Page 34 of Auctioned to the Devil

“That works out well.”

“For you.”

“Exactly.”

He grabs my bag.

“Bedroom’s upstairs.”

I follow him.

“You have a guest room?”

“No.”

I stop halfway up.

“Then whose bedroom?”

“Mine.”

“And where are you sleeping?”

“Couch.”

I blink.

The terrifying Devil of Devil’s Peak carries my suitcase upstairs, puts it beside his bed, and turns down the blankets like I’m checking into a hotel.

“I can take the couch.”

“No.”

“There it is again.”

“What?”

“Your favorite word.”

He walks past me.

I catch his arm.

Big mistake.

He stops.

Looks at my hand.

Then at me.

Heat crawls over my skin.

I release him.

“I don’t need special treatment.”

“You’re not getting special treatment.”