Page 15 of Forbidden Heat

“Maybe, but I’m more interested in bioethics.”

“Ah. A very timely and important topic.” He tugs my head gently down. The kiss, so unlike the previous fierce claiming, shimmers through me on gossamer wings.

I keep my mouth a hair’s breadth from his. “Is this your way of telling me not to worry about your neck?”

“It’s my way of thanking you for worrying about my neck.” He kisses me again, and there’s a flash of heat before he draws back. “I don’t work here for very long at a time; I have another office with a regular computer setup. But this one is … secure.”

Would Cameron Thorne have any computer that wasn’t locked down from outside interference? “You mean extra secure. For research you want to be extra sure no one knows about.”

He smiles again. “Very inquisitive, and very clever. Do you feel ready to go to bed yet?”

“Are you going to join me there?”

“If I join you, we won’t sleep.”

“That’s the idea.”

“I want to be well rested when that moment arrives.” His fingers sift through my hair. “Well rested … and undistracted.”

This time the kiss turns hungry on both sides, our tongues tangling, dueling, until Cameron reluctantly ends it. “You bespell me,” he says softly.

I smile at him. “Bioethics, not witchcraft.”

He shakes his head. “You need no training. It’s a natural gift.” With a squeeze of my hip, he helps me up. “Go to bed, Haley. I’ll finish sooner, knowing you’re safely in your room.”

“Since you put it that way.” I already miss his touch, want to be back in his arms, but if going to bed will help him, then that’s what I’ll do. “Good night, Cam.”

“Good night.” He doesn’t return to his work right away, and I take some comfort in the way he watches me. Still, it’s hard to make myself open the door and go out, and harder to close it behind me.

When I emerge from the hallway, Mr. Jameson is there. Without a word, he accompanies me up the stairs and to my room. At first I’m mildly irked; am I a child who can’t be trusted?

Then the watchful way he moves registers on me. He’s not babysitting me; he’s guarding me. That sends a chill down my spine more than anything else that’s happened tonight.

When we reach my room, I stop with my hand on the door and look at him. “Is everything … all right?”

“Yes, Miss Morgan.”

I can’t exactly call him a liar, but his behavior is not reassuring. While I’m racking my brain trying to think of a tactful way to push the subject, he adds, “Mr. Thorne simply wishes to take every precaution for the time being. The house and grounds are fully secure, and will remain so.”

He says it with such calm certainty that my worry fades. “All right. Thank you.”

“Good night, Miss Morgan.”

“Good night.”

The bedside lamp is on, the drapes already pulled. I know Mr. Jameson spoke truth. But I suddenly see phantoms everywhere. The closet, the bathroom, the space under the bed … I’m like a child terrified of monsters.

Changing hastily into my sleepwear, I throw on a robe and peek out my door. There’s no one in sight, though there are still lights on downstairs, enough to see by. I dart down the hall and into Cameron’s suite.

Here, I feel safe. Even the prospect of climbing into a bondage-equipped bed doesn’t daunt me. A quick examination of the nightstands suggests that Cam sleeps on the side nearest the door.

Going around to the other side, I mount the platform and slide under the covers. I can smell Cameron on the sheets, the intoxicating, spicy scent of him that makes me think of deep piney woods and crackling fires.

I draw him in, burying my face in his pillow and breathing deeply. Once, twice … and sleep rushes up to drag me down into its depths.

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