plan, then." He finished
his second sandwich and asked, "Do you have room for my suits in
your closet?"
Instantly on guard, she narrowed her
eyes and said, "My room's off limits. You're sleeping on the sofa
bed."
"Why? What's wrong with your bedroom?"
His brows drew down at an angle, and he set his lips in a hard
line.
"There's nothing wrong with it." Why
did he have to put her on the defensive? Why couldn't he just
accept her rule? Then again, she was learning he seemed to question
everything. "Nobody goes in there but me."
"Then you're going to sleep with me on
the sleeper sofa? That seems odd." His scowl deepened.
"Why do you assume I'm going to sleep
with you?" Arrogant ass.
"After this morning, I
assumed—"
"Don't assume with me. It'll get you
in trouble." She pushed her half-eaten lunch aside and took a drink
from the can.
"Apparently," he said, his hackles up.
"Now we have a new problem."
She stared into the living room,
preferring to look anywhere but at him. "What's that?" She realized
her mistake the moment her gaze landed on the mussed bed and
discarded ropes. Their morning session hit her like a slap in the
face. Images of him wracked with pleasure flashed through her mind.
Memories of her own ecstasy revived twinges of pleasure between her
legs.
"I've got a lot of
clothes."
Moving her stare to the cold
fireplace, she asked, "What do you mean by a lot?"
"Eighteen suits. A whole suitcase of
nothing but shirts and ties. Seven pairs of shoes. All my casual
clothes and unmentionables."
"Unmentionables?" she squeaked,
holding in a giggle. "Men call their underwear
'unmentionables?'"
He grimaced. "I was raised with a mom
and three sisters. What do you expect?"
"You're a man. What are you doing with
all those clothes? Eighteen suits? A whole suitcase of nothing but
shirts and ties? Are you one of those metrosexual guys?" She
covered her mouth to hide her smile.
"No." He sat straight. "They were
graduation gifts from my family. I guess they didn't consult with
each other, and they all got me power clothes for my appearances in
court. What was I supposed to do? Take some back and risk hurting
somebody's feelings?"
"That wouldn't have been nice," she
admitted, a giggle escaping between her fingers.
He looked at the crumbs on his plate.
"Exactly." Gathering the tiny tidbits of bread with the pad of his
index finger, he mumbled, "Haven't even worn half the
stuff."
Despite her efforts, she let loose a
guffaw and gave up trying to hide her entertainment behind a hand.
As peals of laughter rendered her helpless and wilting on the
table, Chip got busy clearing dishes. When she regained control,
she said, "You sure do make yourself handy."
He forked the last of the chicken
salad from the bowl before placing it in the dishwasher. "It wasn't
that funny." He took the bite, dropped the fork in, and shut the
door. "Okay, maybe it's funny. The fact remains, I've got a supply
of clothes headed this way that would make a men's department store
proud. Where do you want me to put it? I'm going to be here a
month."
"I don't know," she admitted. She went
to the living room, picked up the red rope and coiled it with care.
"I really don't want your suitcases and clothes all over the
place."
"Well, what's in here?" he asked,
going to a narrow door where the living room wall turned to form
the entryway.
"I think it's supposed to be a coat
closet, but I use it for storage. Why?" Draping the russet bond on
an armchair, she plucked the brown one from the floor.
"Maybe I can hang my suits in here."
He opened the door and perused the space. "If you don't mind
putting these boxes somewhere else for a few weeks, I think it'll
work. I can get all my shoes in here, too. And all my suitcases
will fit on this shelf above the rod if I stack them long
ways."
"Just make yourself at home, why don't
you?" she teased, carrying the coiled ropes to the playroom. "What
about your shirts and ties, the casual clothes, and your
unmentionables?"
his second sandwich and asked, "Do you have room for my suits in
your closet?"
Instantly on guard, she narrowed her
eyes and said, "My room's off limits. You're sleeping on the sofa
bed."
"Why? What's wrong with your bedroom?"
His brows drew down at an angle, and he set his lips in a hard
line.
"There's nothing wrong with it." Why
did he have to put her on the defensive? Why couldn't he just
accept her rule? Then again, she was learning he seemed to question
everything. "Nobody goes in there but me."
"Then you're going to sleep with me on
the sleeper sofa? That seems odd." His scowl deepened.
"Why do you assume I'm going to sleep
with you?" Arrogant ass.
"After this morning, I
assumed—"
"Don't assume with me. It'll get you
in trouble." She pushed her half-eaten lunch aside and took a drink
from the can.
"Apparently," he said, his hackles up.
"Now we have a new problem."
She stared into the living room,
preferring to look anywhere but at him. "What's that?" She realized
her mistake the moment her gaze landed on the mussed bed and
discarded ropes. Their morning session hit her like a slap in the
face. Images of him wracked with pleasure flashed through her mind.
Memories of her own ecstasy revived twinges of pleasure between her
legs.
"I've got a lot of
clothes."
Moving her stare to the cold
fireplace, she asked, "What do you mean by a lot?"
"Eighteen suits. A whole suitcase of
nothing but shirts and ties. Seven pairs of shoes. All my casual
clothes and unmentionables."
"Unmentionables?" she squeaked,
holding in a giggle. "Men call their underwear
'unmentionables?'"
He grimaced. "I was raised with a mom
and three sisters. What do you expect?"
"You're a man. What are you doing with
all those clothes? Eighteen suits? A whole suitcase of nothing but
shirts and ties? Are you one of those metrosexual guys?" She
covered her mouth to hide her smile.
"No." He sat straight. "They were
graduation gifts from my family. I guess they didn't consult with
each other, and they all got me power clothes for my appearances in
court. What was I supposed to do? Take some back and risk hurting
somebody's feelings?"
"That wouldn't have been nice," she
admitted, a giggle escaping between her fingers.
He looked at the crumbs on his plate.
"Exactly." Gathering the tiny tidbits of bread with the pad of his
index finger, he mumbled, "Haven't even worn half the
stuff."
Despite her efforts, she let loose a
guffaw and gave up trying to hide her entertainment behind a hand.
As peals of laughter rendered her helpless and wilting on the
table, Chip got busy clearing dishes. When she regained control,
she said, "You sure do make yourself handy."
He forked the last of the chicken
salad from the bowl before placing it in the dishwasher. "It wasn't
that funny." He took the bite, dropped the fork in, and shut the
door. "Okay, maybe it's funny. The fact remains, I've got a supply
of clothes headed this way that would make a men's department store
proud. Where do you want me to put it? I'm going to be here a
month."
"I don't know," she admitted. She went
to the living room, picked up the red rope and coiled it with care.
"I really don't want your suitcases and clothes all over the
place."
"Well, what's in here?" he asked,
going to a narrow door where the living room wall turned to form
the entryway.
"I think it's supposed to be a coat
closet, but I use it for storage. Why?" Draping the russet bond on
an armchair, she plucked the brown one from the floor.
"Maybe I can hang my suits in here."
He opened the door and perused the space. "If you don't mind
putting these boxes somewhere else for a few weeks, I think it'll
work. I can get all my shoes in here, too. And all my suitcases
will fit on this shelf above the rod if I stack them long
ways."
"Just make yourself at home, why don't
you?" she teased, carrying the coiled ropes to the playroom. "What
about your shirts and ties, the casual clothes, and your
unmentionables?"
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