"Thighs and waist," Ian translated.
"And the front part…" Toby dammed up, but his friend chimed in.
"The front part sucks, man," T-Bone growled. "I mean, my banana just kind of hung there, you know? More like a yellow raisin, man. That sucks."
"Well, that was more than I needed to know," Ian whispered in her ear.
"Right." Her face was a major shade of red. "Sorry, Toby, T-Bone, but you're right. I guess I'll go back to the drawing board."
"Appreciate your help," Ian added, going to the door. He stayed where he was, stubbornly holding the door, until Toby and T-Bone had both left.
Once they were gone, he said quickly, "All right, let's get to the bedroom and throw away whatever they wore."
"Oh, come on! I really like the fruity ones. Can't I just wash them?"
"Will washing get rid of any memory that T-Bone's been in them?"
"Good point."
He took one look at her face and she glanced at him and they both started to laugh.
"I hate it when you're right," she managed around her giggles. "'My banana hung there like a raisin.' Good grief!"
Ian was feeling pretty proud of himself, having vanquished the two morons so easily. But he lost a bit of his bravado when Lucie sobered, giving him the once-over.
Briskly, she inquired, "So, when would you like to get started? I still need some fittings, you know."
He could've argued that it wasn't his fault Toby and T-Bone didn't work out, so he shouldn't have to replace them. But he didn't. He recognized an opening gambit when he heard one. And he knew how to slam the ball back into her court. Staring her down, he asked, "Which ones do you want to see?"
"Got a preference?"
"You pick."
"Okay." She tapped a finger against her mouth. "How do you feel about a thong?"
He smiled. Nice bluff, but he knew there were no thongs among her stock. "Sure. Why not?" He paused. "Oh, I forgot. You don't have any."
"Too bad. Hmm… Let's see. All right." Her gaze held him, and he realized again that Lucie had moxie. She wasn't going to back down any more than he was. After a long pause, after sweat began to break out on his forehead, she said, "There's a pair of low-rise, black velvet brixers in a drawer in your room. They're one of my newest designs. They've got a silver moon on the back and a star on the front. In my living room. Five minutes."
"It won't take me five minutes."
"Good." She gave him a determined smile. "I'll be ready."
"Good. So will I."
* * *
This was a dangerous game they were playing.
As Ian stalked off to her guest room to look for the black pants, Lucie sagged against the back of the couch. What the hell had she just done?
"You're out of your mind," she murmured, blowing stray tendrils off her forehead. She was overheated and overstimulated and she was suffering from lack of oxygen. That would explain it.
"It's not my fault if I have a hard time backing down from a dare," she complained out loud, scooting over to the refrigerator and plucking out a few ice cubes. She slid one over her forehead, enjoying the frigid shock, and dunked two more down inside her collar. "He dared me. He said I couldn't handle it. What could I do?"
You could've been sensible and laughed at him or at least put him in really long, baggy pajama bottoms.
"That would be like letting him win," she argued with herself. But she heard the muffled sound of footsteps coming back down the hall.
Frantic, she quickly pressed the ice against each cheek then tossed it into the sink. Then she raced back to the living room, pulled a pad of paper and a measuring tape out of the bottom of the laundry basket, and leaped onto the couch.
She could hear him rounding the corner as she scrambled to situate herself on the sofa, legs neatly crossed, pad and tape in hand. She worked on manufacturing a studious—maybe even bored—expression to greet him.
Damn the man. He didn't even look flustered.
She kept her eyes securely on his face, but his smug smile told her he knew exactly what she was doing.
You think I'm too much of a coward to look below the waist? she telegraphed.
Bring it on, his expression dared her.
Fine. Here goes. Pressing her lips into a tight line, Lucie stood. She looped her gaze down there, flitting over his wide shoulders, that smooth, finely sculpted chest, his hard abs, the tiny scar running from his belly button down to the low-slung black velvet line where the fabric began…
Okay, that was enough. Focusing on a point on the wall beyond his hip, she bent her head to one side, murmuring, "Hmm… Looks like that pair fits pretty well."
"Pretty well," he agreed.
Damn him. He was enjoying this. She made him behave like beef on the hoof, like a total and complete sex object, and he enjoyed it!
