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“I love all animals.” Her cheeks flushed a soft pink and she ducked her face. “And I have a talent for animal couture. My mother said I come by it naturally, inherited from my great-grandmother, who had a fondness for making clothes for her chickens. Although why she wasted her talent on chicken clothes is
a mystery. Chickens are messy and end up on a rotisserie.”
What the hell? Someone in her family made chicken clothes? Was she crazy?
“When I was young, I made clothes for all my stuffed animals and even my Chia Pets. Then my daddy bought me my first dog, when I was seven. I’ve made all my dogs’ haute couture ever since. After Pongo, I had Lady and Tramp. Now I just have Yum Yum. She’s a Chinese crested and very yummy.”
“Geeez-us.” All her bizarre rambling about dogs and clothes and chickens was just crazy. A whole lot of crazy wrapped up in a beautiful package. A beautiful package with smooth skin that invited a man’s kiss. On the side of her neck where she smelled so good.
“A few months ago, I made a Superman cape for an iguana. It was a special order, of course.”
Despite being crazy, his body responded to her. A hot yank in the pit of his stomach that spread to his groin. A totally natural response, given that he was undressing a beautiful woman. He didn’t fight it, but that didn’t mean he was enjoying himself. He didn’t enjoy getting hard-ons for crazy women bound to create chaos.
“This isn’t working,” he said. “My fingers are too big and those buttons are too small.” She looked up at him, and he added, “I’ll have to rip it down the back.”
“Oh.” She stared into his eyes for several heartbeats. “I don’t know. The producers might want it back.”
Sean grabbed the open sides of the dress and gathered as much silk as possible in each fist. Several buttons whizzed past Sean’s head and peppered the fuselage as the sound of ripping cloth filled the cabin. One final yank and the dress lay open, exposing smooth skin, more ugly red welts, and white corset. Sean lowered his gaze down the lacing, to the indent of her spine at the bottom of her corset. Without being asked, he reached inside the dress, pushed aside the itchy net stuff, and pulled a metal zipper down as far as possible. Then he raised his hands like a calf roper and sat back in his seat.
“Oh my God, that feels wonderful.” She reached behind her and scratched a red mark in the small of her back. “I can almost breathe.” She wiggled back and forth and tried to stand. With her hands at her breasts, holding up the dress, it took her several suspenseful minutes before she was able to stand as much as possible.
Sean took a drink and watched her over the bottom of his glass. If she removed her hands, her breasts would fall out of her dress. He waited in anticipation, but wasn’t the least bit surprised when exasperation pulled her brows together, and she asked for his help once more.
“I need you to reach up under the dress and pull my slip down. The darn thing practically stands up on its own. I’d do it myself but . . .” She paused to look down at her hands.
He smiled and returned his drink to the cup holder. He had a better solution than rolling around beneath her dress and looking up her long legs. He reached behind him and dragged his duffel into his lap. He pulled out his old plaid shirt and tossed it at her. The brown-and-gold fabric hit her shoulder and she grabbed ahold of it. Her plump breasts and deep cleavage strained her dress even more.
“Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.” That was his favorite shirt, but the sacrifice was worth it. He returned his duffel, kicked back with his Grey Goose, and watched the show.
She threaded one arm then the other through the sleeves, then buttoned it. She wiggled some more as she wrestled her way out of the dress. She turned this way and that, pulled and pushed and shimmied, and her head disappeared in the pouf.
“Are you okay, Lex?”
“Yeah.” Then she stepped from the pool of white, all long legs and smooth thighs. The shirt hit her several inches above her knees, and she tossed her hair to one side as she stooped to pick up the dress. The dome light shone in her hair, touched the side of her face, and caught in her sparkly shoes next to her pink toes. She tucked and folded and rolled the pouf as she had the veil. Instead of handing it to him, this time she knelt on the passenger seat and stuffed it behind. She bent across the back and pushed. Then she pushed some more, and for several brief seconds, soft brown flannel rode up the backs of her legs, and Sean caught sight of white panties, rounded bottom, and smooth thighs. He supposed he should offer his help, but he didn’t want his hand anywhere near her perfect butt.
“That was a workout.” She sounded even more winded and kind of breathy as she turned around and sat. She modestly pulled the end of the shirt to cover her thighs, as if he hadn’t already gotten an eyeful. “I’m pooped.” She grabbed her drink and took a sip. “How much longer, Jimmy?”
“A little over two hours.”
She swallowed and wrinkled her nose. “Are you flying back tonight?”
“No. Tomorrow morning.”
“I ran out of the Fairmont without my purse. All I have is my Visa.” She leaned her head back against the seat, her eyes wide, as if the full consequences of her actions suddenly hit her like a two-by-four to the forehead. “I don’t have cash or my phone or clothes or makeup.”
Makeup wouldn’t be fourth on his list.
“There’s probably an ATM at the Harbor Inn,” Jimmy said.
“Do they offer massage?” She shrugged her shoulders and moved her head from side to side. “I could use a massage.”
Sean laughed. “’Fraid not, princess. People go to Sandspit this time of year to fish for salmon,” Sean added. “There’s nothing fancy in town. No turn-down service anywhere on the island.”
“Bummer. I do love a mint left on my pillow.” She pulled her hair to one side and looked at Sean. “Are you going there to catch salmon?”
“I don’t fish for chinook these days.”
