fires man-sized, not like those little piddly things she lit.
By the time he had the fire roaring, his ice cream was nearly melted, but he settled himself on her sofa, the afghan over it warming his bare back, and sighed with something that dangerously approached contentment. It was cozy down here.
But difficult as hell not to think about her when it was all her little touches that made this room so much nicer than the one directly above it.
The truth was he couldn’t believe Holly Lamb had told him she’d think about allowing him to escort her to the Coltons’ dance. That was almost a no.
From her. Miss Mousey.
What had he expected? The truth? He’d expected her to fall all over herself saying yes, because that’s what women, in his experience, did.
Women with a hell of a lot more on the go than her. Looks. Sophistication. Polish. Great bodies.
He did not look at this assessment in the light of being conceited, it was just his experience of reality. He asked women out, they said yes. Women liked him. Beautiful women liked him. It had driven his roommates in college crazy, before they’d begun to twist it to their advantage.
“Invite Fallon along. He’s a babe magnet. Great leftovers.”
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