“Shut up.” He pulled her against him and leaned back on the couch. “Let’s just lie here for a minute.”

Harlow kicked her heels off, and settled against him.

Mmm. This felt really good. She soaked it in, his strength, his scent, his warmth. She’d let herself switch off for a bit before she had to face the mess of her life again tomorrow.

Chapter Eight

Easton woke up, and for a second, he wasn’t certain where he was.

He wasn’t in his bed.

He blinked. His face was buried in a cloud of blonde hair. He was flat on his back on his couch, with a sleeping Harlow stretched out on top of him.

Damn.

He stayed still and appreciated the feel of her. She wasn’t quite snoring, but she was making cute little snuffling noises. He found them outrageously attractive.

He’d had plenty of women in his life. Beautiful, elegant, and accomplished women. But he’d never slept on the couch with any of them.

Harlow stirred. She lifted her head, and her eyes were heavy with sleep. “Hey.” Then she stiffened, her eyes going wide.

Before she panicked, he clamped an arm around her to hold her in place. “Good morning.”

She stayed silent, but he could practically hear the wheels turning in her mind.

“What’s going on in that head of yours?” he asked.

“I’m wondering if I ignore you, if you’ll disappear. Like a figment of my imagination.”

“How’s that working out for you?”

She groaned and shifted. Her body brushed against his.

Which had his wakening cock jabbing into her belly.

Those eyes got wider.

Shit. “I really want to kiss you.”

“No. No kissing.” She rolled off him and stood. She thrust her hands into her hair. “I can’t believe we slept together.”

“Fully clothed. On my couch.”

“I don’t—”

Easton reached up and grabbed her arm, then tumbled her back on top of him.

“Easton!”

He kissed her. She resisted for about half a second, then she fisted a hand in his hair and kissed him back.

Fuck. He wanted to tear that dress off her. He reached down and bunched the fabric, and started pulling it upward. She moaned into his mouth, then bit his bottom lip.

“You should come with a warning label,” she complained.

He dragged his hands up her thighs. “Oh?”

“Yes. Hot, potent, and causes women to make bad decisions.”

“You want to be bad, Harlow?”

A cell phone rang.

She froze. “That’s mine!”

She leaped off him, and he narrowly avoided a knee to the groin. As she dashed to her handbag, he tried to get his aching cock under control.

“Shit, my battery is almost dead.” She thumbed the screen. “Dad?”

“Harlow.” Charles Carlson’s flustered voice came through the speaker.

Easton sat up.

“Are you okay?” There was slick panic in Carlson’s voice. “Where are you?”