She circled around behind him, tangling and untangling the tape measure, raking her eyes up and down, letting herself drink him in and swoon all at once, now that he couldn't see her. He was fine. Broad shouldered, slim through the torso and hips, he had these adorable little buns, all high and tight and perky there in the back of the snug pants, with a shiny silver crescent moon riding one curve. Oh, yeah.
Her trademark "brixers" fit like a glove to mid-thigh, the low waistband barely clinging to his hips, the stretchy velvet hugging him, outlining every flexed muscle. Her palms itched to reach out and grab a hunk of flesh. She couldn't believe the carnal, lascivious, lustful things she was thinking.
And when her fingers curled, uncurled, edged closer as if they had a mind of their own…
"Are you pinching my butt?" he demanded.
"Of course not," she said in a rush. "Just, uh, pointing out the pocket. Did you see the pocket?" Tucking two fingers down the silver-edged patch on the outside of his thigh, she noted breezily, "It's for your cell phone. That way, if your pants—your outer pants, I mean—don't have any pockets, you can just set your phone on vibrate and store it right here."
"Got it. Vibrating my thigh. Great idea." He glanced down at her, his gaze cynical. "Are you about done?"
Quickly, she composed herself, pulling her fingers out of his seductive little pocket and making her face a blank. She hoped.
"Done?" she repeated. "Oh, no. Not nearly." Flicking her tape measure like a whip, Lucie dropped to her knees in front of him. "I need to measure your in-seam."
Her words came out all wispy and weird. She didn't mean for it to sound that way—in fact, she was going for a no-nonsense, brisk tone—but somehow her voice got stuck on the way out. With her head only inches from the rather dramatic bulge in his fly—no mere raisin hanging here—she closed her eyes and poked her tape right up in there.
He sucked in his breath when she made contact, but he didn't lose any ground. "How can you measure with your eyes closed?" he muttered.
So she opened them. But she wasn't looking at the measuring tape or even the inseam. She was staring dead ahead, at the extra-large pouch, covered with a gleaming silver star, that was her creation, her brainstorm.
She felt faint—she really could see a whole fleet of silver stars in the periphery of her vision—as she gazed at the long, hard, undeniable proof that Ian was made to fill out her briefs. And then some. Her mouth went dry and her temperature soared and she absolutely, positively could not move.
With a muffled oath, Ian set his hands on her shoulders, clasped her, pulled her up, and slashed his mouth over hers. She could feel his heat and his fierce, irresistible passion, the pent-up force of his frustration and desire as she melted into the kiss. Mindless, itchy, on fire, she pressed up and into him, ready for more.
He broke away to gasp for breath. "All right, I give," he said savagely. "Somebody has to do it. And it might as well be me. I want you. I want your mouth on me. Now."
She was already reaching for the thin layer of black velvet and that tantalizing star as he pushed her to the carpet. Fumbling with her buttons, he showered kisses on her collarbo
ne and her neck and the mounds of her breasts, only partially concealed by her thin knit bra.
They were both frantically peeling away her clothes, nipping at each other's mouths, plunging headfirst into this shocking abyss of pleasure and haste, when the doorbell rang.
"Ignore it," Ian commanded, dragging the scrunchie out of her hair and sending red-gold waves flying every which way. He grabbed a bunch of it, kissed her again, and she fell over on top of him, sliding her hand up and down the front of his starstruck fly.
But the ringing continued.
"Ian! Ian! It's Kyle."
"Him again?" Lucie snapped.
"Ignore him," Ian said again, more angrily this time. "Ian, I know you're in there. I saw you two through the window!" Kyle shouted, pounding the door with a fist to emphasize his words, then rattling the knob. "I'll come in the window if I have to. Steffi is following me. Come on! Open up!"
"Through the window?" Lucie squealed, jumping away, clutching her blouse to her front. "He was watching us? Oh, God, the door's not even locked."
Ian swore, something dark and mean about Kyle's ability to procreate. Swiftly, he pulled Lucie into his lap on the floor and scrambled to help her put her clothes together.
