Page 83 of He's The Reason Why

A vague memory of something floated back to her. “What was that crash? Did I imagine that?”

“The lamp.” He gestured at the side table where the lamp now lay on its side, in danger of rolling off.

She giggled. She’d never been so out of control during sex before. She glanced at Blake.

He was splayed out on the bed like DaVinci’s Vitruvian Man, with one leg thrown over hers and his hand touching her arm. His eyes were closed in a wince of pain or maybe regret.

Reality crept slowly back, bringing with it what-the-hell-have-I-done panic. She had no problem with a fun romp in the sheets, but what if he did?

She propped herself up on one elbow. His body was asculpted work of art that she wanted to keep touching, but she kept her hands to herself. “That was fun.”

He grunted. “Too fun.”

“Just so you know, I’m not expecting anything. We don’t have to do the awkward morning-after dance.”

“I don’t think I could dance right now even if you wanted to.” He looked at her. “Wait, what did you say?”

She poked his side. “What’s up with that face? Did you pull something?”

He rubbed his face with one hand and moaned. “I’m so screwed.”

It wasn’t the reaction she’d been expecting. “What’s wrong with you?”

“I just lost my deal with Marshall.” He took a deep breath and let out a satisfied sigh. “That’s okay. It was absolutely worth it.”

A pleased smile spread across her face, and relief made her breath catch. So he wasn’t worried about the sex, he was worried about…wait a minute.

“What deal?”

He rolled over on his side and propped his head up with one hand while the other absentmindedly traced a path up her stomach, over her breast, and back down. It felt deliciously sinful and sent shivers all down her spine.

“Remember that night you came over to run lines with me and Marshall showed up?”

“How could I forget that? It’s the night I met Marshall freaking Weston. I gloated about that to Della for days.”

“Yeah, you made an impression on him too.” Blake grimaced. “So to make sure he kept his hands off you, I made a deal with him.”

She pushed his hand away before she forgot the point of the conversation. “You’re saying Marshall has a crush on me?”

“His idea of a crush is to screw around for a few weeks and then move on to the next girl. You get that, right?”

“It’s practically tattooed on his forehead.” She hadn’t been interested in falling into bed with him, but she’d enjoyed the hell out of flirting with him. “And you wanted to keep his hands off me…why?”

“So you could focus.” He blinked at her with not-so-innocent eyes.

“That makes no sense.”

“Sure it does. You were learning, and Marshall needed to focus onConned. So we made a deal. Neither of us was supposed to touch you until afterConnedwrapped, after which we’d both be free to ask you out and you could choose.”

She stared at him in disbelief. “You and Marshall…made a deal.”

He nodded.

“A deal tonothave sex with me.”

“Yep.”

Indignation flared. She looked around at the messed-up bed, the lamp that had fallen over, and the sticky note still attached to his leg. “So what was this?”

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