The butler, Jax Gray, accompanied Caitlin up the staircase, his voice descending to a cautious whisper. "Ma'am, you've only just set foot in the Harris residence, so you may not yet comprehend the intricacies of Shawn's temperament. He harbors an absolute revulsion toward physical contact and possesses zero tolerance for individuals who speak excessively. Unless the situation demands immediate intervention, wisdom dictates leaving him undisturbed."

After a brief pause, he added, "He doesn't like sweets, cannot stomach cilantro appearing in any preparation, and consumes only black coffee—stark, bitter, and entirely unsweetened..."

Caitlin severed his words mid-sentence. "I'm not employed as his personal assistant. You have no obligation to educate me about his particular preferences."

"I urge you most sincerely to commit these details to memory." Jax repositioned his wire-rimmed glasses with meticulous care. "Shawn's three previous wives met their untimely deaths precisely because they disregarded his carefully established boundaries. Surely you wouldn't desire to join their ranks as the fourth casualty, would you?"

Caitlin frowned. A threat? No conventional servant would possess the audacity to voice such inflammatory words. Shawn cultivated a public persona of fragility and gentle temperament, yet Jax undeniably harbored genuine fear toward him. Had Shawn deliberately dispatched the butler to issue this thinly disguised warning, to let her know her place?

"Your accommodations, ma'am," Jax declared with formal precision.

Caitlin cast a cursory glance toward the doorway. "I'll be occupying this space. Where exactly does my husband take his rest?"

"His room is next door," Jax responded smoothly.

"That arrangement proves entirely unacceptable. Wherever my husband lays his head at night, I shall do the same." Caitlin raised a single eyebrow in unmistakable challenge.

"I..." Jax hadn't prepared himself for this particular response in the slightest.

Before he could construct an appropriate refusal, Caitlin glided past his position and advanced directly toward Shawn's room.

"Wait!" Jax rushed after her retreating figure, panic climbing steadily through his chest cavity.

Yet Caitlin crossed into Shawn's bedroom with the effortless familiarity of a woman stepping into her own private sanctuary. Jax arrested his movement at the threshold, thoroughly unwilling to gamble with his employer's legendary wrath by pursuing her further.

She conducted a thorough assessment of the surroundings. For a member of the influential Harris family, Shawn's personal quarters struck her as remarkably austere.

Shawn occupied the edge of the mattress, deeply engrossed in his reading material. The moment he registered Caitlin's presence, the warmth in his gaze evaporated, plummeting several glacial degrees. "Get out."

Caitlin feigned complete deafness to his command. She unlatched her suitcase with methodical movements, extracted several carefully folded garments, drew open his wardrobe doors, and proceeded to hang her belongings directly alongside his with studied calm.

She conducted herself with the leisurely assurance of someone who'd already established complete dominance over the territory.

"Your designated room occupies the space next door," Shawn stated, his tone resembling frozen granite. "The butler communicated that fact with complete clarity."

Caitlin traversed the distance separating them, lowered herself to his eye level, and allowed her fingertips to drift across his cheek with calculated tenderness. "Our families have made a deal. We're practically a couple now. How can we sleep in different rooms?"

Shawn's stare possessed sufficient coldness to crystallize flame itself. A barely perceptible smile—dangerous and predatory—materialized across his lips. "Tell me. What variety of flowers captures your particular preference?"

"Darling," she breathed, weaving her arms around his shoulders and inclining forward until their faces existed mere inches apart. "Already displaying such eagerness to discover my personal tastes?"

"Simply provide the information," Shawn replied, his voice carrying deceptive gentleness. "So I can ensure they're properly delivered to adorn your grave this time next year."

A vicious glint of polished steel severed the space separating them as Shawn's concealed dagger launched itself toward Caitlin's vulnerable throat.

She intercepted his attacking wrist mid-trajectory, rotated it with the precision of extensive training, and extracted the blade from his possession in one seamlessly fluid motion.

She revolved the deadly weapon between her fingers, examining it with undisguised admiration. "Magnificent sapphire craftsmanship adorning the hilt. What an extraordinarily generous present. I'll be retaining possession of it."

Shawn's eyes contracted into suspicious slits. The lightning speed and combat proficiency she'd just exhibited transcended anything the White family daughter possessed any reputation for whatsoever.

"Who the hell are you really?" he demanded, his voice resonating with accusation.

Caitlin curved her lips into a smile of pure sugary sweetness. "Your wife, darling."

The endearment darling spilled from her lips like golden honey. Anyone positioned at the door eavesdropping might have incorrectly assumed they were observing a passionately enamored couple.

"Does every White family member receive upbringing completely devoid of proper manners or social decorum?" he inquired with scathing disdain.

"Dreadfully sorry," Caitlin whispered with mock contrition, diminishing the gap until their noses hovered an inch from contact. "That's merely our inherent nature. You'll discover methods to accommodate it."

Shawn locked his gaze onto her eyes and experienced a profoundly unsettling shock of recognition coursing through him.

