The condo, while luxurious with its marble floors, expensive modern furniture, and sleek steel appliances, was miniscule. Nothing like what I'd expected, and from the way Colin's face scrunched, he felt the same.

"Well, I assume there's more than one bedroom," Colin said in hopeful tone, opening one of two doors and flicking on a light. We both peered into a bathroom the size of one of five linen cabinets at my estate. "But perhaps not."

"Well, I'm so exhausted, I'll sleep on the sofa," I replied. Really, it was true. On the way from the airport to the center of Reykjavik, I could barely keep my eyes open, despite the bright sunlight that was weird for ten at night. Our driver had explained that, since it was the summer solstice, there was hardly any night at this time of year.

Sunlight at ten at night was jarring, disarming. All I wanted was sleep.

"Nonsense," Colin said, walking over to the gray sofa, which was also small. Iceland was typical Europe; everything was tiny, unlike America. He arranged a miniscule blue pillow against the armrest. "I'll sleep here."

"You won't fit on there."

"You won't, either, even at your size," he grumbled.

Since leaving the airport, Colin and I had hardly talked. In the car, he'd checked his emails and made dozens of calls, as had I, fighting through my sleepiness. We both had business to attend to, meetings and affairs that were disrupted by our forced stopover. I was now worried whether I'd even make the awards dinner in London, which was in four days.

I wandered into the bedroom, where the biggest thing in the apartment sat: a king-sized bed. It was, like everything else in the condo, functional, simple, and modern. The bed was platform, with no footboard. It was covered in a fluffy, white duvet with four matching pillows. The headboard was wooden, painted white, and had at least a dozen slats.

An abrupt vision of me naked on my knees, bent and holding onto the slats while Colin was behind me popped into my brain. I imagined him squeezing my body, then feeling his hard arousal stab into me. He'd enter me, and I'd arch my back. He'd pull my hair and smack me hard, on my flesh, with that big hand of his.

I gasped audibly and my fingers flew to my lips, my body humming with a persistent longing. What was I thinking? Dear God. I hadn't had wild sex in years, and it had been more than a decade since anyone had spanked me. I must be exhausted to have those kinds of dirty thoughts flit into my mind. I needed to sleep. Still, a squirming heat spread through me.

"What?" Colin asked, following me into the room.

I cleared my throat. "Oh. Nothing. Um, this bed is as big as the entire apartment."

"We can both sleep here, I guess. I don't mind, if you don't," Colin said.

A pang of nerves shot through my stomach at the idea of lying next to Colin. Especially after that vivid and lascivious mental image of us had played in a loop five times in my brain in the past thirty seconds.

"I guess. If you don't snore," I replied hesitantly. What was I saying? Sleeping next to a stranger? Was my mouth on some different planet than my mind?

"I never snore." He wheeled his luggage into the bedroom and set it on a teak chair. He opened the suitcase, and everything was carefully arranged inside. He rifled through his belongings with the briskness of a seasoned traveler.

"Didn't you say that there were clothes here for me?" Better to concentrate on clothing than Colin.

I'd have to go shopping tomorrow and had seen several interesting boutiques on Laugavegur, the main street, a block from where our condo was nestled in a sleek, gray four-story building. Normally, I bought from the same three designers—Karl Lagerfeld, Donna Karan, and Ralph Lauren—but I was intrigued to see what Icelandic women wore.

Colin went to a bureau—all of the furniture and the bedding were white, giving everything a sterile look—and opened up a drawer, then another. "Yes, my friend said his wife leaves some things here and that you're free to use them. Here, looks like I've found some stuff."

I stood beside him, feeling the heat from his arm only an inch from mine. I paused. It wasn't like me to rifle through someone else's clothing. Then again, it wasn't like me to sleep next to a stranger. What was happening to me?

"I guess this will have to do," I muttered, while flipping through a stack of tank tops.

"His wife is a model. Quite a bit younger than him. She's tall and from here, so that might be why all the young-looking clothes."

"Hmmm," I said, disapprovingly. Young, model wives were typical of men in Colin's social set, I was sure. I grabbed a white tank top and a pair of blue shorts and wondered if Colin only dated women under twenty-five. I suspected I knew the answer.

I looked to my purse and sighed. My body suddenly felt heavy from all the stress.

"I should check my email. I've probably gotten a hundred messages since landing." I said something about my accountant. God, I was exhausted. But I had to shower because I smelled like sweat and canned airplane and confusion.

Colin frowned and hoisted his bag onto a chair. "It's pretty late, and you were busy in the car, too busy to have a conversation with me. You should sleep after what we just went through. It's past six in Florida, surely your accountant won't be working."

I raised my eyebrows at him. I thought he'd been busy, so I'd buried myself in my phone.

"What's that look for?" he asked.

"I'm not used to arrogant strangers giving me suggestions. I assumed that you, as a global businessperson, would understand the demands on a CEO. And you seemed quite occupied on the ride here, as well. Of course, I understand that business comes first, unlike some people. Or perhaps you thought I was your evening entertainment?"

He stared at me with a flicker of haughtiness, then chuckled. "Evening entertainment. I'm intrigued by what that would entail."

