Thinking Asher Donovan was so attracted to me, he’d lose control if we slept across the hall from each other was the height of arrogance. Still, an ember of heat flickered to life at the mental image of him in bed. Was he awake? If so, what was he thinking about? Did he sleep in boxers or a T-shirt and sweats or nothing at all? I groaned and buried my face in the pillow. Why was I suddenly picturing him naked? What was wrong with me?
