Real Women Don't Wear Size 2 by Kelley St. John

Gasparilla? Did he realize how he had surprised her by coming back early? Or how big a surprise it was? As in, a
surprise
heart attack for Clarise? She was usually pretty good at hiding things from Ethan. They’d grown close, but she still kept her secrets guarded. Not many secrets, mind you, only two. One, her real career goal. And two, the fact that he made her head swim and her heart tremble. Heat crept up her body, starting with her bulging boobs, then worked its way up her throat to settle in her cheeks. “I’m—fine, and no, Granny didn’t tell me.”
    “I need to speak with you about the trip,” he said, that sexy, raspy voice making her nipples salute.
    “Sure.” She yanked the megacups of her bra together and fastened the closure without taking time to situate the two mounds in their holsters. As a result, righty had a hefty portion plumped over the top and lefty had some side action happening, with a paunch of flesh poking her armpit.
    “Do you need me to come back?” he asked, with more than a hint of curiosity in his tone.
    “No,” she gasped. Lord, would he be able to tell that she’d been practicing her stripping techniques for Gasparilla? She scanned the room, her eyes lighting on the coffee table, haphazardly shoved against one wall. She leaned over, grabbed the edge and yanked it back in place. Thank goodness she’d already hauled all of her new clothes and unmentionables back to the bedroom. Funny thing was, Ethan would probably chalk all of this up to progress. He’d been trying to get her to come out of her shell for the past three years. If he only knew, she’d do more than that. By tomorrow, she’d come out of her top. Then, if she did it right, she’d be coming period, with the lights on, or outside, or on the grass, or all of the above. Whatever Ethan wanted . . . if he wanted. Have mercy, she hoped he did. But why was he here tonight? And did this mean she should jump-start her plan to seduce him and start a day early? She swallowed hard. Nope. Her mind had prepared for tomorrow, and she simply hadn’t worked up the courage to “go for it” tonight. She needed to get to Tampa, to the wildness of Gasparilla, before she truly tried to pursue her dream. In fact, perhaps one of those tall drinks like the one the guy had been holding in the video would help ease her into seduction mode, because goodness knows right now her pulse was so jittery that she couldn’t seduce him if she tried. If she’d known he was coming, she’d have at least cleaned up her apartment. Was it her imagination, or did it still smell like turnip greens and pintos?
    She fumbled her way with the buttons, then jabbed the ends of her blouse into the top of her skirt, all the while thanking God and heaven above for elastic waistbands. Then she snatched her red scarf off the couch and quickly tied it at her waist as elegantly as possible, given her shaky fingers. Making certain the television was off, she took a deep breath, unlocked the door and opened it. Dang if his eyes weren’t bluer than she remembered, and double-dang if he didn’t look even better than last night’s dream. Clarise swallowed. She would
not
think about that now, wouldn’t picture the way she’d envisioned him tearing her clothes from her body in a frantic effort to touch her, hold her, get inside her. She focused on those waves of sandy hair, thick brows, strong jaw, totally kissable mouth, broad shoulders . . . heavens, what was she doing? Blushing, that’s what, and from the brilliant grin on that gorgeous face, he’d noticed. “You wanted to talk about the trip?”
    “Yes. Can I come in?” he asked.
    Man, she’d missed his voice. “Sure,” she said, trying to disguise how hard she was breathing from the panic attack his knock had initiated. She stepped aside, then nearly jumped when he gave her a brief hug before entering.
    “Good to see you, Clarise,” he said, while she inhaled the tantalizing smell of spicy cologne and