AllFreeNovel
Share Us
And speaking of bottom lines …
Van snatched his hand back from the smoothest, satiny-est bottom line he’d ever felt, and rolled over to stand up.
“I need to go.”
“Ahhh, fear is taking over.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. Just pass me my underwear, will you?”
“No-o-o-o.” She drew out the word, pouting her delicious bottom lip. “I don’t think I will.” With a lazy motion, she tucked his boxers under her delicious derriere.
“Aw, come on, Mary.”
“Are you always afraid of women you’ve done the deed with?”
“What?”
“Afraid of the hooks they’ll get into you?”
He couldn’t force a single strangled sound out of his throat.
“I wonder if Lancelot was afraid. Maybe more to the point, do you think Guinevere was afraid?”
“Huh, you mean because — she’d never done it before?”
“No, I mean I wonder if she was afraid Lancelot couldn’t satisfy her. He must have been afraid too. After all, he had his — handicap.”
Van wanted no part of any conversation about a fellow male’s handicap, but, heaven help him, there she’d gone again, sucking him in to the endless fascination of trying to figure out how her screwy brain was twisting things around this time.
Besides, the longer he kept talking with her, the longer he could avoid admitting to himself that he wasafraid. Afraid, that is, to sink back down on that bed on the floor and reach all around those luscious curves to rescue his underwear. He was fairly sure he wouldn’t make it out. He was fairly sure he would make out. With her. Again.
“What handicap?” he asked with reluctance.
“Why his size, of course.”
Okay, there’s one thing every man in the world is going to do when size is mentioned. It’s reflex. It’s second nature. It’s the unstoppable Colorado River carving its way down through solid rock to form the Grand Canyon.
Van struggled manfully against the irresistible impulse to do it. He knew it was exactly what she knew he would do. And he was going to blush if she caught him at it. But he couldn’t help it.
He lowered his gaze. Just a little. Behind hooded eyelids. So she couldn’t see him check out his own size. Where it counted. At about the midway point between the crown of his head and the toes on his feet. Just, you know, to make sure.
When the giggle erupted from her throat, he knew he’d failed. She’d caught him. Crap. He was doomed to never get anything past her.
The only possible response was to brazen it out. He pretended he wasn’t turning as red as a fifty-five-year-old letch’s sports car. He pretended he’d managed to keep his mind entirely on Lancelot and the perpendicular distance between the Basset Hound and the ground, as compared with the same perpendicular distance for a Saint Bernard, instead of on the size of his male accoutrements.
“Well, yes, he did have that handicap, and we never did figure out for sure how he got over the fence, never mind manage to — But that doesn’t mean he was afraid. How could he be, with the way Guinevere feels about him? She looks up to him.”
Once Van heard what he’d just said, he rolled his eyes. “I mean, she looks at him as though she believes in him. She believes he can do anything he sets his big heart on.”
“I guess I’ll just have to do that too. Look at you as though I believe in you. Among other things.”
He could have ignored the exaggerated goo-goo eyes she was making, but she licked her lips and crooked her little finger. “Do you want your boxers, sugar?” She pulled one scrap of the fabric out from under her bottom.
The word yes pounded in his brain, although he wasn’t sure what question he was answering.
“Come and get ’em, honey.”
Ahhh, now he knew what he wanted to say yes to.
