Amusement glimmered in her eyes. “He’s a good model for you.”
A band constricted about his lungs, but he forced himself to breathe. “You proposing to me, Hols?”
“Tonight? No, but I do have a proposal for you.” Her hand curved about his waist, she lifted her face to brush her lips against his. “I thought I might stay over.”
“Really.” He bumped his nose against hers, and she smiled. “Like a slumber party.”
She landed a light pinch above his belt. “Now you’re getting the idea.”
He lifted his head, trailing a finger along her spine. “I mean, there is a second bedroom.”
That bright grin lit her face, fizzing joy through him like a bottled Coke bubbling up around perfect salted peanuts. “Or the couch.”
“There you go.” One corner of his mouth hitched up. “I have an extra quilt you can borrow.”
A gleam of something, challenge maybe, in her blue eyes, she whispered her lips over his. “The dogs and I will meet you at home.”
“See you there.” He popped the left cheek of her ass and strode to his truck, waiting for her to back out of the drive before following, eying her taillights ahead of him. She was so damned impulsive, still wearing her scrubs and planning to spend the night at his place. The disinfectant smell always prickled his nose, not in a bad way because he associated the sharp scent with her, but a shudder worked over him at the idea of putting those scrubs back on the next morning.
Hell, he could loan her a t-shirt to sleep in.
At the cabin, she opened the rear door to let the dogs out once he’d put the Ford in park. Ralph raced circles around his feet like the maniac he was, like they’d been parted for years.
Colt bent to scratch his ears. “What is wrong with you?”
“It’s the Jack Russell in him.” Polo followed Holly up the steps at a more sedate pace. “He’s excitable.”
“No kidding.” He crouched to corral his incorrigible canine and clean his paws while she punched in the lock code. He gave Polo’s paws a swipe for good measure.
“I need to shower.” She dropped her bag on the same chair as always and stepped out of her rubber clogs. “Want to join me?”
“The word is slow, Holly.”
Stripping off her navy scrub top she wore with a snug long-sleeved white tee underneath, she slanted a pointed glance at the couch. Yeah, yeah, he’d made her come twice last night, but that was different.
With a roll of those gorgeous eyes, she sauntered toward his room,notthe guest room. “I’m borrowing your washer-dryer, too. And one of your shirts.”
“Help yourself.” If she thought he was giving in, even with that sweet strip of skin showing as she pulled her tee up to strip it off, too, she had another think coming. He wasn’t impulsive, not anymore.
Guess he’d use the guest room shower.
The shower in his bathroom already ran while he grabbed clothes. The door stood open so he heard her rustling around with the washer. So she was naked in there . . . okay, he was tempted, but nope.
Giving into temptation never ended well.
Joggers and a T-shirt in a tight grip, he made a hasty retreat for the other shower. He didn’t bother trying a cold shower — they’d end up all wrapped together and him hot and bothered at some point anyway, so why torment himself?
When he emerged, Polo and Ralph snoozed in a tight huddle on the rug in front of the fireplace. In his bathroom, the glass shower door clanged with its characteristic thud, and he moved her bag to flop into the recliner. Plastic clattered on the marble vanity, and moments later his closet door opened with the quiet creak of a hinge.
Okay, having someone else in his space was weird. Andy laughed at him for being a hermit, called him Thoreau, but until he was here, listening to her moving about his room, Colt hadn’t recognized how true the jokes might be. He liked having her around, but he was not used to this.
Plus, he remained on edge since they hadn’t talked about her lunch with Barlow yet.
Although, with her naked in his room and planning to spend the night, things sure didn’t feel like he was about to get dumped.
“I’m making a cup of coffee. Want one?” Wearing his best white shirt, partially buttoned and the sleeves cuffed, she strolled through to the kitchen, toned muscles flexing in her calves and her thighs not covered by fine cotton. And if the washer was running, his shirt wasallshe wore.
Holy . . . he wanted something for sure.
