When Sofie woke she deliberately didn’t open her eyes straight away. She took a moment to enjoy the heavy, sated feeling in her body, to revel in the memory of Darius’s masterful lovemaking, to go hot and cold and then hot again all over thinking of what had happened here over the past few days. She was no longer an innocent. No matter what happened, Darius had given her that. The gift of knowing she was a sensual, sexual woman. The gift of feeling beautiful, desired. And by such a man...
She stretched luxuriously under the sheet and smiled at the thought that she hadn’t slept in her own room since she and Darius had started sleeping together.
‘Sofie?’
Darius. Sofie’s eyes snapped open. He was standing by the window, fully dressed in those slightly too snug jeans and a shirt that strained ever so slightly across his chest. He looked serious, but she hardly noticed that.
Feeling emboldened by the lingering heat in her veins, which was fast growing, Sofie pulled the sheet back, exposing herself, and patted the bed. ‘What’s the rush to get dressed? Come back to bed...’ she said, in what she hoped was a sultry kind of purr.
But Darius’s serious expression didn’t change or break. He didn’t shed his clothes with flattering speed, as he had been doing. He just looked at her with a kind of stony expression that was a little scary.
Feeling exposed, Sofie pulled the sheet back over her and sat up. ‘What is it...? Darius?’
Finally he spoke. ‘My name isn’t Darius, it’s Achilles. I remember who I am. I remember everything. I need to use your phone.’