I stayed silent. No way was I picking up what he was putting down. My cheeks flared. Had I crossed the line and offered myself to him? Good God, I was exhausted.

"And did you just call me arrogant, Samantha?"

I smirked and looked at a few more tank tops in the drawer. "I did call you arrogant. Because it's true. I get the distinct impression that you think my business is frivolous. Especially compared to yours."

Colin unzipped his sleek, black suitcase, which reminded me of my own lost luggage.

"I think fashion is frivolous. I don't think your business is frivolous. Big difference."

With a mirthful grin, he walked toward me. My heartbeat rose as he came closer. He held a change of clothes in his hand, and I reached to flip the waistband of the pants in his hand so I could look at the tag. As I suspected. Designer loungewear.

"Then perhaps you know nothing about fashion. But by the looks of your suit and these $200 track pants made out of a cashmere and virgin fleece-wool blend, you do have excellent taste."

"They're not track pants. They're sweatpants. Manly sweatpants."

I rolled my eyes dramatically. "Call them what you want. I know all about the loungewear line because the designer's a friend. And I had the women's version in white. In my stupid, lost suitcase that's on another continent."

Colin studied my face with an amused smile, and I felt a flood of heat, starting in my face, traveling down my neck, across my chest and into points below.

"Well, at least we can agree on one thing." He tossed the pants on the bed.

"What's that?"

We stood at the foot of the bed and stared at each other, the current between us crackling and popping.

"My excellent taste."

"You're a bit insufferable, you know that?" I took a tiny step to the side, closer to the bed.

"I've heard that before." He stepped forward a few inches, and the cocksure smile on his face remained.

I didn't move, because I didn't want to. "I'm sure you have." I was certain he'd heard many platitudes and promises and problems from a lot of women. I wondered who'd picked out his clothes. The way he'd said the word taste reverberated in my mind and made my entire body feel flush.

"So let's get back to that evening entertainment idea. I'd love to hear your thoughts on that," he murmured. His eyes scanned my face and landed on my mouth.

And what was my response? I didn't have one. My eyes grew big, and his eyes became half-lidded and sensual. He grinned and bit his lip. Just as I opened my mouth to suck in air, his phone pinged and his eyes unlocked from mine.

I made a hmph sound and used this break in the tension to escape into the bathroom.

What was I doing, teasing this man? Normally I wasn't a tease. Quite the opposite. I was bone-tired, though. Surely that was the reason for my odd behavior. I needed to clear my head with sleep. My muscles ached, as if I'd worked out.

With a firm twist of my hand, I locked the bathroom door.

The rainfall shower was blissfully hot, and whoever lived here had bought yummy bath products. I slathered Gucci's lily and amber-scented body wash on my skin. I soaped up my arms, my stomach, and my breasts. When I washed between my legs, I felt a frisson of excitement when I noticed how wet I'd become.

Was I that starved for affection and sex? Had Colin's voice and eyes made me that aroused? Apparently so. Maybe I should sleep on the sofa after all.

No, to hell with it. I deserved a good night's rest, too.

After I emerged from the shower, I used some Gucci lotion in a bottle on the vanity. I hadn't bothered washing my hair, since I'd had it styled into big, loose waves and it still looked passable. The stress of the flight slowly ebbed out of my neck muscles, and being clean always boosted my mood.

But when I caught a glimpse of myself in the tank top and shorts in the full-length mirror on the back of the door, I groaned and a kernel of panic appeared in my chest. The clothes were entirely too tight. Perhaps they were for a child? Now, I'm a small person, but this tank top molded to my body and somehow made my normally average-sized chest appear ample. And the shorts were like those god-awful hot pants that many girls in Florida wear with Ugg boots. I lifted my hair in my hands, turned and glanced at my bottom in the mirror.

I look like a middle-aged Hooters waitress, was my grim thought as I let my hair fall to my shoulders. I tugged the shorts down, hoping I wasn't showing much skin.

I heaved a sigh and flung open the door. Then crossed my arms over my chest and walked quickly to the bedroom. Colin was scrolling through his phone and looked up.

"Cute outfit," he said. Was he mocking me? Even if I was sleeping in the same (giant) bed as him, I decided to limit engagement for the rest of the night.

"Whatever," I muttered.

He fought back a smile. "I closed the curtains because of the nighttime sun. They seem to be blackout curtains, like in World War II, so it'll get very dark in here. Is that okay with you?"

"Completely fine. Better," I said, scrambling to dive in between the sheets and under the puffy, white comforter so I could hide my ridiculous sleepwear. What kind of man brought up World War II when a half-naked woman was about to share his bed? What a strange person.

"Goodnight, Colin."

I buried myself into the pillow and under the covers like my King Charles spaniel did back home, so only my nose and eyes were exposed. I also snatched a pillow and arranged it behind me, as if it were a wall—and a message—to Colin.

There would be no nighttime shenanigans.

"Sleep tight, Samantha Pumpkin," Colin said, as he walked out of the room with a black leather toiletry bag.

A few moments later, I heard the shower come on. Then I fell fast asleep.

____