Page 7 of Devoured By the Forbidden Mountain Man

“You can stay long enough to arrange something else.”

“You’ve thought this through.”

“I own a bail-bond company. Clear terms prevent unpleasant conversations later.”

I looked toward the ceiling again and smiled. “How bad is the furniture?”

His brows drew together slightly. “I’m forty-six, Georgia. I own actual furniture.”

The answer caught me off guard enough that I laughed.

“I wasn’t questioning whether you owned furniture. I was questioning whether you personally selected whatever is upstairs.”

“I did, and now I’m tempted to withdraw the offer on principle.”

His tone stayed completely even, but the slight curve at his mouth kept the exchange warm.

“I’ll risk it.”

The loft was better than I expected.

Warm wood flooring ran through the small open living area. A narrow sofa faced the windows, the bed sat in a partially separated sleeping space, and the kitchenette held a small refrigerator, two-burner cooktop, microwave, and enough cabinets for someone who didn’t intend to host Thanksgiving dinner upstairs. The bathroom was clean and private, and the exterior door at the top of the stairs had its own lock.

Rain slid down the windows beyond the pines while I stood in the middle of the room and did the math.

I could keep more of my paycheck, Case could reclaim his apartment, and I could walk downstairs to work. Most importantly, accepting the loft didn’t require pretending the offer meant anything other than what Rex had said it meant.

I left my bag beside the bed and went back down.

Rex was returning Gavin’s file to the cabinet when I entered the office.

“I’m taking the loft.”

He closed the cabinet and locked it before facing me. “All right. I’ll get you the spare key.”

“You could sound slightly more impressed by the speed of my decision.”

“You’re a restaurant manager who just reorganized half my office in an afternoon. Fast decisions don’t seem out of character.”

I smiled.

Rex opened a small lockbox inside his desk and removed a key on a plain ring. He came around the desk and offered it to me.

When I took it, our fingers touched.

The contact lasted only a moment, but the attraction that had been simmering beneath the work all afternoon sharpened immediately. I became aware of how close he stood, how warm the office had grown, and how little space separated my chest from his.

Rex’s gaze held mine.

I didn’t move away.

Then my stomach growled loudly enough to rescue neither of us.

I closed my eyes for a second and laughed at myself.

Rex’s laugh followed, low and warm. “When did you last eat?”

“Breakfast, which I realize is an embarrassing answer from a woman who spent years telling restaurant staff to take their meal breaks.”