Page 175 of No Headlines Please

When I'd purchased it ages ago, I'd thought it was hilarious.

Now I wasn't so sure. What if he thought I meant him?

I glanced toward my biggest suitcase. Damn it. If I'd wanted to change nightshirts, I should've done it sooner. Then again, it's not like I had anything better.

I mean, there was always the other sleeping shirt – the one with Bigfoot sporting a massively comical erection through his shorts.

No.

Definitely not.

As the silence lingered, I recalled how all of this had started – with my claim that I had ways of making him talk.

I'd meant it, too.

Already, I could see myself climbing on top of him and smothering him with kisses until he told me what he knew. Or refusing to kiss him until he confessed everything he was hiding. Or nibbling at his ear while demanding answers.

But that wasn't even the point.

Forget the mystery of the car. What I really wanted was to be close to him, preferably naked.

It was all I could think about. And if I were being totally honest, my questions about the car had been mostly an excuse – something to say to break the ice.

He probably knew it, too.

Because let's be logical. There was nothing to stop me from asking about the car over breakfast.

But breakfast was hours away, and the thing I truly wanted didn't exactly go with eggs and bacon – or a sister who totally disapproved.

Softly, I asked, "Are you sleepy?"

"Nope."

"Me neither." I leaned back against the headboard. "So…what are you wearing?"

"Boxers."

In my mind, I could practically see him, lying there half-naked, with his bare chest peeking out from under the covers. My pulse quickened. "And…nothing else?"

"Not at the moment." A smile crept into his voice. "But I do have a suitcase."

And just like that, the image changed, covering his chest with something a lot less intriguing – like a T-shirt, or heaven forbid, a thick sweatshirt that revealed absolutely nothing.

In a near panic, I whispered, "Don't you dare."

With a hint of sin, he asked, "Don't I dare what?"

My pulse was racing now. "Don't you dare get changed."

"And what are you wearing?"

I almost groaned. "Don't ask."

"Hmm…" He sounded intrigued. "Is that a good don't ask? Or a bad don't ask?"

"Bad. Really bad."

"So…a clown suit?"