She lay in Leo Rankin’s arms, her cheek pressed against his warm chest while he slept quietly, without snoring—a wonderful thing, she reflected. So, this was the dreaded morning after. As she’d told Leo at the outset, she didn’t do one-night stands—far too smart, she’d always supposed. The men she’d slept with were, for better or worse, men with whom she was in long-term relationships. The fact that they’d proved to be jerks for the most part had nothing to do with it. She eyed Leo from a distance of mere inches. Was he another jerk? She didn’t think so, and, anyway, it didn’t matter. This wasn’t a relationship, long-term or otherwise. That was the beauty of it, right? They’d saved one another from being alone on Valentine’s Day. Period. And had an astounding, magical time into the bargain. Gerri resisted the temptation to brush her fingers down his cheek, now downy with brown stubble. None of that, my girl, she told herself sternly. Tender impulses had no part in this.
