Amara Cross POV
The sound of the electric kettle filled the kitchen. He noticed me enter without turning around and spoke in his deep voice, heavy, like it came from a tired chest.
"I am making you coffee. It will help with the hangover."
I stopped halfway down the stairs, holding the dress in my arms. Its cold fabric clashed with the warmth of the T shirt that belonged to him. I muttered, stubborn and low,
"No need. I am leaving now. My cousin will worry if I am late."
He paused.
He half turned toward me. His eyes brushed over my face, then dropped to the clothes I was wearing, his clothes. The look was brief, but heavy. He said nothing. Finally, he nodded, no resistance.
"As you wish."
I turned at once and headed for the door, moving before he could say more.
We got into the car
