Free The Bad Boy Next Door by Lexxie Couper

washed over his face.
    “Go put some clothes on, Pratt,” I ordered, knowing I sounded tired and drained. “I’m assuming you have some here?”
    He gave me a lopsided grin. “Yeah, I do. And so do you.”
    I blinked. “I what?”
    “There’s clothes for you in the closet.” He nodded his head toward the wall on the other side of the room. “If you want to put something fresh on.”
    I don’t know what I was more stunned by. That there were clothes here for me, Or the fact Lucas didn’t seem contrite about that fact.
    “My clothes?” I asked, my tummy churning in a very unexpected way. “From my closet in my house?”
    He chuckled. “No. Clothes I bought for you.”
    And with that, he turned on his heel and wandered into the room’s bathroom.
    I heard the distinct and unmistakable sound of him emptying his bladder a few seconds later.
    “Are you kidding me?” I shouted at the open door. I was a mess of anger, incredulous disbelief and something so much more disquieting: contentment.
    His answering chuckle wafted out to where I still stood near the bedroom door. “We all pee, Ronnie. It’s a natural part of life.”
    I ground my teeth, rolled my eyes and stomped my way to the bathroom.
    “Sure,” I snapped, glaring at him where he stood in front of the toilet. “I just don’t want to hear it.”
    I pulled the door shut on his smirk.
    Lucas fucking Pratt. Bastard.
    Thrumming with an energy I wasn’t yet prepared to contemplate, I flung my glare toward what I’d assumed was—on first entering the master suite—some kind of feature wall, but was apparently the closet.
    There were no handles or hinges or anything that would suggest it was anything other than a wall, but that was the direction Lucas had indicated with his head earlier when dropping the bomb I had clothes here.
    Eyes narrowing, I crossed to the wall. I let out a soft gasp as I realized it wasn’t a wall as such, but a divider almost the length of the room behind which was the closet.
    The biggest walk-in closet I’ve ever seen.
    On one side hung a collection of clothes that could only belong to Lucas. Jeans, shirts and suits. Suits. Oh God, how freaking sexy would he look in a suit? I couldn’t begin to imagine. If I did, I’d probably have some kind of mental orgasm.
    On the other side…
    My heart tripped over itself as I stared at the clothes on the other side of the closet.
    Dresses. More dresses than I’ve ever owned. Exquisite silky dresses. Beautiful shimmery dresses. Mini dresses in a variety of fabrics. Maxi dresses in flowy chiffon. So many dresses. Beside the dresses, were shelves full of denim—jeans of all shades of blue and black. I’ve been a sucker for jeans for as long as I can remember, a fact Lucas was plainly aware of. I could also see denim shorts and denim miniskirts.
    And I could see T-shirts.
    If there’s one item of clothing I have a weakness for, it’s T-shirts. Especially T-shirts with retro logos on them. And in amongst all those folded T-shirts, I glimpsed what could only be the logos for the Rolling Stones, Star Wars , Ghostbusters , the Ramones, AC/DC, Wonder Woman…
    Oh boy.
    I moved deeper into the walk-in closet, trying to hold onto my fury at Lucas but damn near salivating at all those T-shirts.
    And then I spied the shoes and kind of lost it for a second.
    Doc Martens and Chucks and flip-flops and strappy stilettoes of all colors lined up beside each other. I didn’t need to pick up any of them up to know they were my size.
    Oh boy. Again.
    Clothes. For me. Picked for me. Bought for me.
    By who? Lucas? Or the good doctor? I couldn’t picture Lucas in any kind of store that would sell women’s clothing. Not at all.
    Chest tight, pulse pounding, I approached the shelves of denim shorts and trailed my fingertips over them.
    Dressed. I needed to get dressed. So I could tell Lucas exactly what I thought of—
    “I’ve always loved your ass in those short shorts you wear.”
    I startled at