Improper indeed. He didn’t know how improper she could be. She opened the top drawer of the oak dresser. And slowly smiled. Rowan was in bed by the time she strutted toward the bathroom. She heard, rather than saw, him jolt upright, the mattress groaning as he barked, “What in hell is that?” She kept going toward the bathroom, refusing to apologize or look down at the pink, delicate, very short lace nightgown. When she emerged, face washed and clean, Rowan was sitting up, arms crossed over his bare chest. “You forgot the bottom part.” She merely blew out the candles in the room one by one. His
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