Controversy by Adrianne Byrd Page A

her best lingerie. That’s if she had any that fit anymore.
    It had been awhile since she had cause to wear lingerie. She and her ex were behaving like an old married couple long before they had taken their vows. Surely descending the stairs buck naked was a bit too forward.
    Wasn’t it?
    Drawer after drawer, box after box, Michael came up empty, which heightened her frustration and killed her mood. Here she had a gorgeous man in her house with the perfect excuse to get him naked and do sinfully wicked things to him and the best thing she had to wear was…flannel.
    Maybe she should just go down naked.
    Naked or flannel.
    She sighed.
    Maybe she should toss a coin.
    Â 
    What was taking so long?
    Kyson wondered if he was the butt of a joke, standing in a strange woman’s house in wet clothes. Yet, he stood riveted at the foot of the stairs, waiting anxiously to see what heavenly creation she’d wear as she descended.
    A door opened from the top floor and every muscle in Kyson’s body clenched in anticipation.
    â€œPlay it cool. Play it cool,” he coached himself, trying to prop himself against the banister, determined to be as suave and debonair as Denzel.
    At long last, his curvaceous angel appeared at the top of the stairs—magnificent in…flannel.
    He straightened from the banister and blinked up at the vision coming toward him. True, he’d envisioned something silk, perhaps with a little lace, or even something the other way around. So he was stunned to see the red-and-black midlength flannel gown, but Kyson had to hand it to the buxom beauty: she was the only woman he’d seen who knew how to make flannel sexy.
    He lowered his gaze and then worked his way up from her bright red painted toes to where a thin gold chain with the letter M bounced against her left ankle; his gaze then slid up thick, creamy brown calves that led the way to even thicker creamier thighs.
    Blood raced from one head to the other at a speed that left him dizzy. Michael’s short gown clearly outlined the dangerous curves of her body, as well as hinted of sweet promises of pleasure. By the time he took in her sly smile and her twinkling gaze, he knew resistance was futile.
    Michael stopped before him. “Let’s see if we can get you out of those clothes now.” She pressed a robe to his chest and made sure her right breast brushed against his arm as she stepped off the last stair and sashayed around him.
    Of course he followed, pulling and unbuttoning clothes as fast as he could. He nearly fell on his face, trying to get one leg out of his pants, leaving him to hop halfway through the living room. He was almost panting by the time he reached the laundry room off from the kitchen.
    Michael opened the top of the washing machine and turned toward him and stopped. It was the only thing she could do when fantasy crashed with reality. Quite frankly, fantasy paled in comparison.
    This was no couch-potato cop with a donut belly. This man looked as if he was born and raised in a gym. Large and small mountains of muscle stood proud along his shoulders and arms, while his abs looked like rippling waves of chocolate.
    â€œMy, my, my,” she said, still smiling when he handed over his clothes and then slipped into the soft terry-cloth robe that, surprisingly, fit.
    â€œI bought it as a birthday gift for my brother,” she explained. “It’s coming up.”
    â€œI hope he doesn’t mind,” he said.
    â€œBut tonight is your birthday, right?”
    He nodded.
    She dumped his clothes in. “Then I guess I should see about giving you something…special.” She held out her hand.
    He looked down, wondering what she was asking for.
    â€œAren’t you forgetting something?” she prompted.
    He swallowed. At this moment, he wouldn’t be able to tell her his name if she asked.
    â€œYour boxers,” she said. “Surely you don’t think I’m going to let