Page 218 of Morally Black Betrothal

“Yes?”

“You apologize too much.”

“I’m so—” I started before catching myself. Sterling gave me a cheeky half smile, and I couldn’t help but grin back. “Right,” I amended. “Okay.”

“Exactly,” he said with a wink before turning back to our shoes.

Ana entered the room with a tray bearing a teapot and a cup. When she noticed my presence on the couch, her expression briefly morphed into surprise before sliding back into easy affability.

“I believe you know Ms. Crosby, Ana,” Sterling said from his seat by the fire.

“Ah, yes, sir, a bit. I, um…”

“It’s all right, Ana,” Sterling said, echoing his words from before. I wondered if he tired of constantly having to reassure all the women he met. Clearly, he was disruptive to many of us. “You’re done for the night.”

“Yes, sir,” Ana said before leaving. “Good night.” With a quick, unreadable glance at me, she was gone, no doubt to gossip with Eric, if he was even still here, about what I was doing upstairs.

“Please,” Sterling said, indicating the tea. “You look frozen, so help yourself. I’ll call for a car and get another cup.”

He lifted himself easily from the hearth, and I couldn’t help but watch his finely shaped form as he strode out of the room. No wonder he kept himself such a secret at the office. With an ass like that, he’d have associates camped outside his door.

He returned shortly with his cell phone held to his ear and another teacup, which he set down on the tray. A woman’s voice said clearly that she would call him back shortly about the car.

“Cab companies call you back now?” I asked after he hung up.

“No, but personal assistants do,” he said with another impish half smile. My gut clenched. “How’s the tea?”

I took a sip. It was delicious, a sweet jasmine that I’d never had before. “Wonderful.”

He nodded. “It’s a blend I picked up the last time I was in Beijing. I’m no aficionado, thought it was pretty good.” His phone buzzed in his hand. “Sterling.”

The woman’s voice was more muffled this time, so I couldn’t understand what she was saying. “Really?” Sterling asked at one point. “All right. No, no, that’s fine, Margie, I’ll take care of it. You have a good night.”

He ended the call and slid back down to his seat on the hearth, elbows perched easily across his knees.

“Well, here’s the deal, Ms. Crosby,” he said.

“Skylar,” I corrected him. I didn’t want him to stop saying it now that he’d started.

Sterling rewarded me with another slow, soft smile that made my stomach flip. “Skylar. Well. It’s past one. The subways and buses are most likely done. Margie tells me she called four different car companies, but it appears that everyone in Boston is trying to get someone to drive them home in this weather. I’d drive you myself, but my car is being detailed. So, you’ve got a choice. You can wait here until about four a.m. for the next available car, which will make me grumpy since I’ll have to stay up with you, and I’m dog-tired. You can take your chance with the T, in which case I’ll walk you to the station. Through a blizzard, by the way. But I doubt you’ll do anything but spend thenight there. Or you can take advantage of my hospitality and stay the night in one of my guest rooms.”

“Oh, I couldn’t do that,” I started to say, but received the same brusque flick of the hand that Ana had gotten.

“Stop,” Sterling ordered. “This place is practically a hotel anyway. It’s no trouble, I promise.”

He lifted his eyebrow again in that way that dared me to argue otherwise, and I bit my lip as a snarky comment rose up my throat. His eyes zoomed straight to my mouth, and I quickly released my lip from my teeth.

“Ah,” he said, somewhat huskily this time. “So. Sleep on thousand-thread-count sheets in a warm bedroom? Or on a concrete bench with a bunch of homeless guys who probably haven’t showered since August? Tough decision, I know.”

I looked at him for a moment, trying to gauge if he was really as altruistic as he seemed. Or as confident. He was nice, but how many men invited strange women to stay the night without having ulterior motives? In my (admittedly limited) experience, approximately none.

“Do you, um, live here by yourself?” The place was silent other than the fire and our voices.

Sterling smirked.

“Yes,” he said. “Is that a problem?”

“Well, you’re not going to try anything, are you?” The question flew out before I could stop it.