Caleb stretches like a lazy cat, completely unbothered by my dismissal.His arms extend above his head, muscles rippling under tanned skin, and I have to force myself to look away.“Sure thing, Princess.”
I need clothes first.Clean clothes that don’t smell like whiskey and bad decisions.Grabbing one of the blankets from the foot of the bed, I wrap it around myself.Moving toward my dresser, I can practically feel his attention like a physical weight.When I glance back over my shoulder, he’s propped up on one elbow, head tilted, watching me with the kind of lazy appreciation that makes my skin prickle with awareness.His blue eyes are deep, satisfied, traveling slowly from my bare shoulders down to where the blanket barely covers my hips.
“Stop that,” I snap, yanking open my underwear drawer.
“Stop what?”His voice is all innocence, but there’s something predatory in the way he’s looking at me, like I’m something he’s already claimed.
“You know exactly what.”I grab the first bra and panties I find—black lace that I immediately regret choosing because of the way his eyes darken when he catches a glimpse of them.“The staring.”
“Can’t help it.”He shifts on the bed, the sheet sliding lower on his hips, and I have to actively resist the urge to look.“You’re giving me quite a show.”
My face burns as I move to my closet, acutely aware of how exposed I am, how his gaze follows every movement.I can feel it tracking the sway of my hips, the line of my spine, the places his hands and mouth have been.
“I’m getting dressed,” I say through gritted teeth, grabbing a pair of jeans and a cream sweater.“That’s not a show.That’s a basic human function.”
“If you say so.”But his chuckle is low and knowing, and when I risk another glance back, he’s got that insufferable smirk on his face.The one that says he knows exactly what effect he’s having on me.
“You’re impossible,” I mutter, clutching my clean clothes to my chest, trying to ignore the uncomfortable reminder between my thighs of everything we did.The sticky evidence of him, of us, of how completely I let him unravel me.My face burns with embarrassment over how much I let him get away with.“I have to shower.”
“I could help with that,” Caleb offers lazily.“Clean you up properly.”The suggestion hits me like lightning, sending heat racing through my veins despite my better judgment.The memory of his mouth on me, his tongue, the way he’d worshipped me with such devastating thoroughness?—
“Absolutely not!”I snap.
“Your loss, Princess.”He settles back against my pillows as if he’s planning to stay there all day, arms folded behind his head, showing off the lean muscle of his upper body.
“I’m serious, Caleb.Let yourself out.”
“Whatever you say,” he replies, but there’s something in his tone that makes me pause.Too agreeable.Too easy.
I don’t have time to analyze it.The hot spray of the shower is calling my name, promising to wash away the whiskey haze and the lingering scent of his cologne on my skin.I storm toward the bathroom, clutching my clean clothes against my chest like armor.At the doorway, I turn back to glare at him one more time.He’s still sprawled across my bed like he owns it, all lazy satisfaction and morning-after smugness.
“You’d better be gone when I come out,” I snap, stepping into the bathroom.
His chuckle follows me as I slam the door shut, the sound echoing off the tiles.I twist the lock firmly, as if that flimsy piece of metal could keep out the memory of his hands on my skin, his mouth on mine.
I lean against the door for a moment, breathing hard, trying to collect myself.My reflection in the mirror is a disaster—hair tangled, lips still swollen, that damn mark on my neck like a brand.I look exactly like what I am: a woman who’s just spent the night being thoroughly claimed by a man she’s supposed to hate.
I turn on the shower, cranking the heat up until steam begins to fog the mirror.The pipes groan as hot water rushes through them, and I strip off the blanket with shaking hands.
Under the scalding spray, I let myself fall apart just a little.What the hell was I thinking?Sleeping with Caleb Wilder—my college rival, my current colleague, my absolute worst nightmare wrapped in an annoyingly attractive package.
I scrub at my skin like I can erase what happened, but every movement reminds me of how he touched me, how he made me feel things I’ve never felt with anybody else.
“Stupid,” I mutter, letting the shampoo run through my hair.“So fucking stupid.”But even as I curse myself, I can’t deny the truth: it was good.Better than good.It was the kind of sex that ruins you for other people, that makes you understand why women make terrible decisions over men who are wrong for them in every possible way.
I lean my forehead against the cool tile, trying to center myself.This doesn’t have to be complicated.We’re adults.We were drunk.We agreed it didn’t count.These things happen.The key is not letting it happen again and pretending it never happened in the first place.Simple.
I turn off the water, wrap myself in a towel, and take a deep breath.I can handle this.I can handle him.I just need to be firm, set boundaries, and make it clear that, whatever this was, it’s over.
The smell hits me the moment I step out of the bathroom—bacon, coffee, and something sweet that makes my stomach growl despite my nerves.I stop dead in my tracks, my heart sinking.
He didn’t leave.
Not only did he not leave, he’s apparently making himself at home in my kitchen.The rich scent of butter and maple syrup mingles with the smoky bacon, and despite my irritation, my mouth waters.The jerk raided my pantry.I just got those delivered!
But my irritation fades as my stomach rumbles.When was the last time someone made me breakfast?Usually breakfast is just coffee and whatever I can grab on my way to work.
I follow the scent to my kitchen, my bare feet silent on the hardwood floors, and then I stop completely.
