Of which, apparently, she had many. "Get up," she repeated.

"I am up." He sucked a patch of her skin into his mouth as he nudged his up part against her.

In spite of herself, she clutched at him, enjoying the feel of his hard body against hers, his rough jaw brushing her skin, the scent of him…

Focus, Mia. "Listen, big guy, I have to work-"

His hand stroked up her body and cupped a breast.

Her bones dissolved. "Stop that-"

His thumb rasped over her nipple. "Mmm. I love your body."

And she loved the touch. Too much. Vaulting into action, she scrambled out from beneath him, rolling off the bed. When her feet hit the floor she whirled around, looking for her clothes which had been wildly and carelessly scattered the night before. There was her tweed skirt on the floor, the matching top draped over a lamp. She stepped into the skirt, pulled on the top, slipped her feet into her heels. Her bra… where the hell was her bra?

"Here," he said, and she whipped around to face him.

He'd rolled onto his back and scooted up against the headboard, one arm up and behind his head. Man, oh man, she could have just looked at him all day.

Except that he was twirling her lace Wonderbra around his fingers, watching her with an expression of vast amusement.

The blankets were long gone, tumbled to the floor. The sheet, pale blue against his tanned skin, pooled low on his hips, not quite covering his EMH.

Early-Morning Hard-on.

She heard the words in Sugar's soft Southern drawl and shoved them ruthlessly to the back of her mind. After years of hard work, none of Mia's south showed, not an ounce of that trailer-trash upbringing. She'd made sure of it.

She snatched her bra from his fingers. "Thank you."