Becky wished she could think of something other than Harry. He’d marked her property more thoroughly than any dog worried about the sanctity of his fire hydrant. And she knew it was completely unintentional. Worse, that he wasn’t even aware of it.
The beautiful leather suitcase on the chair in her bedroom. A couple of shirts and the Michael Kors suit he’d worn to the wedding—the gray of a spring sky just before a long-awaited rain—hung at the end of her closet bar. Toothbrush and hairbrush at the sink. A second towel air-drying beside hers near the tub.
The tub had made her blush every time she looked at it after the first day that they became lovers. She’d never been one to parade around unclothed, not even when she was alone. But after that first sponge bath, modesty had seemed out of
