Flynn admired the smooth expanse of Pru’s bare back as she plucked her shirt—or what was left of it—off the lampshade. “I’ll buy you a new shirt.”
She bent to pick up the scraps of her panties. “Mmhmm. And these?”
“What if I prefer you without them?”
Her arch look was entirely ruined by the color that leapt into her cheeks. “Well, as I can’t very well wear any of this downstairs, you’re donating a shirt to the cause.” She bent to grab one out of the drawer. One he’d found neatly folded and put away earlier in the week because she’d tossed his laundry in with theirs. The shirt dwarfed her, hanging down to mid-thigh. She wasn’t the first woman he’d ever seen in one of his shirts, but she was the only one who’d made him salivate and stir at the sight.
Pru pointed a finger at him. “No.”
