“Not gonna happen, sweetheart.” He set her on the bed and she flopped backward. He reached behind her, unzipped her dress, and pulled it off.

When he saw the aquamarine teddy made of silk and lace, he groaned. His cock was hard in an instant. She was so fucking gorgeous, and right now, totally off-limits.

“Wore this for you,” she murmured.

“Thanks.” She was killing him.

“Easton?” She sat up.

“Yeah?”

“I think I’m going to puke.”

Shit. “Come on, baby.” He lifted her again. “I’ve got you.”

Chapter Sixteen

Harlow leaned back in the warm, bubbly water, trying not to think of anything.

She tried to enjoy the nighttime view of San Francisco and the bay. She was sitting in Easton’s kickass hot tub on his terrace.

It wasn’t some cheap tub. No, it was actually built into the terrace and lined with gorgeous blue tiles.

Suddenly, he strode out onto the terrace and she sank lower in the heavenly water. Gia hadn’t packed all of Harlow’s clothes, after all. Harlow didn’t have any swimwear here, so she was naked.

She watched Easton stride toward her. God, he was gorgeous. He was in another pair of jeans today—these ones well-worn. They fit him like a dream, and he wore a loose, button-up shirt untucked, in a soft gray.

She sank even lower in the water. She was still feeling totally embarrassed that she’d drunk way too much the night before. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d done that.

There was a clicking sound as Easton set a glass of something down on the edge of the hot tub.

“What’s that?” she asked. “It had better not be alcoholic.” Her stomach protested at the thought.

He sat on the edge of the tub. “Sparkling water with a squeeze of lemon.”

Harlow eyed him in the darkness and took a sip. “I’m so sorry for getting drunk last night.”

She’d woken up in agony. Her head had been trying to split itself open, and Easton had poured water and aspirin into her, then let her sleep until lunchtime. Then he’d bullied her out of bed and made her eat something.

She’d spent Sunday afternoon curled on his couch, calling more of her dad’s friends, and calling some a second time. She was certain his good golf buddy, Gregor, was covering for him.

While she’d done that, Easton had done some work.

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” he said. “Last night was supposed to be a chance for you to have fun, relax.”

A damp strand of her hair had escaped the messy bun she’d piled on top of her head. She stuck it back up. “Being around someone that drunk is no fun.”

His lips twitched. “You’re a cute drunk.”

“Those two words do not go together, Easton.”

“You have a really cute snort laugh.”