“Always glad to take a lady’s clothes off.”
There was a moment’s uncomfortable silence, punctuated by Blake’s remorseful sigh, and then he handed her the slacks she’d dropped on the floor.
“Would you like a sweater or something?”
“Sure. Thanks.”
He left the bathroom, stuck his hand back around the corner and flourished her torn skirt at her until she took it. She stared at the thing, shook her head, and stepped into Blake’s slacks. They were warm, incredibly roomy, and smelled like him.
When last had she worn something that smelled like a man? Her man? Elle looked up, blinking at her morose expression in the small mirror above Blake’s sink.
Not in a long, long time.