hung her peignoir in the closet, opened the window wider and went to bed. She had a sense of unease as she turned out the light on her night table. She might have undertaken more than she could handle. She sensed trouble if she didn’t watch her step with that sleeping giant across the hall. She didn’t doubt that he could be trusted, that he was a gentleman, but she had to admit that her feelings for Pearce Lamont never even approached what she’d felt for Marcus a few minutes earlier. If she had to live in that house with him for a year…She let the thought slide and, as though to banish it altogether turned over so quickly that the bed seemed to swirl around and she had to grasp the side of the mattress to steady herself.
Reminded that she hadn’t had any options before he agreed to their arrangement, she told herself to be thankful and not grumble; being susceptible to a man like Marcus only meant that she was female and human. Even so, her reaction to him had surprised her, and it was he who had stopped that almost kiss when she should have done it. But she had no intention of congratulating him on having such self-control; men had never found it impossible to withstand her charms. “I’m safe from him and from me, too,” she told herself unhappily just before she started counting sheep.
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