CHAPTER 22
Powell was folding the comforter he’d used for his restless night on the couch when Tana emerged from the bedroom. He wore a faded San Francisco P.D. T-shirt and jeans, and his forearms were splashed with tattoos. Tana saw him, saw the tattoos, and felt something stir inside her. She hadn’t had a man stay over since Justin, and even though she and Powell hadn’t shared a bed together, and he was old enough to be her father, he was still a man, and it was still the morning after.
“Morning,” she said.
Powell looked up at her as he punched his pillow into shape and placed it on top of the folded comforter.
“Morning.”
“You sleep okay?” Tana said.
Powell shrugged. “Off and on.”
“Sorry, I should’ve taken the couch.”
“No problem,” Powell said. “I’m used to sleeping on a couch.”
