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God, I could get used to that gravelly morning voice. Waking up in bed with him after a night of amazing—Nope. Stop.

“Morning,” I said, trying not to look as sheepish as I felt.

He slid a mug toward me. I tried to get a read on him, but he was just as closed off as before. It was almost as if last night had never happened. I wasn’t sure whether that was a good thing or not, but it meant that all the progress we’d made was just…gone.

“I got you an oat latte,” he said. “Everyone will eat breakfast together upstairs, unless you’d rather stay in and order a tray.”

Tempting as it was to hide away in our cabin, I said, “We should probably make an appearance, don’t you think?”

He assessed me. “Yes. We should.”

“Thanks for the coffee.” I picked it up, noting that he’d folded my clothes into a neat pile and set them on the end of the bed. A bed he’d made with the precision of one of the members of the housekeeping staff at the Huxley Grand.

I slid my free hand over the comforter, impressed by how smooth he’d gotten the material despite our nocturnal activities. “I’m impressed, husband.”

“Why? Because I can make a bed?”

“Make a bed?” I scoffed. He was totally downplaying his skills. “This is expert-level bed-making. I’m not sure any of my exes even knew how to make a bed, period. Let alone how to make it look like a five-star hotel.”

“Clearly, the men from your past were inferior.”

“Clearly,” I drawled. If only he knew. “If I were looking for a househusband, you’d definitely be a front-runner.”

He stood, a menacing look in his eye. “A front-runner?”

“To be fair,” I teased, “I’d have to evaluate your other skills.”

What am I doing?This wasn’t at all how I’d imagined this conversation in my head, but I supposed I should just be grateful that it wasn’t awkward.

“I should hope last night would’ve dispelled any doubts as to my otherskills.” His tone was laced with an undercurrent of desire.

Is he…Was Graham flirting with me?

My body quivered with anticipation, my core heating, but I quickly shut it down. Trying to shut out the memories of last night, but it was damn near impossible. At some point in the night, Graham had woken me with his head between my thighs. It was like a fever dream, him pulling me on top of his face, eating me out until I came on his tongue. His body hovering over me, eyes locked on mine. His deliciously wicked words.That mouth.His fucking mouth.

Stop!

“Actually, I’m glad you brought up last night.” I straightened, trying to seem confident and at ease when I felt anything but. “It was…fun,” I said, finally settling on the word, even though it was woefully inadequate. “But we both know it can’t happen again.” There. I’d said it.

“I completely agree.” Wow. He hadn’t even missed a beat. Hadn’t needed to consider it at all.

I jerked my head back. “You do?”

I wasn’t sure why that surprised me. Or maybe that was disappointment I was feeling. I guessed, deep down, some small part of me had hoped that he’d try to fight me on it. That he’d try to convince me it wasn’t a big deal. That we should sleep together again.

But he hadn’t.

My heart sank, wondering if he was filled with regret. No, Graham didn’t do regrets or remorse.

We were in agreement. I should be happy about it. He was making this easy on me.

“Yes. We got carried away, but as you reminded me, I don’t mix business with pleasure. This is a business agreement,” he said, emphasizing the word business. “And there’s a lot at stake.”

“Exactly,” I said, though the word sounded hollow to my ears.

This was for the best. At least, that’s what I kept telling myself.

CHAPTERTWENTY