Page 132 of Penalty to the Heart

“No.”

His smile broadens, making those two dimples of his more prominent.

“Let me inside, Roxanne. I know you want to,” he repeats, his eyes daring mine to refuse him again.

Unable to look at his face a minute longer, I widen the door and let him step inside.

“Now see? Was that so hard?”

“Just tell me what you want and be done with it. I have already succumbed to your demands. I would have assumed that would be enough for you.”

“You would think so, wouldn’t you?” He winks before taking a seat on my couch, arms laid back, and legs spread wide.

“Please, make yourself at home, why don’t you?” I retort sarcastically.

“You’re angry at me,” he states, matter of fact.

“That happens when a person is blackmailed into doing something she doesn’t want to.”

He doesn’t say anything, preferring to scroll his gaze up and down my body.

“Well? I don’t have all night,” I say, doing my best not to fidget under his lingering gaze.

“Oh? Do you have big plans for tonight? Do you need to be somewhere?” he teases, staring at my pajama bottoms.

There is no use in coming up with a lie.

Even if I weren’t already in my pajamas, he’d see right through any of my lies.

“The only big plans I have are with a good book and a long bath. Neither possible if I have to stand here and entertain you.”

“I do love to be entertained.” He licks his lips suggestively.

“Well, tough. If you really do want to continue with our sessions, then there must be some ground rules—my home being off-limits to you is number one.”

He takes a beat and nods.

“Fair enough. Do you have any more?”

I swallow the confounding feelings of disappointment that he conceded to that demand so quickly.

“I’m sure I’ll come up with some, given enough time,” I rebuke, crossing my arms over my chest so I have something to do with my hands.

“So? Are you going to tell me why you’re here, or am I supposed to guess?”

“God, you’re so fucking hot when you’re angry at me,” he says, taking the wind out of my sail with such an unexpected comment.

I don’t dare say anything to it, fearing he’ll just press me further until I break.

“Caleb,” I grind my teeth. “Why are you here?”

“I wanted to ask you a question.”

Again, I remain silent.

“Why do you sleep in your guest bedroom?”

A jolt of panic shoots through me, the words stuck in my throat while my mind races to find a response.

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