(Ridge)
By the time Mira was dried off, dressed, and back in bed, I’d almost convinced myself I could stay there the rest of the afternoon.
She was propped against the pillows with damp hair over one shoulder and one of my shirts hanging loose on her frame. The sight of her like that could make a man forget most things worth remembering. For a few minutes, I let myself be that man.
“You’re staring again,” she said.
“You’re in my bed.”
“Our bed.”
“Still staring.”
That earned me the smile I wanted. She shifted higher against the pillows and patted the space beside her like I was a dog being called back into place. I considered listening.
“Come here,” she said.
“Dangerous tone.”
“It’s an invitation.”
“It sounded like an order.”
“You like those.”
I did.
I crossed the room and sat
