“There in a sec,” he called down the hall before he deviated to the bathroom. He did his business and carefully tucked and zipped everything back into place. Just one more way of telling himself that his clothes needed to stay on tonight. John washed his hands and splashed his face with cold water, laughing when he saw his expression. “What a dork,” he muttered to himself good-naturedly.

But all the chuckling lightness was immediately bootheeled when he stepped into the doorway of Mary’s room and saw her curled up on the bed. She was over top of her covers, still in her pink dress, her legs bare.

She lifted her head to look at him and patted the pillow next to her. John walked around to the side of the bed she’d indicated and, painfully aware of every tiny movement, slid onto the bed next to Mary.

Instantly she closed the gap between them, one of her legs looping over his and her face nuzzling into the crook above his shoulder. One of her palms found one of his palms and soon her deep, even breathing dragged him under.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

THE FIRST THING Mary saw when she opened her eyes was gray morning light filtering over her hand. Wait. No. That was much too large to be her hand. She wiggled her fingers and the large, broad-palmed, blunt-fingered hand she was looking at moved a tiny bit. Ah. There was a man’s hand resting on top of hers.

The rest came in a cascade of memory and information. John striding through the bar to get to her. The cheek kiss. His infectious joy. Sharing the barstool with him. The pressing, the tracing of circles on his wrist, his hand on her knee, holding hands as they basically sprinted home.

The kiss against her door.

Mamma Fracking Mia, THE KISS AGAINST HER DOOR.

Hands down, no question, the absolute best kiss of her entire freaking life. The second his mouth had touched hers, she’d been gone, every ounce of her focus on his lips. The building could have fallen down around them and she wouldn’t have noticed. He was a good kisser. John Modesto-Whitford: scowler, sayer of rude things, sweet, kindhearted, kisser of the lights out.

Seriously, if the man had sex the way he kissed, she wasn’t sure she’d make it to see the morning light.

But wait, she was already seeing the morning light. It was brightening by the second.

How cute was it that he hadn’t let them sleep together last night? Mary had wanted to. She was certain that if they had, she wouldn’t have a single regret this morning. But still, it just added to his sweetness. The man truly considered her. Even when the raging boner she’d been pressed up against had to have been weighing down the pro column, he’d still talked both of them into waiting for sobriety.