Page 60 of The Pleasure of Panic

“Oh.” Well, that deflates me.

“So you can change, ya know. And get ready for your seminar.”

“Oh. So… what are you doing today?” I’m trying to feel him out, which is what he’s doing to me.

“What do you think I’m doing?” He grins. Wide. “I’m your bodyguard, Ms. Grey. I’m following you around, playing chauffeur, and generally being your muscle.”

I smile. Pretty wide.

“Not that you need muscle,” he continues, walking slowly towards the bed.

I can’t take my eyes off him. The planes of his stomach are perfect. His unshaven jaw just makes me want to picture him between my legs. And his shoulders. Damn. They are so wide. Wide enough to be the perfect pillow for my head last night.

I cuddled with him.

The thought is startling. Mostly because I’m not really a cuddly person, but also because I might want to turn into a cuddly person. With him.

“What are you thinking about?” he asks, sitting on the bed near me. He sinks into the mattress and I let my body roll towards him a little, until my face is right next to his thigh.

I lift my head, scoot closer, and rest it right on his leg.

Yup. He makes me want to cuddle.

“Do you want some breakfast before we go?”

“What are you making?” I ask, looking up at his hazel eyes.

“Cereal,” he whispers.

“Sounds great,” I whisper back.

“OK,” he says, throwing the covers off me and slapping my thigh. “Get up. And come as you are.”

He leaves without looking back so I get up and follow. Just like I am.

Boxers and t-shirt. Both his.

Maybe I’m his too?

I don’t know why I’m thinking this shit. This really isn’t me. I’m not usually this girl. Not with men, at least. Yeah, I put on a good front for the business. And yeah, I’ve been through some major shit. I’ve done things. Things I’d call courageous.

But this is something else. It’s… vulnerability.

I hate being vulnerable. It’s why I crave control. It’s why I’m always the one in charge. It’s why… it’s why I needed this game.

It’s not a game, Issy Grey. This shit is real and that should scare you so bad. Because what he told you last night is information you didn’t need to know.

“Dayum,” he says, when I appear in the main room. He’s got one of those open-concept places where the kitchen, dining, and living rooms all run into each other. “Your bedhead is pretty fucking sexy.”

I sigh. Because he’s saying all the right things. And man, I really hope this isn’t a game, because I like him. He’s done so much right since we were forced together last night. And men who still say all the right things the next morning have potential, right?

Even if they did kill their—

“Here,” he says, handing me a bowl of cereal. It’s got multicolored mini-marshmallows in it, which only makes me like him more.

I take it and climb up into a bar stool at the island. He pours some milk into his bowl, then starts eating it with a giant spoon.

I look down at my bowl. I’ve got a giant spoon too. Which makes me chuckle. Because I’m not even sure it’ll fit in my mouth.