Chapter 8

I stare at the fluffy bed calling to me, but instead of crawling right into its inviting covers, I turn toward the door. There is no way in hell that I can sleep without looking around first. Not when I’m staying in a place like this. I pull on a set of extra clothes I had in my bag and slip out the door as inconspicuously as possible. When I make it to the landing, I look over my shoulder as I throw my wet hair up in a messy bun, and then creep down the way he brought me up.

The thought of sleep, though tempting, died as I entered the shower and found the marble tiles were heated. I’ve heard of such things but never experienced them. And if the bathroom and my bedroom are glorious, the rest of the house must be more exciting. As I hit the bottom level, an involuntary smile tickles my lips. First things first. I need to see the kitchen.

I pad to the right, trying to keep the echoing of my bare feet from filling the open entryway. I find an enormous living room with a roaring firepla