Page 161 of Ten Day Affair

Warm sheets stick to my skin, and something heavier than cotton wraps around my waist. Cole's arm is solid and becoming frighteningly familiar.

My bare legs tangle with his under the covers, and the air holds that unmistakable mix of sex and his cedar shampoo.

I blink at the ceiling, morning light slipping through the blinds in thin gold lines.

I absolutely did not mean to sleep with him again.

But there it is. My body aches in that specific, delicious way that makes me want to stretch like a satisfied cat. We started with Netflix and pizza on the couch, then his hand found my thigh during episode two, and somehow we ended up here.

I smirk slightly, remembering Arden's crack about "accidentally tripping and falling on his dick." I might've leaped.

Cole shifts beside me, his breath warm against my shoulder. "You're smiling."

Damn. He's awake.

I keep my eyes on the ceiling. "Just thinking about serial killers."

His laugh rumbles against my back. This feels good. This is different than what it was before. I don't know how or why, but it is different.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

The sound hits my front door like a sledgehammer, and my body instantly reacts. My heart is pounding so hard it rattles my ribs.

"Shit. Shit!"

"What?" He asks, sitting bolt upright.

"The realtor.” I grab the sheet and yank it around me like a toga as I stumble out of bed.

Cole groans, still half-asleep. “Who?”

“Janet Reeves. Nine-thirty.” I yank my shorts off the dresser and shimmy into them without bothering to find underwear.

"Why?

“She's here for the listing appointment.”

He blinks up at me, frowning. “You’re listing your housetoday?”

“I forgot!” I dig through a pile for my tank top.

Cole props himself on one elbow, his hair wild, the sheet dangerously low on his hip. “Want me to go?”

"Just stay in here!" I hiss as I try to straighten my hair. I rub my shirt over my teeth.

Cole throws an arm over his eyes, his voice muffled. "Seriously?"

"Do not come out unless the house is on fire."

He sits up slowly, running his good hand through his hair. The sling lies on my nightstand, forgotten. "What if I get thirsty?"

"Drink from the tap." I point toward my en-suite bathroom.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

"Coming!" I call toward the front door, then lower my voice.

He stands, completely unbothered by his nakedness, and strolls toward the bathroom like he has all the time in the world. I catch myself staring at his back, the way his shoulders flex.