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Gabe Marchionni, New Orleans’ most eligible bachelor, has a problem…
…and it’s wrapped in a pink blanket.
EXCERPT:
My stomach churned. The half-dozen cookies hadn’t eased the stress of having my ex living under the same roof.
What the hell was I thinking?
To atone for my food sins and save my waistline, I resorted to angry cleaning. Nothing like taking your frustrations out on the carpet.
I ran the vacuum down the hall, banging it into Gabe’s bedroom door a couple of times before moving on. Oh, so sorry, sir. Did I wake you?
“Maggie?” Gabe called over the noise.
Ignoring him, I turned the corner and redid the living room floor.
“Maggie?”
The vacuum went dead.
Oh no he did not! I rounded on him with my hands on my hips. “What?”
Still holding the cord, he frowned. “Would you mind doing that later?”
I smirked and let my gaze travel from his face to his bare feet and up again. “You look like ten pounds of shit in a five-pound bag.”
“I feel like it.”
“Your hangover isn’t my concern. I have to clean the house this morning.”
Gabe shook his head and walked into the kitchen.
Realizing he wasn’t going to plug the vacuum back into the wall, I huffed and followed him. “Look. If you’re going to stay here, we need to lay down some ground rules.”
“Like not running the vacuum before ten?” He stuffed a cookie into his mouth.
“Like from this point forward we’re friends, which means hands off.” I had no idea why I’d said that, but my heart broke a little.
“Friends, got it.” He ate two more cookies.
I pulled the plate away from him. “There are kids in the house. They hear and see everything. You’re an adult, if you want to eat cookies for breakfast that’s your business, but it isn’t setting a good example.”
“I’ll be the model of a responsible adult.” He stuck his head in the fridge, pulled out the milk, and took a swig from the carton.
I made a sound in the back of my throat and balled my fists.
He took one look at me and laughed, spitting a mouthful of milk into the sink. “Relax, Mags. I’m the only person in the house that drinks regular milk.”
“You’re trying to piss me off.” I closed my eyes and counted to ten.
“Not really, but it’s so damned easy.” He chuckled and put the milk away.
“You shouldn’t cuss either.”
His brows rose. “Pot calling the kettle black on that one?”
I pinched the bridge of my nose. “I’m serious.”
“I got it—no touching, no drinking from the milk carton, no cookies for breakfast, no potty mouth. Anything else?”
“Yes. Don’t bring women here.” I regretted it as soon as I’d said it.
The humor faded from his eyes. “Got it, but I’ve already told you…you’re the only one I want in my bed.”
My traitorous body heated at the thought of slipping between the sheets with him again, but thankfully, my brain throat-punched my hormones. “Friends don’t proposition each other.”
He lowered his voice to a sexy purr. “Sweetheart, that wasn’t a proposition. I was stating a fact.”