Darius Bravo after all these years—and have his sisters walk in on them.
Whatever the sudden irrational affliction that had her frozen in place unable to cover herself, it wasn’t contagious. Because Darius had no such problem.
He was a blur of purposeful movement.
First, he scooped her bra and shirt up off the floor. Tossing the shirt across his shoulder, he dealt with the bra, sliding the straps up her arms, reaching around behind her and hooking it up on the first try.
“Come on, now...” He spoke to her so gently, without a hint of annoyance or impatience.
She blinked again. He held her shirt ready. Numbly, she stuck her hands in the armholes, and he eased it over her head and smoothed it down into place.
What do you know? She was fully dressed again.
She heard the front door open. “Ava!” Chloe called from the foyer.
Darius bent close. His lips touched hers, so soft, tasting of peppermint. “You’ve got my number in your phone. Call me.” He breathed the words against her mouth, and then off he went.
Still leaning weakly against the kitchen wall, Ava watched him vanish down the short hall that led to the utility room and the four-car garage.
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