CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
For the first time in a long time, it seemed like they didn’t know what to say to each other. The party was still going on downstairs, but they had been shown upstairs to a beautiful room, which had a white carpet and blood red sheets on the four-poster bed. The grand space was at the front of the house, so it had a large window, currently covered by drapes matching the bedspread color.
Brad had given Dax his jacket back, but it was cast aside, as were his shoes and shirt. Now just wearing his pants, Dax strode the width of the room, checked out the bathroom, then came back and slid his hands into his pockets.
“Okay,” he said. “You were right.”
“You should get used to that,” she said, pulling the pins out of her up-do and putting them on the dresser by the nightstand.