"I'm going to kill you," he yelled as Kyle came blasting in. "Do you have any idea just how bad your timing is?"
* * *
Chapter 7
«^»
"I don't care how bad my timing is," Kyle shot back, muscling inside, slamming the door behind him. "I'm beyond desperate. I've been living with Steffi for three days. Three long days."
"Uh, I lived with her for six years," Lucie put in as she and Ian did a rapid tag team job buttoning her blouse. "I think I appreciate your predicament."
Ian stood up slowly, bringing Lucie with him. His strong, bare arms encircled her, holding her fast, but she didn't have any illusions that this two-man luge routine was for her protection. Naaah. She was just camouflage for him and his skin-tight, black velvet undies.
With a suspicious expression, Kyle grumbled, "You two look like you're having fun, maybe too much fun. Aren't you supposed to be coming up with a way to get me out of this?"
Trying not to blush—again—Lucie concentrated on staying as still as possible and not rubbing against Ian or his provocative bulges. To Kyle, she noted, "Hey, you're the one who married her. Some people, less kind than your brother, might tell you you'd made your bed and now it's time to lie in it."
Of course, they might tell her the same thing vis-à-vis sharing a bed with Ian and now lying with him…
Losing her patience, she demanded, "What were you thinking, anyway? Marrying Steffi?"
"If he was thinking at all," Ian said grimly, "it was only with his—"
But Kyle interrupted, "I know, I know." Pacing, he admitted, "It's my own fault. But she pretended to be someone totally different until she hooked me. She was sweet and funny and very considerate. Yeah, she acted spoiled sometimes. But I just thought it was because she was young. How was I supposed to know?"
"I tried to tell you," Ian muttered.
"Sweet, funny and considerate, huh? Boy, she sure had you smoked. I've seen it a million times with my friends." Lucie shook her head sadly. "They have these awful boyfriends and you know it and you can't say a word because they're madly in love and they'll just be mad at you, not the guy. So you think, well, hey, maybe I can do more good keeping my mouth shut and hanging in, so when she needs a friend to get through the fallout, I'll be there." Over her shoulder, she asked Ian, "Is that how it was?"
He just sort of nodded. "That's right," he mumbled, with a very uncomfortable look on his face.
Considering her backside was still plastered to his front, she understood his discomfort.
"I'm sorry," Kyle started in a grumpy tone. "I'm sorry I came busting in here, I'm sorry I walked in on whatever I walked in on, and mostly, I'm sorry I married Steffi. But you guys have to help me. She's pushing this honeymoon hard, and she doesn't believe in my sinus infection."
"Kyle, we understand that you're in a bind. But, you know, if you don't want a honeymoon, you could still follow my first suggestion and break both your legs. And if you keep interrupting us like this," his brother snarled, "I may be willing to do the leg-breaking myself."
"Hold on." Ignoring Ian, Kyle cocked an ear near the window. "Did you hear that? Steffi's car. She's here. I told you she was following me."
Steffi? Coming here? Uh-oh. Lucie exhaled. She knew what that meant. Show time. But, right now, appearing to be a couple wouldn't require any acting.
He stood so close to her, she was melting again. This was becoming a habit. If only he weren't breathing on her neck. If only he could back up a few inches or put on more clothes.
If only Kyle would leave and Steffi would leave and she and Ian could finish what they started… Maybe then she wouldn't be dripping with frustration.
"Where can I hide?" Kyle asked quickly, surveying the room. "Upstairs?"
Just go away so I can seduce your brother!
"You can't hide," Ian told him with disdain. "Didn't you leave your car out front?"
"Oh, yeah. Damn it. Why is she hounding me like this?" He rammed a hand through his short-cropped hair. "I guess she thinks if she pushes me hard enough, I'll do whatever she wants. But I'm not taking her on this honeymoon, and I swear, one more big-ticket item and I will divorce her. I don't care if it does screw up m-tosh.com. About five more minutes of Steffi is all I can take."
"What you don't know is that it's good she's here," Ian said urgently. As they heard a car door slam, he yanked Lucie even harder up against him, one hand splayed on her hip, the other looping around her neck, resting above her breast, molding her to him. She felt like ice cream trapped in a heated scoop, getting softer and warmer… "We need her to see us together."
