Ouch. Maybe he’d shut up until she realized he’d kind of kidnapped her. They spent the next fifteen minutes being quiet, and then her head spun back around. “Where are we?”

“My house.”

“I don’t see the Hilton.”

Her acerbic wit cut right into him. “I thought you could crash here tonight in the guest room. Hang out with me for a bit. My place is so much better than a hotel.”

“Do you have a concierge, cook, and maid service? Spa tub, steam shower, and private balcony?”

“No.”

“Your brothers live here with you, too, right?”

He gave a sigh. “Yeah, but we never see each other. We have eight guest rooms.”

She seemed to struggle with her decision. Damn, she looked tired, but as usual, her stubbornness won. “Better pass. I’ll be fine.”

He could argue and try to make her stay. Hell, he craved a good fight with her and hoped the experience led to making up in bed. He imagined Morgan naked and writhing beneath him while he punished her for tormenting him. But tonight she needed something he doubted she saw too much of. Gentleness.

He reached out slowly and cupped her jaw. Running a thumb over her bitten lip, he watched her pupils dilate with surprise and something much more interesting. Something he knew he needed to explore further. “I’m not trying to be an asshole. I know you’ll be fine. But you had a hell of a night, and I don’t want you to be alone. I’m asking for me, Morgan. I won’t touch you. You can get a good night’s sleep, and I promise to make you a great breakfast in the morning. Deal?”

She studied him for a while with those baby blues. Caleb ached to bend his head and finally taste her, but it wasn’t the time or the place. “What if people talk?”

He grinned. “Princess, no one’s gonna talk. I promise you, I’ll take care of it.”

She considered. Cal knew if she insisted on going back to the hotel, he’d obey and just sleep outside her door. Finally she nodded. “I guess. Okay. I like French toast.”

“Cut out the French part and replace it with butter. Then I got you covered.”

She grinned. He led her inside, keeping the door half-shut to block the brigade about to run her down. “Remember not to panic. They’re all bark and no bite.” Then he stepped inside.

The joyous howl hit his ear right before two strong bodies were upon him. He tried desperately to stave off the disaster. “Gandalf, Balin, down! Down!”

Their paws skidded on the slick floors inches before him, but it was too late. They slid full force, and he jerked back with a hmmph. The dogs took that for approval, and then it was a free-for-all, with lashing tongues and eager head butts. He repeated the “Down!” command a few more times until finally they both managed to get off him.

Damn. They’d already flunked out of obedience school. Should he try again?

Morgan peeked around the doorframe. “Is it safe?”

He grabbed on to their collars. “Never, but come on in.”

She walked over to them with such tentative curiosity, he knew she’d never been around animals. She stuck out both hands in an awkward greeting. Balin and Gandalf recognized her scent and tried to bolt toward her. Caleb hung on for dear life. “Just pet their heads or something. They’re dying to say hello.”

She smiled and rubbed their ears, murmuring softly. They calmed down at her touch, and he was able to let go. Her face gentled, and a glowing warmth seemed to emanate from her as she wrapped herself in their canine presence. “They’re so sweet,” she said. Balin bumped her nose and gave her a hearty lick. Was that a giggle, or had he heard incorrectly? “Are they always so loving?”

“Yeah, they pretty much live for affection. My father hated dogs, but once I found these two goofballs I knew they were meant for me. Christian never admitted it, but I think they even ended up charming him. I caught him once with Balin’s head in his lap. Let me take them outside first, and then I’ll show you where you can sleep tonight.”

He kept the potty visit short and refused to let Gandalf investigate a crackle in the woods. His obsession with squirrels was a definite problem. Finally, Cal took her upstairs.

He decided to give her the gold room. It seemed to fit her, with its warm tapestries balanced with earthy creams. A bit vintage, with an antique brass bed, French spindled furniture, and delicate lace curtains. The matching master bath held a claw-foot tub plus a steam shower. He pointed to the dresser. “There’s a mishmash of clothes in there. I’m sure you can find a T-shirt in your size.” He motioned toward the bath. “Its fully stocked with anything you need. We keep a few rooms ready for guests.”

“This is amazing,” she said, her gaze sweeping over the room. “Who designed this house?”

“My mom,” he clipped out. “She had good taste. I’ll be down in the kitchen for a while if you need anything.”

“Thanks, Caleb.”

Their gazes met and locked. His chest tightened, so he cleared his throat and broke contact. “Welcome.”

Caleb left her alone, retreated to the kitchen, and refilled the dogs’ water bowls. What was her real story? The more time he spent with her, the more he wanted to know. There seemed to be a richness behind her facade that he craved to explore, from her cool control, to her hot temper, to her gentle heart. She’d befriended Sydney. Loved his dogs. Held the respect and affection of his brothers and crew. Yet, she had no real home of her own. No lover. No long-term friends. Why? Did she hold secrets or a dark past? Or was she simply career-driven and enjoyed having no ties? Either way, he respected and admired her.