Dawn drowses on the couch, head resting on Connor’s shoulder as he channel surfs Saturday night away.

“There’s nothing on,” he says finally, dropping the remote in disgust.

“We could go out,” she suggests, fingers playing with the ends of his hair.

He glances down at her, smile wicked enough to get her blood pumping, because she knows that smile, knows every sinful dip and curve of his mouth, every straight and sharp line of his teeth.

“Or we could stay in,” he says, hand settling at her hip

She licks her lips slowly, flicking her tongue suggestively over the upper bow until his eyes spark with a dangerous awareness that makes her body tighten deliciously.

She jumps up, calls over her shoulder, “Race you,” and skids towards the stairs, only letting out a squeak of laughter when his arm wraps around her waist, and he carries her to their bedroom.