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I scooted into bed, feeling the cool sheets against my skin as I caught Vince’s cologne faintly on the pillows.
When he came back into the bedroom, the dogs were following him like the Pied Piper.
He gave a huge smile when he saw me. “You look great in my bed,” he said. “Sure you can’t be persuaded to let me join you?”
“Quite sure,” I said primly. “We’re not married.”
His face was a picture as a shocked range of emotions charged across, and then he relaxed when I laughed.
“Blimey! You had me going there for a minute, Gracie. I saw me life flash before me eyes!” and he pretended to check his heartrate.
“Hmm, dodged a bullet there,” I teased. “But it’s a good thing my dad doesn’t know I’m here in your bed or he’d hunt you down, him being from Minnesota and all.”
“I hope you’re pulling my leg,” he said, “because if your dad is anything like you, he’d be well scary.”
“If you hear someone banging down your door at dawn, and he’s wearing camos and carrying a deer rifle, better run for the back door,” I said with a yawn.
Still smiling, Vince shook his head then tucked the dogs into bed, with a kiss and a quiet word for each of them as he pulled their little dog blankets over them, carefully tucking in the corners.
“All done,” he said. “Now be good for Mummy Gracie—Daddy Vin is right next door.” Then he stood up and stretched his back, looking at me longingly. “Night, Gracie. Sleep well.”
“Night, Vince.”
Sighing, he left the room, leaving the door ajar in case the dogs wanted to go walkabout.
I could hear him in the living room making up a bed on the sofa, the creaks of the furniture as he got himself comfortable, and then silence.
I listened for a few minutes but all I could hear were the dogs snuffling, Tyson already letting out rumbling snores. Not long after that, I drifted asleep with a smile on my face.
I woke with a warm, wet tongue in my ear.
“Gerroff, Vincent!” I mumbled, but when I cracked an eye, it was Tyson looking up at me with a sloppy smile. “Oh, my mistake,” I yawned. “What time is it?”
“Time for coffee!” a voice yelled from the kitchen.
Ooh, what a good idea. I shuffled to the bathroom, splashed some water on my face then groaned when I glanced in the mirror, grumbled a bit, ran Vince’s brush through my hair, then borrowed his enormous fluffy robe that reached to my ankles.
I trudged into the kitchen, still only half awake but with the happy knowledge that I didn’t have to work today. And then I saw Vince. His feet were bare, his chest was bare, and only his long legs were covered in a pair of ill-fitting jeans, at least four inches too short.
As my eyes traveled greedily across the colorful tattoo on his upper right arm, the line of black ink peeking out of his waistband, the ridges and valleys of his abdominal muscles, and his firm pecs, my face grew hot. At 6’4” that was a lot of half-naked man making me coffee, and now I was wide awake.
“Hot?” he asked.
“Excuse me!” I squeaked.
He turned and grinned. “Do you like your coffee hot or with a drop of cold water?”
“Oh. Ah, hot, please.”
He winked. “Some like it hot—coming right up.”
I climbed onto the high stool at his breakfast bar and swung my feet, feeling light and carefree while Vince puttered around the kitchen.
“Nice jeans,” I commented sarcastically, sipping my piping hot brew.
Vince pulled a face. “Best I could buy after I lost my trousers last night.”
I spluttered, dribbling coffee down my chin. “You lost your pants last night? Seriously? How on earth did that happen? Or maybe I shouldn’t ask.”
“Well, me and Rick were on stage doing our strip show and…”
I choked again. “What?! You did what? Oh, God, you had Rick stripping on stage?”
Vince leaned forward confidentially. “Don’t tell Cady, but he wasn’t very good.”
I laughed suddenly, snorting coffee, and coughed so hard I nearly lost a lung. The dogs were barking and Vince thumped me on the back with too much strength, making me face-plant on the breakfast bar. Tears were streaming down my face and I rubbed my sore nose.
“Oh, fookin’ hell! I’m really sorry!” Vince yelped, trying to dry my face with a dish towel as if I was a five year-old.
“Stop! Stop! Don’t help