his voice and smelled his frosting first, and when she looked up, he was a hairbreadth from her face. She looked at him cross-eyed.
âDo you want me to help clean up?â Miraculously, the panty hose dangled from his fingers.
She grabbed and stuffed them beneath a cushion, then fanned herself with her hand. âGosh, the place hasnât cooled down.â
With a dash, she opened the front window, then pulled the filmy curtain closed. A soft breeze blew the lace in and out. Once again, T. Larry was right there when she turned around.
She backed away, her buns pressed to the windowsill. She wasnât nervous. She didnât know what she was. Besides overheated. Or embarrassed.
Embarrassed? Nothing sheâd ever said or done around T. Larry embarrassed her before. So what was this feeling?
She had a plan for T. Larry. All she had to do was stick to it and the strange tingling would go away. What was the plan? Come on, Madison. Oh yeah, a wife. What about BeeBee Barton, her best friend in the whole world? Of course, BeeBee. She was wonderful. Madison bit her lip. Not BeeBee. She didnât analyze that uncomfortable prickle that couldnât possibly be jealousy.
Who then? âI know the perfect woman for you. Iâve been thinking about it all the way home.â
âAnd?â His voice was suspiciously low, deceptively calm.
âBarbie Doll.â
Deadpan, he answered, âSheâs made of plastic.â
âNot that Barbie Doll. This one is a friend of mine. Who was unfortunate enough to be born to parents with the last name of Doll. And they thought it would be such fun to name her Barbie. But sheâs completely done with therapy now, and she doesnât hold an ounce of anger toward them, and sheâd be perfect for you.â
He was a step closer, though she hadnât seen him move. âYouâre babbling.â
âNo, Iâm not. Iâm explaining quickly so you donât have time to shoot down my idea.â
âIt was shot down before it even went up. Iâm not dating someone named Barbie Doll.â
âYou canât hold her name against her. It wasnât her choice.â
âDoes she look like a Barbie Doll?â
âWhich one? The new version or the sixties version?â
He closed in, giving her heart palpitations. âArenât they all impossibly large breasted, thin waisted, and perfect hipped?â he said, his gaze traveling to each of the mentioned parts of her body.
Her voice squeaked on the first syllable. âYes.â
âNot interested.â
âYou answered too fast.â
He put a hand to his chin, pursed his lips and tilted his head this way, then that. âAfter careful consideration, Iâve decided Iâm not interested.â
âBut T. Larryââ
âShh.â
âYou should give herââ
He put a finger to her lips ââI saidââ and raised a brow ââshh.â
No finger was going to stop her saying something this important. âButââ
He clamped his hand over her mouth, pinned her there with his other hand on the nape of her neck. âDonât you ever be quiet?â
Not if she could help it. And then she became aware of the fact that somehow, in the process of shutting her up, heâd managed to plaster his body the length of hers, front to front, chest to breasts, thighs to thighs, and everything in between. Everything.
Oh my God.
She opened her mouth and licked his palm. Salty. Sort of delicious actually.
He jumped back, let go of her imprisoned lips and cradled his hand as if sheâd thrown acid on it.
âWhat did you do that for?â
âSo youâd let me finish what I was saying.â
âNot on your life.â
She put a hand to her mouth. âDid you smudge my lipstick?â
âYou lost it with the potato salad.â
Heâd been watching? âWhy didnât you tell me?
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