Men of Courage. Jill Shalvis

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СКАЧАТЬ to say you and shook her head. “I just like staying in shape and knowing I can take care of myself. I’m single, remember?”

      Ethan’s face turned red and he strangled on his reply.

      Pulling the tiger’s tail, Riley said, “Don’t worry, Ethan. I’m real gentle with her.”

      Rosie thought Ethan’s eyes might cross. Instead he fumed in silence for nearly a full thirty seconds before stalking out of the room.

      “Oh, boy,” Riley rumbled under his breath. He gestured for Rosie to precede him as he headed to the front door. Ethan waited for them there, holding it open, his impatience to be alone with Rosie plain.

      Riley walked out into the hallway. “Be good, kids.”

      “You know I’m always good. But I can’t make any promises for Ethan.”

      He winked at her. “You’ll keep him in line.”

      Ethan snapped the door shut, then turned both locks with a dreadful sense of finality. When he faced Rosie, she decided a strategic retreat was in order; he did not look like a happy man.

      In fact, he looked very unhappy. Or maybe “riled” was the word. Yeah, he looked downright riled. She supposed Riley’s teasing flirtation hadn’t helped matters.

      Ethan was used to Harris and Buck razzing her. After all, they’d all grown up in the same neighborhood. The three of them had been best buds with her brother—until her brother had slipped off with Ethan’s fiancée.

      Riley was new to the mix, and while they all liked him a lot, Ethan apparently didn’t take Riley’s teasing the same at all.

      She’d made it all the way to the bathroom when Ethan caught her arm. “Rosie.”

      There was so much warning in the way he said her name, she kept her back to him. “Hmm?”

      His sigh parted the back of her hair. “Don’t play games.” He caught both arms and turned her around. “What were you doing here this morning in my bed?”

      “Sleeping?”

      His jaw worked, his eyes narrowed. Reaching inside the neckline of the housecoat, Ethan fingered the collar of his shirt. His gaze settled on her mouth. “Why aren’t you wearing your own clothes?”

      Very slowly, realization dawned on Rosie. “Oh, my God. You don’t remember, do you?”

      An arrested expression crossed his features. His pupils expanded until only a thin ring of light brown remained. His straight, dark brows pulled together. “Just what am I supposed to remember?”

      Indignation reared up, followed by humiliation. “Ethan Winters. You have no idea what happened last night, do you?”

      He blustered with his own dose of exasperation. “I know damn good and well we didn’t have sex.”

      Rosie gasped, not because he was wrong, but because he was so sure that he hadn’t touched her. What was she? Chopped liver? She felt just contrary enough not to reassure him. “Yeah, and how do you know that if you don’t remember?”

      Muscles tensed, Ethan let his smoldering gaze take a leisurely trip over her—but he only got as far as her breasts. “You were wearing a shirt. And panties. When I have sex with a woman—” his gaze rose and locked on hers “—she’s buck naked. Not half-dressed.”

      Rosie dropped back against the wall with a thud. Her heart had started bouncing around with his first hot look, and his words had nearly brought her to her knees. Oh, she could only imagine what Ethan did when he had sex, but she believed him: the woman wouldn’t be wearing clothes.

      She cleared her throat, then had to clear it again when he flattened both hands to the wall on either side of her head. At five-nine she was a tall woman, but Ethan stood six-two and towered over her. He leaned in the smallest bit, probably trying to intimidate her—and doing a good job of it, but not for the reasons that he might assume. She wasn’t afraid of Ethan and she never would be.

      But she was extremely aware of him as a man.

      She stared at his sternum and gave an irrefutable reminder. “You were drunk. You couldn’t have gotten your own clothes off, much less mine.”

      Ethan considered that, then smiled. “True. And being that drunk, I doubt I could have gotten a boner no matter what you did.”

      With another gasp, Rosie shoved him hard—with no visible effect. “I didn’t do anything.”

      “You must have taken off your clothes, because as you just said, I was too damn drunk to accomplish it on my own.”

      Her eyes narrowed. “Not too drunk to flirt with that redhead.”

      He stared past her shoulder. After a second, his eyes lightened and the right side of his mouth kicked up. “Yeah, I remember her now. Where’d she go?”

      Oh, that was one nasty little shot too many. Rosie stomped on his toes. Given that she was as barefoot as he was, it wasn’t an overly painful move. But he did jerk back, giving her a chance to duck under his arm. She stormed into the bathroom and slammed the door. Hard. She took a lot of satisfaction in clicking the lock into place.

      Ethan didn’t beat on the door. He just said, “You have to come out sooner or later.”

      She felt like beating on the door. Or on his head. Instead she took two deep breaths to gather her calm. “My clothes are in your laundry room. Your precious redhead dumped her drink on me, so until you run them through the wash, I can’t wear them again. I’d smell like a lush.”

      Silence stretched until Ethan finally said, “Oh.”

      “Yes, oh.” Inside the bathroom, Rosie stripped off the housecoat and his shirt. “Why don’t you throw them in the washer while I shower?”

      “Sure thing.”

      She could hear him whistling as he walked away, secure in the knowledge that nothing of a sexual nature had occurred between them.

      But he didn’t know that for sure, and no way would she tell him. Let him stew. Let him wonder.

      And maybe, just maybe, he’d think about it enough that he’d start to like the idea.

      Rosie grinned as she stepped into the shower. She had a plan, and oh, boy, it was going to be fun.

      CHAPTER TWO

      SHE WALKED INTO the kitchen with his toothbrush sticking out of her mouth.

      In the process of shaking out a large plastic garbage bag, Ethan froze. Rosie’s hair was still wet, pushed straight back from her forehead and hanging in long twisted ropes down her back. Over his housecoat.

      Which was now the only thing she wore.

      Ethan knew that because she leaned into the laundry room and pitched his shirt onto the pile of dirty clothes, then turned and stuck her folded panties into her purse, which was on the counter. With foamy СКАЧАТЬ