If someone had told him that could happen, Mitch would have moved her into a hotel. Last night she’d made it clear she wasn’t ready for much other than a warm bed without him in it. Accidentally scaring her at the bottom of the stairs probably had something to do with that. The way his T-shirt fell to the top of her thighs. He could see everything—everything—she hid under there. No underwear. Just a shadow and bare skin and a hint of blond hair. Man, he’d replayed that part of the scene in his head about a million times during the day, only in his version she skipped slipping on the shirt before coming downstairs to him. He didn’t know if she realized the show she’d given him, but he wouldn’t soon forget it. And those lean legs, so perfect he’d lost the power of speech. It had taken every ounce of will to keep from running his fingers up her thighs and welcoming her to his house the way he burned to do. Despite the sleepless night and cold shower, he went to work and kept his roommate news quiet, which meant ducking Spence and his questions all day.