Operating almost entirely on instinct, he elevated his hand and obscured the lower portion of her face from view. Those particular eyes—he'd encountered them in the shadowed parking lot.

Caitlin captured his hand, planted a deliberately slow kiss against his palm, and permitted her free hand to travel with provocative intent down the plane of his chest.

Shawn clamped his fingers around her delicate wrist in an unyielding iron grip and wrenched her chin upward.

"You were the woman in the parking lot!"

He jerked her head to the side, scrutinizing her exposed neck for the wound his dagger had carved into her flesh—a wound that logically couldn't have disappeared without leaving substantial evidence.

Caitlin's pupils constricted sharply in involuntary response.

Before she could mount any defense, his probing fingers had already descended upon her throat...

Shawn's fingertips swept along Caitlin's neck and met nothing but smooth, untouched skin.

For a moment, he wondered if he had misread everything.

A quiet breath of relief slipped through Caitlin. Hiding that wound with medical concealer had saved her.

She gently wrapped her hand around his. "Sweetheart, what parking lot are you imagining right now?"

Shawn's expression shut down, and his grip shifted as if he meant to shove her away.

A faint shuffle echoed near the door.

He halted mid-motion and pulled her back into place.

With practiced swiftness, he flipped their bodies and pressed her beneath him as though it took no effort at all.

"You—"

Caitlin tried to protest, but Shawn's hand covered her mouth before she could finish.

He leaned in until his breath touched her ear. "Stay still."

With those words, he steadied her waist and reached for the buttons of her top.

Was he actually planning to continue? Had this man been starved of intimacy long enough to want her even with the face she wore now? Disbelief shot through Caitlin, and she tried to drive her knee straight into his groin.

Shawn intercepted her leg easily and let his palm slide slowly up the warm curve of her thigh.

"Shawn Harris!"

His name escaped her in a shaky gasp she could not hold back.

Shawn's eyes gleamed with wicked humor. "I like it better when you call me darling in bed."

This jerk!

Caitlin glared up at him and prepared to spit every insult she had ever learned, but he pinched the tender skin inside her thigh instead.

"Ah!"

The burst of pain tore her planned outburst into a helpless cry.

Shawn let a slow smile curl across his lips. "Did that sting?"

Before Caitlin managed a single word, he added, "Then I suppose I should try being softer."

She could only gape at him. What on earth was wrong with this man?

Right outside the door, Nikolas and Betsy crowded close enough that their ears nearly flattened against the wood.

Nikolas barely kept his voice down. "No way. They're actually doing something in there? He really kissed that woman with that face?"

Betsy's expression flickered with interest. "Shawn has been on his own for years. A man gets desperate."

Nikolas scowled. "He isn't planning to let her stay, is he?"

Even if Shawn did, a woman from nowhere could never make much of a dent. With that thought in her mind, Betsy whispered, "That's enough gossip. Let's leave before he realizes we're listening."

Both retreated down the hall as quietly as shadows.

As soon as the last footstep faded, Shawn let go of Caitlin's leg and rolled away. His tone dropped back into its usual winter chill. "Get off the bed."

Caitlin let out a clipped laugh. "Hah."

She had heard every word from the hallway.

Obviously, he had been putting on a show, and she had been the convenient prop.

While Shawn pushed himself upright, Caitlin looped an arm around his neck. "Sweetheart, why are you stopping now?"

He tightened his grip around her neck. "Move unless you have a death wish."

Instead of flinching from the pressure, Caitlin offered him a small smile. "So you finished your performance and now you're tossing me aside? Mr. Harris, ever thought about teaming up with me instead?"

Shawn kept his gaze fixed on her, saying nothing, though his hand didn't tighten.

Caitlin gently wrapped her fingers around his wrist. "Here's my offer. I'll play the perfect wife whenever anyone's looking, help you wrangle the Harris family, and handle whatever mess lands in your lap. All you need to do is call me your wife when it counts."

She gave him a sly wink. "Your personal business? Off limits. I won't step over that line, not once. Just let me keep the title for a year, and then I'll walk away like none of this happened. Sound fair?"

Her pitch sounded too good to be true.

Still, Shawn couldn't shake the feeling that this woman had layers he couldn't see.

He let go of her neck and smoothed out his cuff. "You'll be sleeping on the floor tonight."

With that, he silently allowed her to remain in his room.

Caitlin eyed the plush rug, weighing her options.

She pointed at the mattress. "Look at all that space. You want me down there on the carpet? Is chivalry really dead in this house?"

Shawn shot her an indifferent look. "Never had any to begin with."

Whatever. Caitlin stood up, yanked a spare pillow and blanket from the closet, made herself a nest on the floor, and settled in without another word.

Shawn glanced once at her form on the rug, and then reached for the lamp and cut the light, letting darkness fill the room.

When dawn broke, Caitlin, still tangled in sleep, rolled over, tossed an arm and leg around something warm and firm, and snuggled in closer.

Best pillow ever.

Firm in all the right spots.

"Hang on, are those abs?" Caitlin muttered to herself.

She snapped awake and found herself draped across Shawn, one leg slung over his hips and her face pressed against his chest.