Page 36 of Auctioned to the Devil

His eyes stay on mine.

“Don’t confuse that with not wanting you in my bed.”

My breath catches.

There it is.

No embarrassment.

No awkwardness.

Just blunt, unapologetic desire.

“Wow.”

“You asked.”

“I absolutely did not.”

“You wanted to.”

“You’re delusional.”

“Could be.”

He steps back.

The room suddenly feels ten degrees colder.

“Towels are in the bathroom. Extra blankets in the closet.”

He walks downstairs.

I stare after him.

The bastard is smiling.

Early the next morning I wake to the aroma of coffee.

For one blissful second, I don’t remember where I am.

Then I roll over and find myself surrounded by Caleb.

His sheets smell like him. Cedar, soap and something darker.

I shove the blankets off.

Nope.

Dangerous territory.

Downstairs, Caleb stands at the stove wearing gray sweatpants and a fitted black T-shirt.

This is worse.

Much worse.

“Morning.”