She wasn't wrong. The bed really was small.
The full-size bed was just big enough for her alone.
Preston Keaton was tall and well-built; if he got on, it would be a tight squeeze, and neither of them would be comfortable.
While pretending to be asleep just now, she had taken up the entire center of the bed, hoping he would see and take the hint to sleep in the guest room, but he showed no intention of leaving.
Preston Keaton picked her up and laid her on top of him. Inhaling the familiar gardenia scent from her body, a sense of calm and stability settled over his heart.
His voice was tinged with a faint, deep weariness. "Then we'll sleep like this."
His body heat was scalding, making Evelyn Grant a little uncomfortable, and she shifted, displeased.
The man's muscles were hard as rock. Through the thin fabric, her soft skin brushed against his chest again and again, like a ball of cotton. The gentle contact made a nerve in Preston Keaton's temple twitch.
