Lucas lazily turned his gaze back, a sly glint flashing across his handsome face. "Don't say I didn't warn you," he drawled, his tone oozing mockery. "Even if I had the desire, I wouldn't be able to 'play' with you. Besides… you're really not my type. I prefer women with curves, not sticks. Understand? So even if you threw yourself at me, naked, and tried to get me to react, I wouldn't even bat an eye."
Claire's eyes shot daggers at him, a fiery blaze igniting within her. *What an asshole.* To say something so cruel—to insult her like that. How could he claim that even if she did that, he wouldn't feel anything?
Before she could stop herself, she reached up, tearing the towel off her body, and without hesitation, launched herself at him. Grabbing his jaw with both hands, she pressed her lips to his, catching him by surprise. The moment their lips touched, an electric charge ran through her body, making her tremble as she leaned weakly against his strong chest. Her tongue tentatively explored the soft curve of his lips, teasing him, while her hands roamed down his back, sliding over the firm muscles of his abdomen and lower.
Lucas froze, a jolt running through him. He immediately grabbed her wandering hands, his dark eyes narrowing as he pulled away, his voice now low and rough. "Claire, don't play with fire. You'll regret it," he warned, his tone edging into danger. He wasn't someone to be trifled with, and even though she thought she could provoke him, she had no idea just how dangerous it could be.
Claire opened her eyes, her gaze meeting his with clarity. She caught the smoldering intensity in his eyes and smirked, her lips curving into a triumphant smile. "Playing with fire? Who was it just a moment ago who said he didn't like my type? Who said I had nothing to offer, that even if I threw myself at you, you'd have no reaction? But now, look at you—your face says otherwise."
The more his expression darkened, the more satisfaction she felt. *This is what playing with fire feels like? Not bad at all.*
Her lips lingered on his as she took in his response—his chest rising and falling in rapid breaths, his body clearly betraying him. She had wanted to see his reaction, and she was enjoying every second of it. Her hand, which had been softly caressing his stomach, drifted lower, ready to push her limits.
But before she could move any further, Lucas suddenly pushed her away, standing abruptly. Without a word, he turned toward the bed, his broad back leaving her in his wake. "Enough," he muttered coldly, pulling the blanket over himself as he lay down, his back to her. "I was just teasing. Don't think for a second that I really have any kind of reaction to you. Do you know what ED means?"
The cold, dismissive tone sent a chill through Claire, who was left standing frozen in place. Her mind raced, processing his words.
ED—erectile dysfunction. Was that really his excuse? Was he really saying that because of this, he was somehow indifferent to her? But then why had his breath hitched when she kissed him, and why had his hands instinctively gripped her waist?
Her head began to spin, the confusion and frustration settling into a dull ache. Shaking it off, she quickly grabbed the towel from the floor and retreated into the bathroom to put on her sleepwear.
When she came out, she hesitated, unsure of what to do next. *Lucas obviously doesn't want me anywhere near him,* she thought. He'd made it clear he didn't care for her, and she couldn't possibly sleep in the same bed with him. She cast her gaze at the sofa, an idea forming in her mind.