In Mcgillivray's Bed

There was something in her voice—sarcasm?—that made him narrow his gaze. She smiled at him.

He scowled at her. “I don’t want you getting any ideas.”

“Ideas?” By God, she looked as if butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth. “About what?”

“About us,” he bit out.

“Us?” Her eyes grew like saucers.

“Yes, us. You and me.” He spelled it out. “On account of what happened before. In there.” He jerked his head toward the bathroom.

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