Brady’s hand lingered on my waist for a few seconds. He nodded his head. “Go lock the door,” he said gruffly. For half a second, my mind went somewhere it absolutely should not have gone, which included but was not limited to sex on the half-finished couch he’d been working on today. “Wh-what?” I stammered. “Closing, remember?” Right. Of course. Brady wanted me to lock the door because we were leaving—not because he wanted to take me on the couch.
