He couldn't just walk out the door; Noah was undoubtedly still lurking in the hallway.
Under the covers, Quinn began to feel stifled by the heat. She kicked the duvet off, exposing her stunning curves and long, luminous legs.
Miles swallowed hard, aggressively tearing his gaze away as he yanked at his pajama collar.
He ripped open the minibar and downed a cold bottle of Evian, but it did absolutely nothing to extinguish the fire in his veins.
This was all her fault! If he hadn't dragged her back here, he wouldn't be in this agonizing predicament.
Fuelled by irrational anger, he pinned the entirety of the blame squarely on Quinn.
He wasn't about to spend another torturous night freezing in an ice bath. This heat was far more vicious and mind-numbing than anything Ingrid had concocted.
Even if he stayed in the tub until dawn, it wouldn't bring him any relief.
Looking back at her tantalizing figure, the molten heat surging through his body effectively shattered whatever fragile restraint he had left.
Why should he suffer like a man burning alive while she slept peacefully in his bed?
Why should he endure this torture when she was the sole reason he was in this mess?
He had saved her, and in doing so, doomed himself.
The fever spiked relentlessly, drying out his throat.
A primal darkness eclipsed his usually cold, calculating gaze. His iron-clad self-control was crumbling into dust.
Discarding his profound disdain for her, he stalked slowly toward the bed.
He climbed in and lay rigidly beside her.
The mere proximity to her cooler skin brought a shred of much-needed relief to his burning body.
But it wasn't nearly enough. Driven by desperation, he reached out, hauling her sleeping form flush against his chest, his large hand gripping her slender waist.
Fueled by the drug, he suddenly realized he didn't actually find touching her repulsive at all.
Governed entirely by chemical fire, his usual revulsion and cold distance vanished, leaving behind nothing but an all-consuming physical hunger.


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