“I’m sure they appreciate not having to do their own filing.”
“The envelope-stuffing is worse,” Keith said. It sounded like he knew what he was talking about, an impression he immediately confirmed: “They had me do that when I was a kid. My tongue always got dry.”
“Oh, mine too.”
“You know they actually make envelopes with peel-and-stick adhesive? Lick-free?”
Iris stared at him. “You’re joking.”
“Cross my heart.” There was something wistful about his smile. “If you marry me, you’ll never have to lick an envelope again.”
Did he really think that he had to talk her into accepting him? Thatsheneeded time to decide if he was good enough forher?
Before she could figure out how to explain how wildly off-base that was, Keith quickly said, “I’ll just go get changed,” hoisted up his overnight bag, and disappeared into the bathroom.
Iris didn’t know what to do, so in the best tradition of unicorns, she cleaned. She was wiping down the already-spotless table when she noticed Bozo giving her what was—for a clownfish—a pretty pointed look.
Why,he probably wanted to know,can’t you open up to my new favorite person?
He’s my new favorite person too,Iris protested.And that’s exactly why I need to be careful with how I handle this.
A wave of judgment rolled out from the tank.
Iris glared back.I promised I wouldn’t listen to you,you cannibal.
Fortunately for her sanity, Keith came back in.
Then she saw what he was wearing, and sanity took a rain check.
It had been hard enough to resist him when he’d been a near-stranger in a tailored suit, hard and handsome and gorgeous, with every hair in place. It was going to be impossible now that he wasKeith, who’d kissed her hand and admired her fish, dressed in a buttery-soft T-shirt with a ratty hem and hunter green plaid pajama bottoms that were just the tiniest bit short, revealing his pale ankles. The T-shirt showed off his arms, which boasted lean muscles that suggested it would be as easy as pie for him to hold her with her legs wrapped around his waist. His dark blond hair was just the tiniest bit mussed.
He looked comfortable and sweet and familiar anddrop-dead sexy. It took her breath away—and not even in a way that felt sweepingly romantic. It was more like desire was a blunt object that had crashed into her stomach and knocked the wind out of her.
She had to wet her lips before she could say anything. “Let me just change the sheets, and then you can have the bedroom. I’ll sleep on the sofa.”
“What? No way. I’m not kicking you out of your room, Iris.”
It was good to know that even when she was struggling with almost debilitating arousal, she could still roll her eyes.
“You aren’t kicking me out. I’m the host, and you’re the guest. Everyone knows that the guest’s needs come first, and I don’t have a guest room.” She played what she figured would be her trump card: “What would your etiquette expert of a teammate say?”
“She’d agree with me,” Keith said without hesitation. “She’d never let anyone give up their bed for her either.”
“But wouldn’t she want to give uphersif she were the host?”
“Sure.”
There was a distant tingling around Iris’s mouth, where her nervous system still registered the impulse to smile even though she couldn’t manage it.
“So in this scenario,” she said, “the proper etiquette is for each person to insist that the other one takes the bed.”
“Exactly.”
“And how long does this go on?”
His smile made him look distinctly boyish, and Iris’s stomach muscles tightened with barely suppressed longing.
“Until the heat death of the universe,” Keith said, “or until we fall asleep on our feet. Whichever comes first. It’s probably easier if you just let me take the sofa.”
