just a few short sentences.” The voice inside her head shrieked in protest, but Missy ignored it. She ignored her pounding heart, her shaking fingers and her suddenly dry mouth and prayed for the strength to seize what she knew would be the two best days of her life. Okay, she thought, taking a deep, trembling breath. Here goes. Just don’t let me look like an idiot.
That’s all I ask.
Missy leaned back in the vinyl booth and stretched out her legs until she could hook her ankle around his calf and pull him closer. Then she gave him what she hoped was a seductive smile and lowered her not-quite-steady hands to her borrowed shirt, unfastening the first two buttons with slow, teasing motions. She saw him still, saw his eyes drop and fix on the pale skin newly bared by the partially unfastened shirt, and she felt a sense of power that made her smile widen.
“I just turned twenty-seven years old,” she said, slipping her hand into the open placket of the shirt she wore and trailing her fingers along the pale skin from her throat to her modest cleavage and back again. His eyes followed the motion as if they were glued to it. “Only child. Born in Brooklyn, raised in Westchester County. Went to Sarah Lawrence. Degree in Early Childhood Education. Never broken a bone, but once sprained my wrist playing tennis. Haven’t picked up a racket since.” She continued speaking, opening another button every few words. By the time she started telling him about her parents and the fact that she was mortally afraid of jellyfish, the dimple of her bellybutton was just visible in the opening of her shirt. She saw his jaw clench and circled her fingertip around the last remaining button. It and the knot in the shirt tales were the only things standing between her and her very first arrest.
Christine Warren
Fur Factor
54
“Allergic to shellfish, but adore catfish, especially blackened. Favorite musicians include Stevie Ray Vaughn, Sarah McLachlan and the Indigo Girls.” She paid no attention to anyone around her, since none of them paid any attention to her. They lived in Manhattan, which meant one woman in a diner with her shirt hanging open but still covering all her vital parts didn’t make front-page news. In fact, it probably wouldn’t even make a blip on their radar.
Licking her lips, she rubbed her foot against his leg under the table and slowly, slowly unfastened that last button.
“I like long walks in the park, breakfast in bed on Sunday mornings and watching old musicals on DVD. Biggest turn-ons are confident men who know what they want, have a sense of humor and turn furry once a month.” She shifted slightly, baring the center plane of her pale, smooth torso to his avid gaze. A low growl rumbled in his chest, and he clutched the table top in a white-knuckled grip, but she couldn’t resist pressing just a little further.
Her eyes on his face, she pushed her shirt aside just far enough for him to see the inside curves of her breasts then ran her hands between them and down to the fastening of her jeans.
“Think you know enough about me yet?” she asked, her voice husky and purring and as taunting as her subtle striptease. “Or did you need something else?” Her fingers flexed and the top button on her slacks popped open. Almost instantly, Graham’s eyes blazed a vivid, glowing green and his arm shot into the air.
“Check, please!”
Christine Warren
Fur Factor
55
Chapter Seven
They made it back to his house in seven minutes flat, including calculating the waitress’s tip, though Graham didn’t so much calculate as throw her a wad of cash and drag Missy out the door before she could utter another word. After that stunt, she’d better not open her mouth again until she was ready for him to put something in it.
He managed to refrain from slinging her over his shoulder again only because they were already so close to home. But lest she think he wasn’t impatient for her, he fell on her like an
That’s all I ask.
Missy leaned back in the vinyl booth and stretched out her legs until she could hook her ankle around his calf and pull him closer. Then she gave him what she hoped was a seductive smile and lowered her not-quite-steady hands to her borrowed shirt, unfastening the first two buttons with slow, teasing motions. She saw him still, saw his eyes drop and fix on the pale skin newly bared by the partially unfastened shirt, and she felt a sense of power that made her smile widen.
“I just turned twenty-seven years old,” she said, slipping her hand into the open placket of the shirt she wore and trailing her fingers along the pale skin from her throat to her modest cleavage and back again. His eyes followed the motion as if they were glued to it. “Only child. Born in Brooklyn, raised in Westchester County. Went to Sarah Lawrence. Degree in Early Childhood Education. Never broken a bone, but once sprained my wrist playing tennis. Haven’t picked up a racket since.” She continued speaking, opening another button every few words. By the time she started telling him about her parents and the fact that she was mortally afraid of jellyfish, the dimple of her bellybutton was just visible in the opening of her shirt. She saw his jaw clench and circled her fingertip around the last remaining button. It and the knot in the shirt tales were the only things standing between her and her very first arrest.
Christine Warren
Fur Factor
54
“Allergic to shellfish, but adore catfish, especially blackened. Favorite musicians include Stevie Ray Vaughn, Sarah McLachlan and the Indigo Girls.” She paid no attention to anyone around her, since none of them paid any attention to her. They lived in Manhattan, which meant one woman in a diner with her shirt hanging open but still covering all her vital parts didn’t make front-page news. In fact, it probably wouldn’t even make a blip on their radar.
Licking her lips, she rubbed her foot against his leg under the table and slowly, slowly unfastened that last button.
“I like long walks in the park, breakfast in bed on Sunday mornings and watching old musicals on DVD. Biggest turn-ons are confident men who know what they want, have a sense of humor and turn furry once a month.” She shifted slightly, baring the center plane of her pale, smooth torso to his avid gaze. A low growl rumbled in his chest, and he clutched the table top in a white-knuckled grip, but she couldn’t resist pressing just a little further.
Her eyes on his face, she pushed her shirt aside just far enough for him to see the inside curves of her breasts then ran her hands between them and down to the fastening of her jeans.
“Think you know enough about me yet?” she asked, her voice husky and purring and as taunting as her subtle striptease. “Or did you need something else?” Her fingers flexed and the top button on her slacks popped open. Almost instantly, Graham’s eyes blazed a vivid, glowing green and his arm shot into the air.
“Check, please!”
Christine Warren
Fur Factor
55
Chapter Seven
They made it back to his house in seven minutes flat, including calculating the waitress’s tip, though Graham didn’t so much calculate as throw her a wad of cash and drag Missy out the door before she could utter another word. After that stunt, she’d better not open her mouth again until she was ready for him to put something in it.
He managed to refrain from slinging her over his shoulder again only because they were already so close to home. But lest she think he wasn’t impatient for her, he fell on her like an
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