She didn’t even have a window covering, and the thought of the perverts being able to see into her bedroom made his blood simmer. “You have a better view at your place,” she said from behind. He turned, opening his arms automatically. She hesitated for a moment, giving him time to wonder just why she was so man-shy. She exhibited all the classic signs of woman who’d been hurt—the wavery smile, the cold detachment—at least when he wasn’t making her scream with release. As soon as he tried to get to know her, she’d crawled out of bed, wrapping her nudeness in the sheet, and disappeared into the bathroom. He hadn’t known her long, but it was obvious Hanna was a tender heart, and whatever had happened to her had erected a fortress around her. He glanced over her body. She was dressed in simple black leggings and an oversized T-shirt. His T-shirt. His heart rolled. “That’s the best my shirt’s ever looked.” Unable to hold back another minute, he yanked her into his arms, and she didn’t even do that stiffening thing.
