She turned her head to find Emilio’s side of the bed empty, if he had a side. She much preferred the way he held her, fit himself to her back so perfectly, like the bed was actually too big. She closed her eyes for just a moment, imagining him there anyway. She smelled his scent on the sheets but, more importantly— coffee. Stifling a groan, she dragged herself out of bed and gathered her clothes. Her cell phone showed half a dozen messages last night and even a few voicemails. All from Clint, so who gave a shit, really? He’d caused her enough problems last night. Ava wiggled into her panties and T-shirt and set off down the hall toward salvation. Whether that was the coffee Emilio was making or Emilio himself, she wasn’t quite sure. But she was here now and she didn’t want to be anywhere else. In fact, she was perfectly fine pretending nothing (and no one) else existed. She turned the corner to find him in the kitchen, looking as hot as ever in a pair of jeans but no shirt or shoes.
