“Sorry.”
Connor shrugged. “Don’t be. I’m flattered.”
Harley could feel his cheeks heating even further from mortification, so he turned away. “Right. Whatever. Good night.”
“Sweet dreams, Harley.”
Harley didn’t bother to provide any response. Instead, he shut his eyes and lay still. He thought he would have a tough time falling asleep that evening, especially with such an attractive, nakedman on the other side of the bed. He was wrong. The last thing he remembered was the proximity of Connor’s body to his own. He could also feel the angel’s warmth, even though they didn’t have any physical contact. Connor was like a damn furnace. Before Harley realized it, he started to feel drowsy, and thought that perhaps when he woke up, he would discover that this had all been a dream, a nightmare, just like he had suspected earlier. Then he couldn’t recall anything else. 2