“Tell me your name.” “Oh, I don’t think so,” I say. I kind of wish I could give it, though. I feel strangely close to him. Still more silence. He’s not used to being bossed around. “Just a name.” “You’re paying me to wake you up. Not for my name.” I slide more deeply under the covers. I feel warm and good and a little wild. “You don’t need my name for what we do.” “What harm could a first name do?” “I don’t know. What if it’s really unusual? Like Sassafras or something.” He lets out a grumbly breath. He’s hot when he’s frustrated. I smile, picturing his lips. And the way he sets his hands on
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