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“I’m afraid that’s not the way I see it.”
Excitement bubbled inside of her; she covered it with a stern look. “The house has one bedroom.”
“And a sofa,” he said with a shrug. “I’m not fussy.”
“You’re not serious?”
“At least until we ascertain I don’t have a concussion,” he pointed out, raising a hint of guilt inside Mila. That was an excellent point.
“I have no intention of rolling out the red carpet to a complete stranger.”
His laugh was thick and hoarse and filled up way too much of the space. “You have a long way to go before I could describe you as that welcoming,” he said with a shake of his head. “I’d settle for a coffee and something to eat.”
Her lips parted. “How about I show you to the kitchen and we can call it even.”
“Deal.”
Too late, she realized the trap he’d set so effortlessly, haggling over the small details to gain a much larger acceptance. Somehow, she’d tacitly agreed that he should spend the night, and she couldn’t muster more than the appearance of outrage about it.
