That boy can kiss. That one thought kept barging in to Sophie’s thoughts, no matter how much she tried to focus on anything other than that kiss. It wasn’t like unpacking boxes was much of a mental activity to begin with, but unwrapping knickknacks and putting books on shelves and dishes in cupboards weren’t exactly distracting. Washing, drying, and folding dozens of sheets and towels was even worse for allowing mental wanderings. She could try to work on some paperwork, maybe pay some bills, but that wasn’t a project she wanted to do when there was so little a chance she’d actually concentrate on it and not make a complete muck of the bookkeeping. She went to go hang shower curtains in the bathrooms instead. It was almost embarrassing, the way she’d come this close to ripping Quinn’s clothes off and climbing him like a tree. And while she could make excuses for herself, the truth was—only admitted privately here to the tiles of the bathroom of room three—that she wanted Quinn.
