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I quickly ran a brush through my hair and put on my silk bonnet, which I slept in every night.

I opened the bathroom door. And stopped dead. Damon was lying on top of the covers. In gray sweatpants. Without a shirt.

Oh, sweet merciful heaven.

His chest looked like it had been designed by a committee of Greek gods who'd been given unlimited funding and told to make something that would ruin women's lives.

Broad shoulders tapered into a powerful chest, the muscles sharply defined without looking exaggerated. A dusting of dark hair spread across his pecs and narrowed into a thin trail down his stomach.

His abs were ridiculous. Not normal-person abs. Not even regular hot-guy abs.

These were someone needed to notify the Smithsonian abs.

His arms were folded behind his head, making his biceps flex. On purpose, I was convinced. No man had any business looking that good while doing absolutely nothing.

“Everything okay?” he asked.

I blinked.

Once.

Twice.

“Yeah. Yes. Everything's great.”

His mouth twitched. He knew. The man knew exactly what he was doing to me.

“Not gonna lie, Mickey. The fuzzy socks and silk bonnet are doing something for me.”

I ignored him and marched to the other side of the bed with as much dignity as a woman wearing fuzzy socks, an oversized T-shirt, and a bonnet could muster. I plugged in my phone, set it on the nightstand, and climbed beneath the covers.

Damon reached over and turned off the lamp. Darkness settled around us. Silence followed.

And I realized something. This was a terrible decision. An absolutely catastrophic decision. Because the darkness didn't make me less aware of Damon.

It made me more aware.

Of his breathing.

Of the faint scent of his soap.

Of the heat coming from his side of the bed.

Of the fact that there was nothing between us but approximately three feet of mattress and a rapidly deteriorating sense of self-preservation.

I stared at the ceiling. Maybe I could still go sleep in the golf cart.

“So,” Damon said.

I closed my eyes.

Here we went.

“What was it like growing up with your mom?”

That wasn't what I'd expected. I turned my head toward his voice. “What?”

“Your childhood. What was it like?”