“And if I leave my laundry hanging off the staircase?” He grinned wickedly, the heat of it igniting my own. “What sort of laundry?” I leaned back on my hands, resisting the urge to wrap my legs around his waist. “Oh, you know . . . a few muumuus, and at least thirty pairs of granny panties.” He chuckled and lowered his hands to the counter, caging me in. “I don’t know what the hell a muumuu is—but I’d love to see you in one. And as for those granny panties . . . I’m not so sure that’s what I saw in your suitcase before.”
