Chapter 5

　　Something warm moved beneath my hand.

　　At first, I smiled. The stuffed dog was perfect. Firm in some places, soft in others, warm in a way no stuffed toy had any right to be.

　　Then my fingers slid over a hard stomach.

　　I froze.

　　Stuffed animals did not have muscles.

　　Or arms.

　　Or a slow, steady breath brushing my hair.

　　My eyes flew open.

　　Damian Ashford was in bed beside me.

　　Shirtless.

　　Alive.

　　Beautiful in a way that should have been reported to authorities.

　　I screamed.

　　He jerked awake, rolled, and hit the floor with a thud.

　　The door burst open.

　　Sebastian appeared first in nothing but boxers, followed by my mother in a robe, then two women I did not recognize. Everyone looked alarmed. Everyone except Damian, who sat on the floor with his hair mussed and his chest bare, glaring like I had personally attacked him in his sleep.

　　“What happened?” Margaret demanded.

　　I pointed at the bed. “There was a man.”

　　Sebastian exhaled. “That is Damian.”

　　“I know who he is!” I snapped. “The question is why he is in my bed.”

　　Damian stood.

　　Bad idea.

　　A very bad idea.

　　Because now the entire room was forced to witness the unfair structure of his body. Broad chest. Defined abdomen. Strong arms. Skin warm from sleep.

　　My mouth went dry.

　　His gaze flicked to my face, and his arrogance returned instantly.

　　“Technically,” he said, “you are in my bed.”

　　Silence.

　　I turned slowly toward Sebastian.

　　My mother did too.

　　“Sebastian Blackwell,” Margaret said in a deadly voice, “why did you put my daughter in Damian’s room?”

　　Sebastian raised both hands. “You told me she hated pink. I was not putting her in Emmeline’s room. Nana Agatha’s room was out of the question. The downstairs rooms were cold.”

　　“So you chose the room of a grown man?”

　　“I did not think Damian would come home.”

　　Damian’s eyes never left me. “I live here.”

　　That made my pulse stumble for reasons I refused to examine.

　　“I am leaving,” I announced.

　　“Eleanor,” Damian said.

　　“No.” I held up a hand. “Dinner was strange. Your bed is stranger. I have reached my limit.”

　　I changed back into my dress in the bathroom, trying not to think about the fact that his scent was everywhere. By the time I came out, Margaret was ready with her heels in one hand and her pride in the other.

　　We walked out before dawn.

　　Cold air wrapped around us as we headed home on foot. The streets were almost empty, the sky dark, the pavement wet from rain.

　　After two blocks, my mother sighed. “Do not be angry.”

　　“I woke up hugging Damian Ashford.”

　　“It was an accident.”

　　“I touched his stomach.”

　　She stopped walking.

　　I covered my face. “Forget I said that.”

　　“I would like to, but I am your mother. Unfortunately, I heard it.”

　　We walked in silence for a while.

　　Then the question slipped out. “How did you know it was Damian’s room?”

　　Margaret’s expression changed.

　　Not guilt exactly. Something older.

　　“I have been to that house before,” she said.

　　“When?”

　　“Before we came here.”

　　“With Damian?”

　　“With people who helped me when I needed help.”

　　That was not an answer.

　　It was a locked door.

　　We reached our mansion at three-thirty in the morning. There were no beds, no curtains in some rooms, and no illusion that our new life would be simple.

　　I showered again, desperate to wash Damian from my skin.

　　It did not work.

　　His scent stayed.

　　His heat stayed.

　　And when I finally lay beside my sleeping mother on the couch, one terrifying thought followed me into sleep.

　　Damian Ashford had felt too familiar for a stranger.