an idiot. "Oh." He looked
at the bed. "What was that about chocolate body paint? I could go
for some dessert."
She shook her head. "Probably not a
good idea. I was right. Frank could show up any minute, and he'd
get upset if he knew he interrupted us and we didn't let him watch
us finish."
"Let him watch? That's not cool. What
makes him think he can do that?"
She gave him a sheepish squint. "He's
been asking all year and I've never come right out and said
no."
"Why not?" Was she asking for
trouble?
With a meaningful expression, she
said, "He's Frank. Is he someone you'd be in a hurry to
deny?"
She had a point. "Fine. So what do you
think about my using the closet?"
"Okay. We can put my boxes in the
playroom."
He pulled one out and realized they
were all document boxes. The one in his hands weighed at least
forty pounds. Setting it down, he reached to lift the
lid.
"No!" she screamed. She took a deep
breath. "Don't."
What in the world? "What's in
here?"
"Just papers and pictures and stuff."
Melony stood trembling, appearing close to tears.
He went to her. "Hey, it's okay. I
won't look if you don't want me to."
"I don't want you to," she said with a
nod. "Let's get them out of sight. I can't even look at
them."
Wow. Whatever filled these boxes had a
great deal of importance to her, something bad and very private.
Respecting her wishes, he wouldn't snoop. He stacked them in a
corner of the torture chamber—six boxes altogether. It bothered him
that the contents seemed to haunt her. She cast fearful glances at
the containers every time he passed.
By the time he finished, she shook. He
couldn't stand to see her like this. Taking her hand, he led her to
the living room. He adjusted the towel around his hips then sat in
the armchair and pulled her down on his lap. "Why don't you rent a
storage space for them?"
She seemed to take comfort from his
embrace and lay her head on his shoulder. "Because I'm going to
destroy them. As soon as I can face going through it all one more
time."
"You want to talk about
it?"
"Not even a little bit."
"Okay." He settled his head against
the back of the chair and slowly stroked a hand up and down her
back. Pretty soon he became drowsy and he closed his eyes. She felt
so good against him, smelled like flowers, warm…
* * * *
His breathing grew steady and deep and
his hand slid off her back to the armrest. Melony carefully climbed
off his lap and sat on the edge of the sofa bed to study him. He
looked so boyish in his sleep, like when he grinned, and she
wondered how old he was. She guessed around thirty, though with his
timeless features, he could be anywhere between twenty-five and
forty.
His dark hair, only an inch long,
stood in stylish wavy spikes above his forehead but laid down
everywhere else. With his head back, the cords of his neck stood
out thick and hard. She wanted to touch them, kiss them. His broad
shoulders and chest filled the chair's width, and his shapely arms
led to hands with long, strong fingers that could easily have
belonged to a surgeon. Those arms had made her feel safe and cared
for, and those fingers had made her cry out with
pleasure.
Damn him. What was he doing to her?
She wanted to hate him. She had wanted to hurt him, make him pay
for her pain the way she punished all her partners. But now… He
stirred, shifted a little, and rolled his head to the side as he
continued to sleep.
He made her smile. At the same time,
he made her regret—regret her past, regret her pain, regret all the
things that made her unworthy of him and the healthy, loving
relationship he deserved. He was so handsome.
She watched him sleep for a while then
changed the sheets on the sofa bed and cleaned dust out of the coat
closet. She located the easy-latch collar and leash and hung them
from a hook on the coat rack. When the doorbell rang and he bolted
upright, rubbing his eyes, she smiled. He looked
adorable.
"How long did I sleep?" he
asked.
"A couple hours. You had a
at the bed. "What was that about chocolate body paint? I could go
for some dessert."
She shook her head. "Probably not a
good idea. I was right. Frank could show up any minute, and he'd
get upset if he knew he interrupted us and we didn't let him watch
us finish."
"Let him watch? That's not cool. What
makes him think he can do that?"
She gave him a sheepish squint. "He's
been asking all year and I've never come right out and said
no."
"Why not?" Was she asking for
trouble?
With a meaningful expression, she
said, "He's Frank. Is he someone you'd be in a hurry to
deny?"
She had a point. "Fine. So what do you
think about my using the closet?"
"Okay. We can put my boxes in the
playroom."
He pulled one out and realized they
were all document boxes. The one in his hands weighed at least
forty pounds. Setting it down, he reached to lift the
lid.
"No!" she screamed. She took a deep
breath. "Don't."
What in the world? "What's in
here?"
"Just papers and pictures and stuff."
Melony stood trembling, appearing close to tears.
He went to her. "Hey, it's okay. I
won't look if you don't want me to."
"I don't want you to," she said with a
nod. "Let's get them out of sight. I can't even look at
them."
Wow. Whatever filled these boxes had a
great deal of importance to her, something bad and very private.
Respecting her wishes, he wouldn't snoop. He stacked them in a
corner of the torture chamber—six boxes altogether. It bothered him
that the contents seemed to haunt her. She cast fearful glances at
the containers every time he passed.
By the time he finished, she shook. He
couldn't stand to see her like this. Taking her hand, he led her to
the living room. He adjusted the towel around his hips then sat in
the armchair and pulled her down on his lap. "Why don't you rent a
storage space for them?"
She seemed to take comfort from his
embrace and lay her head on his shoulder. "Because I'm going to
destroy them. As soon as I can face going through it all one more
time."
"You want to talk about
it?"
"Not even a little bit."
"Okay." He settled his head against
the back of the chair and slowly stroked a hand up and down her
back. Pretty soon he became drowsy and he closed his eyes. She felt
so good against him, smelled like flowers, warm…
* * * *
His breathing grew steady and deep and
his hand slid off her back to the armrest. Melony carefully climbed
off his lap and sat on the edge of the sofa bed to study him. He
looked so boyish in his sleep, like when he grinned, and she
wondered how old he was. She guessed around thirty, though with his
timeless features, he could be anywhere between twenty-five and
forty.
His dark hair, only an inch long,
stood in stylish wavy spikes above his forehead but laid down
everywhere else. With his head back, the cords of his neck stood
out thick and hard. She wanted to touch them, kiss them. His broad
shoulders and chest filled the chair's width, and his shapely arms
led to hands with long, strong fingers that could easily have
belonged to a surgeon. Those arms had made her feel safe and cared
for, and those fingers had made her cry out with
pleasure.
Damn him. What was he doing to her?
She wanted to hate him. She had wanted to hurt him, make him pay
for her pain the way she punished all her partners. But now… He
stirred, shifted a little, and rolled his head to the side as he
continued to sleep.
He made her smile. At the same time,
he made her regret—regret her past, regret her pain, regret all the
things that made her unworthy of him and the healthy, loving
relationship he deserved. He was so handsome.
She watched him sleep for a while then
changed the sheets on the sofa bed and cleaned dust out of the coat
closet. She located the easy-latch collar and leash and hung them
from a hook on the coat rack. When the doorbell rang and he bolted
upright, rubbing his eyes, she smiled. He looked
adorable.
"How long did I sleep?" he
asked.
"A couple hours. You had a
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