Page 47 of Taken Away

His gaze locked on her.

Then to the phone in her hand.

Aubrey shoved it behind her back so fast she nearly dropped it.

“Delete it,” he rasped.

She blinked. “Why?”

“Because I look dead.”

“You look fine.”

His eyes narrowed, waking up a little more. “You think I look fine?”

“Don’t make this weird.”

“Princess, you took a picture of me sleeping.”

Heat crawled up her neck. “Evidence,” she muttered. “In case you murder me in my sleep.”

His mouth twitched, but he let it go.

Bennett pushed himself upright, dragging a hand through his dark hair. His voice came out rough.

“That’s a different look for corporate America, Langford.”

Aubrey folded her free arm across her oversized sleep shirt, suddenly aware of the tiny black shorts and a lot of bare leg.

“And you look like you lost a fight with a sofa.”

“Sofa lost.”

He stood, reaching for his boots, and Aubrey immediately regretted having eyes.

“You drool,” she said.

He straightened, one brow lifting.

“You lie.”

“You snore too.”

“Also a lie.”

He closed the distance between them in two easy steps, bare chest level with her nose, the heat of him crowding out the cool morning air. His gaze drifted down, taking in the sweatshirt slipping off one shoulder, the bare legs, the phone still clutched behind her back.

“Anything else you want to accuse me of while I’m defenseless, Princess?” he asked softly.

Aubrey’s breath hitched. Her corporate poker face deserted her as his eyes flicked to her mouth for the briefest second.

“Right,” he murmured, straightening, the satisfaction in his voice quiet and infuriating.

Behind him, Moose hauled himself up and lumbered toward her, breaking the moment.

“Traitor,” Bennett muttered.

“He has excellent judgment,” Aubrey said, grateful for the distraction.