Free No Sweeter Love (Sweeter in the City Book 3) by Olivia Miles Page B

closing the yearbook. “But I think I’ll come down with you. I’ve embarrassed you enough for one night.”
    “Just wait until the bachelorette party,” Ethan laughed in an attempt to lighten his mood. “I don’t even want to know the things my sisters will be sharing with you then.”
    He suddenly stopped walking, his chest tightening when he considered his statement. But no, he told himself firmly as he slowly walked down the stairs. No, surely even his sisters knew better than to bring up that  . . .
    At least, he could only hope.
     

 
    Chapter Six
     
     
    C laire opened one eye, and then, ever so slowly, the other, only releasing her pent-up breath when she noticed the towel was safely wedged between her body and Ethan’s, and that he was wearing a T-shirt, and hopefully some kind of pants, although given his exasperating and endless desire to rattle her up, she didn’t dare test the waters by tugging on the blanket.
    She rolled out of bed and smoothed her hair. Despite the unseasonably warm weather and the lack of so much as a lakeside breeze all night long, she’d worn the most modest pajamas she owned—flannel pants and a matching long-sleeved collared shirt, buttoned all the way to the very top, thank you very much—and now the thick material stuck to her skin.
    The windows were open, not that they’d helped, but now Claire opened the French doors and stepped onto the patio, hoping some morning country air would cool her head.
    Last night had been strange, and it wasn’t just because she’d held another man’s hand for the first time since Matt. She was struggling with how . . . natural it felt to stand side by side with Ethan at the party, to laugh with his family members, to exchange secret smiles with him as they sipped their drinks. She picked up a rock from the edge of the patio and skipped it into the water.
    Ridiculous . Of course it felt natural with Ethan. He was her closest friend. She knew him. She was comfortable around him.
    So why did her stomach start to knot every time she thought of the way it felt to stand beside him, and have him look at her like that—like she was more than just a friend?
    “You’re up early,” Ethan’s husky voice behind her accused.
    Claire turned, smiling guiltily—she hadn’t even checked the time, but who could sleep with all that sun filtering in—and nearly fell back against one of the Adirondack chairs when she saw Ethan grinning back at her. He was propped up on one elbow, still in bed, his brown hair tousled this way and that, his grin positively wicked. She swallowed hard as he reached down to scratch his stomach over the tight white T-shirt he wore, and then stretched his arms, yawning dramatically, making the cords of his muscles pull against his skin. Her entire body stiffened as he slowly brought himself up to a sitting position and then reached for the blankets, wondering if she should look away now, before she saw something she shouldn’t. Even boxers felt wrong. Wrong! But to her great relief—and strangely, a twinge of disappointment—he was wearing cotton pajama pants in what appeared a considerably more seasonably appropriate material than her own.
    “It’s warm in here,” he said, walking over to stand in the opening to the patio. He slid his gaze up and down her, looking at her as if she were crazy. “You didn’t overheat in that granny wear?”
    Granny wear! Claire rolled her eyes. More like appropriate attire for hotel air-conditioning, and sharing a bed with your super hot best friend. “Oh, you know me. I’m always cold.” Her face felt flush, and for some reason she had the sinking feeling that it had nothing to do with the extra-thick flannel that covered ninety percent of her body. In the early sunlight, Ethan’s eyes shone bright, and his chin bore a fresh layer of stubble. He smelled like musk and sleep and—
    She rubbed her nose. Certainly no point in going there. The man was practically like a brother to