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"That's what you deserve."
"Thank you for climbing here with me. You didn't have to."
"I wasn't sure you could climb that ladder on your own. You don't seem very sporty."
"Hey, I do yoga."
"That's...not a sport."
"Stay here tonight." I take a deep breath. "I mean, um...just to sleep."
"I know what you meant," he says reassuringly. "I don't think it's a good idea. What if your parents walk in?"
"My parents never come to my room. Their rooms are each in opposite wings of the house. Mine is right in the middle."
Damon frowns. "They sleep in different rooms?"
"They don't get along." I sneeze.
"Aha, you're getting a cold. I knew it."
"I'll make myself some tea," I say, pointing to the table underneath the book shelves. I have a water boiler and a broad selection of tea.
"Why do you have all this in your room?"
"I do all my homework and reading here, and I drink lots of tea. The kitchen is too far, and I feel bad asking our cook to bring me tea."
“Do you have some rubbing alcohol and cotton pads?” Damon asks, pointing to his lip.
“Sure.” I bring a bottle and some pads quickly. “Do you also need ice? So you don’t get so many bruises?”
“Nah, it’s fine.” He pours alcohol on a pad then brings it to his lip.
I break out into sneeze after sneeze. To my embarrassment, it goes on for about a minute.
"Go take a hot shower," Damon says. "It'll help with the cold."
"Will you be here when I return?"
He smiles my favorite smile, heartfelt and relaxed. His dimples are showing. "You can bet on that."
"Make yourself comfortable. I'll be quick."
My bathroom is adjacent to my room. I'm a nervous wreck the entire time I shower. The muscles in my thighs twitch and an empty feeling settles in my stomach. By the time I finish the shower, the twitch has turned into downright trembles. I can barely believe Damon is in my room. And I can't believe that every single pajama set I own consists of shorts and a simple cotton t-shirt. I don't have anything of silk or lace or any sexy fabric.
When I get to my room, Damon is sitting on my side of the bed, holding a cup. His eyes fi
nd mine, and I bite my lip as his gaze dips down my body. I don't think he minds my pajamas. I try to remember that he saw me naked, and this is nothing in comparison.
"Get in the bed, come on," he says eventually, and I detect a delicious tingle of tension in his voice. He pats the sheets twice, and I climb in silently. "I made you tea."
He thrusts the cup he was holding in my hands, and I melt. I usually make tea for myself when I'm sick, or the cook or maid does it. Mom avoids me like the plague whenever I get a cold because she has a fragile immune system and gets sick quickly. I'm not sure Dad ever knows when I’m sick. Damon isn't avoiding me, and having him next to me fills me with warmth. It also fills me with something else I can't identify, but I desperately want more of this feeling.
While I drink tea, Damon stands up and paces around my room, stopping in front of the bookshelves. "You have an impressive collection here."
"I'm very proud of it."
The second I put the empty cup on the nightstand, Damon returns to my bed. He watches me carefully. Concern and tenderness war with desire in his green eyes. Putting one knee on the bed, he leans over me, cupping my face in his hands.
