“This isn’t an affair,” she said, more to herself than to him. “It’s only one night.” Devon lay on his side, a lock of hair falling over his forehead as he looked down at her. “What if you want more than that?” he asked huskily. “It still won’t be an affair.” His hand caressed her over the covers, charting the shape of her hips and stomach. “Why does the word matter?” “Because affairs always end. So calling it that would make it more difficult when one of us wants to leave.”
