He needed the sleep. But his body got its wires crossed, and he ended up at the guesthouse instead.Grace answered his knock with a sleep-flushed face and crazy hair, wearing a little tank top and boxers—emphasis on little.Cute.Hot.“Anderson?” she asked, brow furrowed, eyes concerned.He didn’t want to talk about Anderson. He wanted Grace naked and screaming his name. But if there was a way to say that without sounding like a complete asshole, he didn’t have the brain capacity to find the words. “He’s got a hell of a headache and sore ribs, but he’s going to be okay.”“That’s what Facebook said too,” she said. “Are you okay? You must be dead on your feet. Come on, come in and take a load off. My bed’s warm.”He raised his head and looked into her sweet baby blues. “Anyone here?”“No.”“Anyone due to be here?”“No.”“Are you planning on starting a fire with the heater and toaster? Is anyone going to call you and need you to count their money?”“No.”
