Red Hot Obsessions by Blair Babylon

the darkness, I begin to notice other details. At regular intervals along the walls, for example, I start spotting small, nondescript door handles. Some have even been brushed with pale paint, making them easier to spot among the shadows. I stop at one and give it a wiggle. The door creaks open, revealing the dark room beyond.
    Part of me wants to venture out into the room, but another part feels weird poking around without Calder. I step back into the passage and pull the door closed behind me. I tell myself I should turn around and go back to my bedroom, but something drives me onward. I want to see where this secret corridor leads.
    It’s only a few minutes later that I discover the first set of spy holes.
    At first, I think I'm imagining things, but it's hard to miss the slivers of light that fall across my path. There's a pair of narrow slits in the wall, right at eye level, and they’re too perfectly round to be cracks. I step closer and look through them. On the other side, I can see a long, dimly lit hallway. It appears to be empty.
    Were these passages really just to hide the servants? Geez, I feel like I'm suddenly in the middle of a murder mystery or something. Is someone suddenly going to spring from the shadows and bop me over the head with a candlestick?
    I continue along the passage, but now I'm on the lookout for more spy holes. They're harder to spot when they're looking onto a dark room, but I find a set that offers me a view of an unlit office, then a couple of pairs revealing bedrooms. There's not much to see, really, but still the entire thing feels deliciously wicked. I can only imagine a couple of reasons for why people would want spy holes looking into bedrooms.
    And that's when I find Calder's room.
    His lights are still on, so I spot the holes long before I even hear the hum of the television or his own movements around the room. I know it's wrong, but I can't resist taking a peek. My heart thumps in my ears as I press my hands against the wall and bring my eyes to the small openings in the paneling.
    I'm struck immediately by the sleek modernity of his room. The walls are a pale steely blue, the furniture sleek and black. The flat screen television mounted on the far wall is flashing the local news.
    Calder moves across the room, a towel around his waist.
    Damn.
    His dark hair is wet, and it curls deliciously against his neck. I try not to ogle his bare chest, but it's hard to ignore. He's pure muscle, from his broad shoulders to his chiseled waist. I've seen pictures in the tabloids, of course, but a grainy photograph is nothing compared to Calder in the flesh.
    And just a couple of hours ago, he hinted he wanted to take you to bed , I remind myself. I could be in there with him right now, if I wanted, with my fingers running across those smooth muscles. I could—
    I jerk back from the spy holes. What am I even thinking? I hate this guy. Okay, so he’s moderately attractive. I've already acknowledged that to myself. But I made the right decision. I don't regret turning him down.
    Still, I can't keep myself from moving my eyes to the spy holes again, nor can I ignore the heat that rushes up my neck.
    He's a selfish bastard, I remind myself.
    He turns, and I have a clear view of his perfectly sculpted back.
    Damn . I'm in trouble.
    He wanders over to a cabinet at the side of the room and pulls out a bottle of amber liquid. I watch his every movement, breathless, as he pours himself a glass. He takes it down in one swig and slams the glass down against the table. Then he lets out a long sigh and runs his hand through his hair. My own fingers tingle as I imagine wrapping them around those dark, wet strands, then sliding down his—
    NO . What the hell am I doing? I have more self-control than this.
    But I’m drawn back to the spy holes like a magnet. Try as I might to deny it, I can no longer lie to myself: Calder is an extremely attractive man, asshole or not.
    Not just attractive , I think as I