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He levered up to study her. “Maybe sex dimmed your vision and I’m still wearing it.”
She just smiled. “Nope. Naked. I got you naked. It was my idea, and I want full credit.”
“It was more of a concept than an idea, and I got you naked first. But then, I didn’t have a lot to deal with, since you were wearing those really tiny shorts.”
“I was going to sand and paint this little bench after I dropped off the cookies, so… Oh shit! I have to text my ladies. I said I’d be right back.”
“Your ladies.”
“Mom and Gram. My phone’s in the car. I really meant to just put the cookies on the porch. Then there was a turret and the dog and the sex. I need my phone.”
“You’re naked,” he reminded her. “We’re pretty private here, but you might not want to go out to your car naked.”
“I’ll get dressed first.”
“Okay.” He lowered his head, pressed his lips to the side of her neck. “You could do that.”
“I will.” She closed her eyes, went back to drifting. “In just a minute.”
“Okay,” he said again, moved to her jaw.
“No. Wait. Damn it. I don’t want them to worry.”
When he shifted, she wiggled out from under him and started to grab up her clothes. “Is it better if I make something up—not lie, that’s not it. I can just say you gave me a tour of the house if that’s better.”
“Better for what?”
“If you don’t want them—people—to know we had sex on your couch. It’s fine if you don’t.”
“You think too much.”
“I do.” She pulled on her clothes while he watched. “I can’t stop. I had to fake meditate when I went to yoga with my ladies. But I bet everybody else is faking, too.”
“Way too much. Get your phone, tell your ladies you’ll be awhile.”
“I’ll be awhile?”
“You owe me dinner. We’ll figure that out after I get those tiny shorts off you again. As for the rest? Why the hell would I care if people know we’re involved? And more immediate, when you do get back home, you’re going to look like a woman who’s had sex, and odds are your ladies will clue in.”
He’d said “involved,” she realized. Not sex on the couch, or not only.
“Stop thinking,” he advised, and reached for his boxers. “Go get your phone. I vote we take this up to the bedroom.”
“I’d like to see your bedroom.”
“Great. We’ll do that.”
“I’ll get my phone. I said boxers,” she reminded him. “Howl’s only pretending to be asleep,” she added as she dashed for the door.
Miles glanced over to where the dog curled in front of the fireplace, one eye open.
“Mind your own business.”
Chapter Eighteen
His bedroom lived up to the rest of the house she’d seen, or so she judged after she actually had the opportunity to really look at it.
And really looking at it from the middle of the glorious four-poster only added to it. An elegant marble fireplace, French doors leading out to a terrace, a cozy sitting area, local art displayed on walls of rich, deep blue set a tone of relaxed indulgence.
