Chapter One: The Move-In

The first time Rayna saw Roman Blackwood, he was shirtless, sweaty, and wielding an axe.

Not metaphorically. A real axe.

He stood in the backyard of the mansion, splitting thick logs like it was a casual afternoon workout. Muscles rippled down his chest and back, glistening in the sun. His face—sharp jawline, stubble, and steel-gray eyes—didn’t belong to a man who smiled often.

Rayna swallowed hard.

“Jesus,” she whispered to herself, gripping her suitcase tighter.

“Language,” her mother scolded with a teasing smirk. “And please, Rayna, don’t flirt with Roman. He’s doing us a favor letting you stay here.”

Right. No flirting. Even though the man looked like a sex god dragged straight out of an expensive cologne commercial.

Roman didn’t look up until they walked through the French doors into the living room.

“Roman,” her mother called, “This is my daughter, Rayna.”

He turned.

Everything about him felt… dangerous. Quiet and commanding. Like the kind of man who didn’t speak unless he meant it. And when he did—people listened.

Rayna bit her lip. Hard.

Roman’s gaze swept over her body, just for a second, and when his eyes landed on hers, it felt like a slap and a caress all at once.

He gave a curt nod. “You’ll follow the rules, I assume.”

Rayna blinked. “Excuse me?”

“No drinking. No random men in my house. No going into the west wing. That’s my space.”

She raised an eyebrow. “And what if I break a rule?”

His mouth curled into something wicked. “Then you’ll learn how strict I can be.”

Her pulse spiked.

Rayna’s mother laughed nervously and patted Roman’s arm. “Ignore her sass. She’s just… adjusting.”

Roman didn’t laugh. He just stared.

⸻

Later that night, Rayna tossed on her bed, the heat under her skin refusing to fade.

The guest room was massive—bigger than her old apartment—but all she could think about was the man down the hall. The man who didn’t smile. Who gave orders like a commander. Who told her to obey… or else.

And what the hell did he mean by strict?

She pulled the covers higher and groaned. “You’re insane,” she muttered.

Still, when she finally fell asleep, her dreams were filled with large hands, sharp tongues, and a voice growling, Call me Daddy.

⸻

The next morning, Roman was in the kitchen, sipping coffee.

No shirt. Again.

“You walk around half-naked a lot, huh?” she asked, grabbing a glass.

He raised an eyebrow. “It’s my house.”

Rayna poured juice. “Not complaining.”

His eyes narrowed. “Are you always this bold?”

“Only when I’m attracted to someone.”

Silence.

The tension was thick. Charged. His jaw flexed. She sipped her juice slowly, just to tease him.

“You should be careful what you play with,” Roman finally said, voice low and dangerous. “You might end up in over your head.”

Rayna leaned closer, resting her elbows on the counter. “Maybe I like danger.”

Roman stared at her like he was fighting every urge in his body. Like she was a problem he wanted to fix—by bending her over the nearest table.

She smiled sweetly.

“Thanks for letting me stay, Roman,” she said.

His voice came back like gravel. “Don’t thank me yet.”