Page 10 of The Mountain Man's Mail-Order Mafia Princess

I returned to the bathroom, removed my jewelry, and placed every piece inside my handbag. The shirt smelled like laundry soap and clean cotton. It also belonged to a man whose shoulders were twice the width of mine.

I pulled it over my head and tried not to think about that.

The hem covered enough to preserve decency if I didn’t bend over, stretch, or exist too enthusiastically.

When I emerged, Jonah was changing the sheets.

The bedroom held a queen bed, one nightstand, a narrow dresser, and little else. There wasn’t enough open floor for a person his size to sleep without curling around the furniture.

“You only have one bed.”

“I only need one.”

“Where were you planning to sleep?”

“I can use the truck.”

“You worked all day.”

“I’ve slept in worse places.”

“That isn’t an answer.”

“It’s the practical option.”

“No, it’s the option where I arrive uninvited and remove you from your own bed.”

“I’m not putting you in the truck.”

“I didn’t suggest that.”

“The floor isn’t wide enough, and the chair doesn’t recline.”

I looked toward the main room. “What about a sleeping bag?”

“I have one in the truck.”

“On this floor?”

“It wouldn’t be the first time.”

“Jonah, I’m not making you sleep on the floor.”

“You aren’t making me do anything.”

“Exactly. We can share the bed.”

He went still with one corner of the fitted sheet in his hand.

“That isn’t necessary.”

“Neither is your martyrdom.”

“I’m not being a martyr.”

“You offered to sleep folded into your truck.”

“I fit.”