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That didn’t mean they weren’t fun to ogle. Particularly in this case, with a man whose backside looked hard enough to crack a walnut, and hot enough to make her legs go weak.
Then the man shifted, as if he planned to turn around. She hissed.Weak, nothing. At the thought of seeing the full-frontal onslaught, Caro’s legs turned to jelly. If not for her arms holding up the front part of her body, she probably would have fallen face-first on the carpet.
“Don’t turn around,” the woman said matter-of-factly, apparently noticing her victim making a move. “Please stand there and look away while I get myself mussed before Daddy gets here.”
Daddy. Mussed. Caro began to understand. This was strictly TV Writing101 stuff. Tons of shows, from soaps to sitcoms, had explored this scenario in every conceivable way. This womanwantedto be caught in a compromising situation with Mr. Studly. Enter the enraged, armed papa. Fade to commercial.
“Pleasedon’t take off your clothes.” He sounded more nervous than he had when she’d threatened to shoot him.
No commercial, Caro, this is real life.
“Fair’s fair.” Then the woman chuckled. “At least now I know what all the women in town are dying for a glimpse of.”
His thighs? His flexing calves? His arms, which looked strong enough to carry a woman to the nearest flat surface and make love to her from here to Sunday? All of the above?
Most especially that hard, sweetly curved rear that cried out to be caressed, held, stroked and clenched in mind-numbing passion? Caro gulped as her nervous habit kicked in: she started to hum the theme music from her guiltiest TV pleasure,Bridgerton.
“Who would’ve thought those little black points were the tips of his ears?”
It took a second for Caro to understand what the woman meant. Then she leaned in farther, blinking off the haze of lust to take a really good look at the man. That was when Caro noticed what wasabovehis perfect, hard, finger-licking-good backside.
A tattoo. A sexy, wicked, playful tattoo. It told a story that revealed quite a lot about the man it adorned.
Part of it, the little creature in the small of his back, riding just above his right cheek, made her pause. Because it looked familiar. Very familiar.
“Impossible,” she whispered, not believing her own eyes. She studied it, blinking a few times, wondering if she was really seeing what she thought she was seeing.
It was a lamb. A cute little furry white lamb, as incongruous as it was adorable when decorating this hunky man’s body. “Crazy,” she called herself, knowing there were millions of men in the world who had millions of tattoos.
Maybe someotherhunk had decided to put a cute little lamb on his backside in honor of someotherwoman whose last name was the same as hers. Maybe that other hunk had called that other girl a sweet little lamb the first time they’d been introduced.
Or maybe she’d wronged someone in another life and karma was getting even. That was the only explanation about how fate could be cruel enough to bringhimback into her world.
“Please, no,” she whispered. But even as she did so, she knew it was futile. Somehow, Carolineknewthis particular tattoo belonged to only one particular man. “Lord help me.”
“Okay, Louise, this is getting ridiculous. And I’m getting cold,” the man drawled.
This time, because she was listening for it, she did, indeed, recognize the voice.
Mick Winchester. Good God, it was him. She hadn’t seen the man for eight years and already he had her down on her hands and knees, playing Peeping Tom. In two minutes flat, he’d turned her into a mindless, brainless female. Just like she’d been during the crazy, passionate year of their relationship.
She couldn’t help staring at him again, gobbling him up with her eyes, knowing that once his face was turned to hers, she wouldn’t be able to look her fill. Because he’d be watching her, laughing at her, knowing how she reacted to him.
Always had. Probably always would. Dammit all to hell.
In the office, Louise said, “It’s good you keep your tattoo covered.”
Remembering the tattoo, Caroline stared at it again, studying the whole image. The old tattoo was now part of a bigger picture. The glimpse of the lamb had made her cringe at the thought of facing Mick again. But studying the whole thing and assessing its meaning made her want to punch his lights out.
Because the jerk had gone and ruined it.
“That’d just feed the gossip mill, wouldn’t it?” Louise said. “They already think you’re a horny, hungry devil.”
A horny, hungry devil. How appropriate for this horny, hungry, insatiable, exasperating man.
Her teeth clenched and her eyes narrowed as she stared at what the creep had done to the poor little lamb on his hip. Directly across from it, extending from the base of his spine and down over part of his taut left cheek, was a cartoon character. With gaping jaws, a wicked twinkle in its eye and very sharp teeth.
She recognized the character instantly. From the spiky black fur, and the two pointed ears that might, indeed, peek out from a pair of low-riding jeans, to the glistening, salacious smile, the Big Bad Wolf sat silently on this man’s body like a predator watching for some tempting prey.
