Page 47 of Never the Same

I nearly choked while guzzling the beer when I spotted Hollis on approach, walking cautiously into the kitchen. I slowly set down the bottle and braced myself on the counter, worried I was hallucinating. Though that’d be preferable to her physically being in front of me.

“What are you . . . ?” I couldn’t finish my line of thought, because she’d stolen my damn breath.

Her cheeks were flushed, hair still in that sexy braid thing, and she was wearing one of my old army T-shirts that barely skimmed her mid-thighs. Hopefully, she had shorts under it. And a bra.

Ranger flopped down on her bare feet, tail thumping like he expected a treat. Or forgiveness for letting her dig through my dresser without warning me first.

“I was in the mood for pajamas after my shower.” She rolled her shoulders back, casually shrugging. “Unfortunately, all I had to sleep in were things that’d be inappropriate to wear to dinner.”

My hand slid to the edge of the counter’s overhang to get a grip, and fast.

“Hope you don’t mind.” She didn’t give me a chance to address her wearing my shirt as a nightgown. She glanced at the stove, then back at me. “Italiano?”

“Me? Or the food?”

She smiled. “Both?”

I let go of the counter and dragged a hand down my face as if I could literally scrub away the visual of her standing in my kitchen like this. “Yes and yes,” I finally answered while emptying a box of ziti into the boiling water. “Sort of. The food is an Americanized version of Italian. And I guess you could say so am I. Third gen. Barely qualify anymore.”

“Mm.” She hovered just behind me as I set down the spoon. “Well, I learned I’m a mutt. There’s a lot going on in this package.”

And that package is perfect. Too damn perfect, which was why I needed to keep my back to her.

I jolted at the feel of her hand coming down to rest on my shoulder, but I didn’t dare turn around.

I squeezed my eyes closed, inhaling her scent. She must’ve sprayed herself with that Baccarat Rouge 540 perfume, the one I’d found in her hotel bathroom in Rome.

I sucked in another deep breath, the pasta sauce battling with the sexy fragrance. The perfume was a clear-cut winner. Now I’d never want to wash that shirt.

“I don’t think anyone’s ever worn my clothes before,” I said under my breath—and shit, that thought was supposed to remain in my head.

“Oh.” That sound had my eyes opening, and I stupidly turned to face her because I had to know if her mouth was still rounded into the same shape of that sound.

There was no shape or sound, just green eyes sharp on me that were capable of ripping me apart, and I wouldn’t know how to put myself back together again after she had her way with me.

“Want me to take it off?”

“Funny,” I grunted.

“I didn’t mean in here.” She came over and stirred the pasta. It took all my restraint not to stand behind her, trail my hands up her silhouette, and nuzzle my face at the side of her neck.

“No, it’s fine. Wear it.” I had to find a way to survive my time with her, knowing damn well this was the tip of the iceberg of things that’d get under my skin.

If I could do things I hated on the regular, like jump from planes and talk to people, then I could get through this woman being here.

“So, you’ve never had a girlfriend wear your stuff? Never borrowed a hoodie from you?” Spoon down, she turned around, and there wasn’t enough space between us for me to think clearly. “Jason?” she prompted when I ignored a question I had no intention of answering. “I’m sorry I keep accidentally calling you that. Feels like second nature. I don’t even know why you don’t prefer it but—”

“It’s my father’s name. I’m technically a junior.” My jaw locked tight at the fact I’d just shared that with her. She’d asked me about my name before, and I’d brushed her off and changed the subject. Why on earth I hadn’t done that now was beyond me.

“Oh.” There it was again, and this time, I managed to catch the O shape of her mouth hanging around for a second. “Would you like to talk about—”

“No,” I snapped, and she gave me a small nod of surrender.

“How about I set the table?” she offered.

I nodded, still stuck in my head and not up for chitchat, especially while she was in my shirt and my father’s name lingered in the air.

She went to work, softly humming along with the music while opening each of my cabinets in search of dishes.