"Ian's right," she whispered, casting nervous glances at the door, reminding herself to breathe, watching Ian's hand rise and fall above her breast every time she did. Their unwanted guests weren't leaving anytime soon, and she needed to hang onto her sanity in the meantime. Concentrate. "Us, together, in Steffi's face—it's part of our plan."
"I don't get it." Kyle's eyes skimmed their intimate embrace. "But, okay, if you say so. Meanwhile, what do I do?"
"Well," Lucie tried, making a concerted effort to ignore all the physical signals her body was sending, "if you can do it without her knowing, I think you'd better get yourself to a lawyer. I also think…" Were Ian's lips that close to her neck on purpose or was it just an accident? What was he doing to generate all that heat back there? Whatever you do, Kyle, just don't put on a pair of Pandora's Boxers. Or Steffi will never let you leave. "I—I mean, I'd go for gooey, whiny, needy—that kind of thing. She'll hate that."
"Gooey, whiny, needy," Kyle repeated.
"Right. You know, like a puppy. A whimpering puppy." Which she felt like at this exact moment. Think Steffi. That was better than a cold shower. What else would Steffi hate? "Can you pretend to be poor? Or at least to be having money problems? That way you can cancel her credit cards and close her accounts and tell her it's a cash flow thing." Lucie nodded, on a roll. "That will drive her nuts."
"And whatever you do, don't sleep with her," Ian warned.
Lucie closed her eyes. Do what I say, not what I do, huh? If she couldn't relieve her frustration any other way, she was tempted to turn around in his arms, grab him and shake him. But it was too late.
"Hellooo?" Steffi cried from the other side of the door. "Is Kyle here?"
"Lovesick puppy plus cash flow," Ian reminded his brother. "Give us a few seconds and then let Steffi in. Tell her you haven't seen us. Oh, and mention that we're obviously majorly in love."
Snagging Lucie's hand, he pulled her down the hall. She asked, "What are you doing?" but he didn't answer, just unbuttoned her blouse again and messed up her hair.
"Huh?" She looked down at her gaping shirt. "Why did you do that? I thought we might put on more clothes, not dit
ch what we have left."
"Take off your pants," he whispered.
"Here? In the hall?"
"Shh! Just do it. We have to make it look good."
"What?" But she had somehow turned into Ian's robot. If he wanted her naked in the hallway, so be it. As he put a finger to his lips, indicating silence, she undid her capri pants, so recently refastened, and wiggled out of them. Then she stood there, self-conscious in her open shirt over a Pandora's Boxers knit bra and panties.
Behind them, they heard Kyle say weakly, "Sweetie, what are you doing here?"
"I came to get you," Steffi said in an edgy voice. "What are you doing here?"
"Just stopped by to see my brother. When I got here, the door was open but no one seems to be home." He added, in a loud, fake voice, "Ian and I have some business problems we need to discuss. You know, money problems."
Okay, so he'd remembered that much of his instructions.
Steffi didn't seem to care, however. "Whatever," she returned peevishly. "If no one's home, then let's get out of here."
"That's our cue," Ian mouthed. "Act passionate."
As she'd predicted, acting passionate was not going to be necessary when Ian was around.
To her complete surprise, he swept her up into his arms, started to make King of the Jungle noises, and then hauled her out to the living room. He took her right to the sofa, tossed her down, and threw himself on top of her. He said something in the "Roarrr!" range and started kissing her and nuzzling her neck.
Steffi shrieked, "What's going on here?"
Only then did he feign shock and scramble to a standing position. "Where did you come from?" he asked in a confused tone, staring slack-jawed at Kyle and Steffi.
Lucie had to hand it to him. He certainly seemed credible. Meanwhile, she sort of froze there in place, not sure what to do—except button her shirt again. No matter what sort of exhibitionist Ian had turned into, she wasn't really into that. Idly, she wondered whether she could sneak out to the hallway behind his back and find her khakis.
"Oh, my. It looks as if Ian and Lucie are majorly in love," Kyle began brightly, sending his brother a broad wink, but Steffi interrupted.
JUST A LITTLE FLING Page 10