Page 40 of Perfect (mis)Match

“Yeah. It’s a great trade-off: more time to woo the Sullivans,andyou can show off your skills.”

“You better prepare to lose,” I giggled.

“And you better prepare to eat your words,” he parried.

We walked into the bungalow, and I suddenly felt wide awake.

Because it was bedtime. One-bed-for-two-people time.

“Listen, I can sleep on the couch,” Vincent said, his voice a little too casual, as if he’d read my mind. “I don’t want to make this awkward.”

I gestured to the open air beyond it. “Are you used to sleeping outside?”

“I mean, Ihave,” he shrugged. “I’ve done plenty of hardcore camping over the years. And it’s not like this would be roughing it.”

He gestured to the plush and cozy couch.

“Well…” I paused and realized, with a little flutter in my chest, that I sort of wanted him next to me. “It’s a big bed.”

He nodded. “Looks like a California king.”

“We could each have our own side,” I suggested.

My voice was steadier than my pulse.

“You sure you’re okay with it? This is probably an HR violation on some level.”

“Yeah, but I’m not a real employee,” I whispered. “Shh!”

Vincent chuckled, the sound warm and low, rolling over me like a wave. “Okay, it’s settled then. I’ll get changed and meet you, uh, I’ll meet you in the bedroom.”

Vincent was overthinking the whole thing, as well. I ran to the gigantic closet the size of my room in my apartment and found one of the silk pajama sets I’d bought. This one was black, soit wouldn’t be see-through, with shorts and short sleeves so I wouldn’t be too hot.

I swiveled in the mirror to look at myself. Smooth and soft, the fabric clung to my skin just enough to feel daring. Yeah, it wasn’t lingerie, but it was still sexy.

Not that I wanted to look sexy for Vincent.

I was lying. Itotallywanted to look sexy for him.

He came out of the bathroom, and we nearly ran into each other. I sucked in a breath, because his version of pajamas was just navy boxer briefs.

Vincent looked good in everything I’d ever seen him wear, but he was downrightdevastatingwhen he was nearly naked. His broad shoulders and defined chest were the first things my eyes traveled over, but it was his thighs—thick, muscular—that had me swallowing hard. I couldn’t understand why so many men focused their efforts only on their upper body when there was so much to be said for a couple of muscular thighs.

Vincent cleared his throat, and I realized I was staring. My cheeks burned, and I swore the temperature in the room spiked.

“Cute pajamas,” he said, gesturing to me.

“I bought, I mean,youbought every color of the rainbow, so prepare for a show each night.”

His eyes darkened just a fraction.

“No, no, notthatkind of show,” I laughed nervously. “Like, a fashion show, but it’s pajamas.”

“I’ll watch whatever you perform for me,” he said in a low, rumbly voice that made me ticklish all over.

“Ha!” I squeaked out. My laugh came out high-pitched, too eager, and I wanted to slap myself for it.

I ran over to the bed and practically dove beneath the sumptuous sheets, needing the barrier of cool fabric between us before my thoughts completely ran away from me.

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