The Care and Feeding of Unmarried Men by Christie Ridgway Page A

weren’t within her comfort zone, but a man admiring her assets was her turf, and here she knew the rules to all the games and justexactly how to play him— uh-hem —them. She couldn’t walk away just yet.
    Lifting the heel of one strappy silver sandal, she tucked her right knee against her left. It was a subtle, sexy pose, one she’d learned from a runway model acquaintance, and it worked as she knew it would. Nash’s gaze traveled down to her nude legs and then back up to her just-above-the-knees champagne-satin dress. It had a subtle flare at the hem, then was fitted close to her thighs, hips, and waist. The bodice was simple matching triangles held up by thin straps that ran over her shoulders. Another pair of straps ran from the point of the vee between her breasts then up to meet those at the shoulder, creating a frame for the swell of flesh above the semi-modest décolletage.
    Nestled at her throat on a triple strand of delicate, white-gold chains was a pavé diamond heart. It was pure girl-candy, a treat she’d once bought herself from Baby Doll Gems, and something she couldn’t bear to part with, no matter what. She touched it with her fingertips and gave Nash a smile. “From the Mafia Princess collection, of course.”
    His gaze lingered on the sweet piece of bling, then made another slow perusal of her barely-there dress. In a flashier color, or with an inch less bodice, or with a less-classy piece of jewelry, the whole presentation would have been pure nastiness.
    Nash took his time checking it out anyway. “How in blazes does that scrap of fabric stay on you anyway?” he inquired in a mild voice.
    â€œIt’s not about how it’s on, it’s all about what’s under,” Eve said, then sipped at her champagne, looking up at him through her lashes.
    He had the nerve to laugh. “You want me to ask theobvious, when what’s obvious is that you’re buck naked beneath that dress.”
    She was better than naked. And she knew telling him the details would drive him nuts. “Really, Nash. Do those Farrahs only go commando underneath their 501s and Hooter tees?”
    His eyes narrowed. “How’d you guess?”
    â€œBecause you’re obviously ignorant of the finer points of female occasion dressing.”
    â€œâ€˜Occasion’ dressing?”
    She cocked her head toward the throng of well-heeled in the living room. “ This is an occasion.”
    â€œWell, ma’am,” his soft drawl made a long shivery path down the back of her spine. “I’d say any place you’re in a dress like that is an occasion. So what are these finer points a simple country boy like me is missing?”
    Once she told him he’d be unable to put them from his mind, giving her a smug satisfaction that would keep her warm all evening long. “Under something as slinky as this, it comes down to three simple things. One, a flesh-colored microfiber thong. Two, a La Perla strapless bra, and three…” She dipped her finger in the champagne and then drew it from the notch at her throat to the low vee between her breasts.
    â€œThree?”
    â€œThree is…” Once again, she moistened her fingertip in her drink.
    Before she could touch her flesh, he captured it in his huge fist. “Stop teasing. Three?”
    God, his hand was so big. Big and hot and firm. “Hairpiece—” Her voice squeaked, so she had to swallow and try again. “Hairpiece tape.”
    Blinking, he dropped her finger. “What?”
    She cleared her throat, sent him her best cat smile. “Two-sided tape that keeps the dress in place so that all the naughty bits don’t get too…naughty.”
    He shook his head. “ You’re naughty.”
    Another sidelong look through her lashes. “Oh, Nash, do you want to spank me too?”
    â€œDamn straight I do. And it might surprise you, Party Girl, to find out