“Come help me unpack,” Bradley says, like I have nothing better to do. He sits on the stool at my breakfast bar sipping coffee, and from where I stand across from him, he looks naked—bare arms and chest, one knee just peeking over the top of the bar. I have to keep this counter between us because his hands have a way of finding mine and pulling me to him. He’s strong and quick, I’ll give him that. And sexy and cute and staring at me with those incredible eyes, and when he sighs my name, I want to curl up in those muscled arms and give him whatever he wants.
But I have that room upstairs I need to paint—the wallpaper is finally down, that marbled sponge look John favored with the ivy trim along the ceiling, all that’s in the trash cans now, waiting for the next pick-up—and it’s going to ta
