Page 22 of Curvy Cabin Fever
Morgan blinks, caught off guard for half a second before grinning like I just amused the hell out of him. “Yeah, in the fridge,” he says, stepping aside so I can get to it.
I hesitate before moving, still feeling awkward being here—like I shouldn’t be touching anything that isn’t mine. The fridge is stocked, but I don’t want to rummage, so I glance back at Morgan. “Can you grab one for me?”
His smirk softens just a little. He doesn’t comment on my hesitation, just pulls the fridge open and grabs a bottle, twisting the cap off before handing it to me. “Here,” he murmurs, watching me as I take it.
I swallow a sip, using the moment to steady myself. The cool water helps, but not enough.
Morgan leans against the fridge, still watching me. “You know, you don’t have to act like you’re a guest. You’re here now.”
I shift on my feet. “I don’t want to be in the way.”
He scoffs. “Trust me, Aria, you arenotin the way.”
There’s something in his tone—something that makes my stomach flip—but I shake it off, taking another sip of water.
Morgan studies me for a second longer before tilting his head. “Tell me the truth. Do you regret it?”
I freeze with the bottle halfway to my lips. “Damien?”
He watches me before nodding, his usual teasing nowhere to be found now.
I lick my lips, setting the bottle down. “No.”
His gaze darkens. “No?” he murmurs.
I shake my head. “No.”
Morgan exhales through his nose, slow and measured, then smirks again—this time, like he knows something I don’t. “That’s good,” he says, voice low, full of something dangerous.
My stomach clenches, heat pooling between my thighs.
Before I can respond, footsteps echo down the hallway. A door opening.
We both glance toward the sound.
Damien’s awake.
Morgan’s eyes stay locked on mine. “Guess we’ll have to finish this conversation later.”
I let out a slow breath, my heart still racing.
What the fuck is going on here?!
Morgan’s smirk barely fades as he takes a slow sip of his coffee, his gaze flicking toward the hallway.
“Well, well. Look who’s up early.”
I glance over my shoulder just as Damien steps into the kitchen, rubbing a hand down his face. His dark hair is a mess, and the low-hanging sweatpants and fitted t-shirt he threw on do absolutely nothing to hide how unfairly built he is.
He stops mid-step when he sees me, his gaze sweeping over my body like he’s remembering exactly what happened last night. My stomach flips, heat curling low.
“Morning,” he mumbles, voice still thick with sleep.
Morgan chuckles. “Didn’t think we’d seeyoubefore noon.”
Damien ignores him, heading straight for the coffee pot. “I’m starving.”
Morgan grins, sliding onto one of the stools at the counter. “Yeah? Guess you worked up an appetite.”
