Her Naughty Holiday. Tiffany Reisz
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what we’re calling it now, are we?”
“Lose the sail and I’ll be downright cheerful.”
She sighed and took the T-shirt out of his hands. She tried not to stare at his chest as she did it, but she didn’t try very hard. He had a good chest, nice broad shoulders and the right amount of chest hair—more than a boy’s and less than a Sasquatch’s. Flat stomach, which was good. No washboard, which was better. She would feel really uncomfortable getting undressed in front of a man with a six-pack. She much preferred normal bodies over perfect bodies considering just how unperfect her body was.
“I’ll go change in the bathroom. If that’s okay,” she said.
“Your pony, your saddle. You change where you want. I’ll be right here.” He patted the bed.
She walked into the bathroom and shut the door behind her. She went to lay Erick’s T-shirt on the bathroom counter but she paused and lifted it to her nose. Cedar. Cedar and soap. She would happily smell that all night. Maybe she could, too, if she didn’t screw this up.
“Clover?” Erick called out, and she almost dropped the shirt on the floor.
“Yes?”
“You mind if I open the window a little? I like night air.”
She smiled and pressed the shirt to her chest.
“Me, too,” she said. “Go for it.”
“Plus if you’re cold you’ll have to come to me for body heat,” he said, and she quietly laughed to herself. This was flirting. Good flirting. The man could really flirt. So could she, couldn’t she?
“Or I could just get the extra blankets out of the closet,” she called back through the door. Her robe was gone and now the gown.
“Where’s the linen closet?” he replied as she pulled his T-shirt on over her head.
“In the hall. Why?”
“I’m just going to go throw all your blankets out in the backyard. Be right back.”
She didn’t believe him until she felt his footsteps on the floor and heard a door opening and closing.
“Oh, don’t you dare,” she said as she walked out of the bathroom to find Erick nowhere near her linen closet. He was on her bed. No. Not on. In her bed. He was in her bed and his pants weren’t. She knew his pants weren’t in the bed because they were on the floor at her feet.
“Kidding,” he said.
“I knew you were.”
“Good. Very good. Great even.”
“That I knew you were kidding?”
“That you’re standing in the middle of the bedroom in your underwear,” he said.
“Yeah, I guess I am.” She looked down at bare legs, her bare feet and the T-shirt barely covering anything past her hips. “You feeling better about world events yet?”
“Life is good. Very good. Could be better.”
“How so?”
“If instead of there...” He pointed at her feet on the floor. “You were here.” He tapped the pillow next to him.
“Well... I wouldn’t want you to lose your sunny outlook on life,” she said. He looked so inviting in her bed, warm and strong and male and everything she’d wanted for a long time. She slipped in next to him and lay on her back, her head on the pillow.
“Comfortable?” he asked as he rolled onto his side and propped himself up on one arm.
“Very.” She turned her head to look at him and found his face only inches from hers.
“Are you?”
“I am,” she said. “Your shirt’s nice.”
“Cotton. Preshrunk. I go for the fancy shit.”
“I might keep it.”
“I’d like that.” He raised his hand to her face and traced her lips with his fingertips. “Although if you decided at some point tonight that you hated it and wanted to burn it, I wouldn’t complain about that, either.”
“I don’t think that’s likely.”
“No?”
“Why burn it? I’d use it for washing my car.”
He nodded, grinning his cocky half grin. “Good idea.”
“Harrison Ford.”
“What? Where?” Erick glanced around the room.
“No, you. I was trying to figure out earlier who you reminded me of. You look like a young Harrison Ford. But with a beard.”
He lowered his head so that their lips were barely an inch apart and whispered two words to her.
“I know.”
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