Page 66 of Make Her Mine

And I immediately shut down the running list of things I would be very happy to have her do for me. To me.

I’m actually shocked by how quickly that list forms.

She pulls one leg up, her knee bending as she settles more deeply into my sofa cushions, and I catch a flash of bright blue panties.

I like the color blue.

I like bright blue panties.

I like spicy popcorn.

I like sparring with Harlow.

I like sassy, smart-mouthed brunettes who bend over backwards to make other people happy.

I like the idea of being someone who can make that sassy brunette happy in that same way.

“This is nice,” she says softly.

I glance over. Her eyes are on the TV, but I heard her. I know she was talking to me. About all of this.

I nod. “It is.”

She smiles and lets out a deep, contented sigh.

Fuck.

I might be in really big trouble.

CHAPTER 14

HARLOW

I wake slowly, and happily, the next morning the way you do when you know you slept deeply and that you don’t have to get up and rush around.

The sun is streaming in through the window, I’m the perfect temperature, the pillow is the perfect softness, the room smells good. Then I roll over, look at the clock, and, right after realizing I slept until eight-thirty—which is unheard of—I realize that is not my clock.

I look down and realize this is not my duvet.

I look at the ceiling. Nope. That’s not mine either.

But I know whose it is.

It all comes flooding back.

As does the realization that this isn’t the guest room.

I’m not really surprised to find that I slept well at Jefferson’s.

I am very surprised to find that I slept well in Jefferson’s bed, though.

I roll to my back, clutch the duvet—which is really, really comfortable—to my chest and think.

I do not remember coming up to bed.

I don’t remember the end of the movie.

I lift the duvet and find I’m still in Jefferson’s t-shirt and my panties and I do remember putting those on.

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