luther said. Got hungry. Didn’t feel like putting on a shirt.
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