Only in My Dreams by Darcy Burke

Author:Darcy Burke
Language: eng
Format: epub, pdf
Publisher: HarperCollins

Chapter Thirteen

SARA TRIED TO sound nonchalant, but holy crap, what had she just done? She’d never behaved like that in her life. She didn’t even know she could behave like that. Every educated part of her brain told her she should feel embarrassed, ashamed, but she couldn’t find the emotions. All she felt was satisfied. To her very soul.

Dylan stood up from the bench. He was so amazingly gorgeous, especially wet. He looked like a magazine ad with ridiculous abs and the perfect ass, which she checked out completely.

“Why don’t you clean up while I get the towels?” He moved past her and stepped out of the shower.

And such a gentleman. Especially after the way she’d just barged into his home and dragged him into the shower. Not that he’d been unwilling.

She washed her hair and body. Dylan had hung a fluffy beige towel on a hook outside the shower. There was no door, just an opening. She figured out how to turn off the water, then wrapped herself in the cozy towel. She was warm and safe. Happy, even.

Which she’d been a million miles from an hour ago. She hadn’t come here with seduction on her mind. She’d come here because she’d been upset, and she couldn’t think of anywhere else to go. Her condo was too far away, and Dylan’s house was much closer. Plus he was in it.

She stepped out of the shower and toweled dry. Then she caught sight of his robe, which he’d cleaned up as promised. As soon as her foot left the bath mat, she sighed in delight as heat from the tile floor caressed her foot. With a contented sigh, she donned his robe and deposited her towel in a hamper in the corner. Inspection of his counter revealed a comb, which she used to untangle her hair. The mirror reflected a face flushed with the heat of a shower—and great sex—as well as a sultry little smile that surely didn’t belong to her.

Who was this woman?

Dylan, dressed in athletic shorts and a T-shirt, peeked his head in the doorway. “Can I get you something to drink?”

“Wine?”

He smiled. “You got it. Make yourself at home.”

He turned from the doorway and she followed him out into his bedroom. He left and went downstairs, but she remained and studied the room. The house was old, probably built in the twenties or thirties; however, the bathroom was straight off of HGTV with its state-of-the-art shower, gorgeous stone and tile work, and heated floor.

And his bedroom was just as luxurious. A king-sized bed with a massive headboard of what looked like repurposed wood. The bedding—shades of gray and blue—was lush and inviting, though it was haphazardly made, which caused her to smile.

There was enough space for a small seating area on the other side of the room, but it looked as though he hadn’t bothered to finish decorating. She was surprised he’d done this much. Most guys would probably throw a Seahawks blanket over the bed and call it good.

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