Drop Dead Gorgeous by Jennifer Skully Page A

How awful to be walking around without lipstick. It’s unwomanly. It’s—”
    This time he used his mouth on her. Madison shut up. He tasted of the chocolate cream mousse her mother made for dessert and smelled of Thomas’s cupcake. Sugar and spice and everything nice. That was little girls. T. Larry was all man. His hands dropped from the back of her head to her waist, pulling her against him.
    Oh my God. T. Larry wanted her. Impossible. Incredible. Irresistible.
    She went up on her tiptoes and wound her arms around his neck. Her nose bumped his glasses. He didn’t stop kissing her, touched his tongue to hers and then he was inside. Oh my. His shoulders were muscled from that daily workout—thank God for T. Larry’s routines—his chest hard against her breasts. He was hard everywhere. Really hard. Goodness. She eased back a fraction, rubbed lightly against him. T. Larry groaned and deepened the kiss, an arm across her back, fingers in her hair.
    The phone rang.
    She pushed at his shoulders.
    â€œDon’t answer it.” He didn’t allow an inch between them.
    â€œIt’ll be my brother checking to see I got home.”
    He brushed his lips across hers. “James wouldn’t be calling at a time like this.”
    â€œOh.” Yes, they’d already covered the condom issue. “One of the others then.” It rang a third time. “They’ll wonder what I’m doing.”
    â€œChrist.” He stepped back, running a hand over his head. “I’m wondering the same thing. Answer it.”
    She caught it just before the machine picked up. “Hello.”
    Nothing. She hadn’t gotten it in time. No. There was the slight sound of breathing. “Hello?”
    Someone was breathing in her ear. And something else. A faint buzz, then what sounded like a dog barking. Definitely, a dog. Someone on a cell phone. “Hello?”
    â€œWho is it?”
    She gave T. Larry a that-is-the-dumbest-question look.
    â€œHang up if you don’t know who it is.”
    She tried one more time. “Hello?”
    T. Larry held out his hand. She gave the receiver over without a protest. “Who’s there?”
    He hung up, having no better luck than she had. “You did that on purpose,” he accused.
    â€œDid what?”
    â€œHad someone call right in the middle of my kiss.”
    â€œYour kiss? It was mine, too.”
    â€œI forced you. So technically it was mine.”
    â€œYou didn’t force me. I wanted to kiss you.”
    A smile grew on his face. Her knees almost melted. What had she just said? “Glad to hear that, Madison.” He backed away from her, smiling like a cat that lapped up a whole saucer of cream and wasn’t lactose intolerant. “I’ll see you Monday morning.”
    He was out the door when she remembered. She ran to the top of her stairs. “What about the espresso?”
    He stopped at the bottom, one hand on the banister, light shining on his glasses. A cat screeched, a trash can fell over. And T. Larry still smiled. “Oh, I think you’ve had enough stimulation for one night, don’t you?”
    Â 
    H ER NIPPLES SHOWED in her nightie. Cheeks flushed, lips full, Madison looked as though she’d been kissed. Long and hard. She put her fingers to her lips and stared into the vanity mirror.
    Who would have guessed? She’d known T. Larry had a tongue—he yelled at her enough—but that he knew how to use it like that?
    She put her hand automatically to the dresser top, searching for her hairbrush. Her fingers didn’t find it. When she looked, it wasn’t there.
    She rose, the nightie swishing down her thighs to the tops of her knees. She must have left the brush in the bathroom.
    What had possessed him? That comment about his lack of hair. Or the way she’d offered him Barbie. Madison understood now. She’d put a challenge out there. He’d taken her up