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“Either you put on the sweater, or we go to the bedroom.”
That wasn’t much of a threat, she thought, when every cell in her body was saying “Yes! Yes! Yes!” As long as she could keep her mouth from saying it, she was holding her own, but she was beginning to have serious doubts about holding him off for even a couple of days, much less a couple of weeks the way she had planned. Torturing him didn’t sound like nearly as much fun as it had before, because now she knew just how much she would also be torturing herself.
He stuffed her arms inside the sweater and pulled it over her head, jerking the fabric into place. The sweater was inside out, she saw, but who cared? She didn’t.
“You’re trying to kill me,” he accused. “I’m going to make you pay, too.”
“How?” she asked with interest, leaning against him. The same thing that was wrong with her arms was also wrong with her spine; it wouldn’t hold her upright.
“Instead of that half hour of thrusting time you claim you want, I’m going to stop at twenty-nine minutes.”
She snickered. “I thought you were holding out for two seconds.”
“That’s just the first time. The second time we’re going to set the sheets on fire.”
It behooved her, she thought, to get off his lap. His erection was like an iron bar prodding her hip, and talking about sex wasn’t helping any. If she really, really didn’t want to go to bed with him now, she should get up. But she really, really did want to go to bed with him, and only a small portion of her brain was still cautious.
That small portion, however, was insistent. She had learned the hard way not to assume happily-ever-after would happen for her, and just because they were hot for each other didn’t mean there was anything between them other than sex.
She cleared her throat. “I should get up, shouldn’t I?”
“If you have to move at all, do it slowly.”
“That close, huh?”
“Just call me Mount Etna.”
“Who’s Edna?”
He laughed, as she had intended, but the sound was strained. Gingerly she eased off his lap. He winced and awkwardly climbed to his feet. The front of his pants looked deformed, the way it was tented out. Jaine tried not to stare.
“Tell me about your family,” she blurted.
“What?” He looked as if he was having trouble following the change of subject.
“Your family. Tell me about them.”
“Why?”
“To get your mind off… you know.” She indicated the “you know” in question. “You said you have two sisters.”
“And four brothers.”
She blinked. “Seven. Wow.”
“Yeah. Unfortunately, my oldest sister, Dorothy, was the third child. My folks kept trying to have another girl so she wouldn’t be the only one. They had three more boys trying to get Doro a sister.”
“Where are you in the lineup?”
“Second.”
“Are you a close family?”
“Fairly close. We all live here in the state except for Angie, the baby. She goes to college in Chicago.”
The diversion had worked; he looked a little more relaxed than he had a moment before, though his gaze still had a tendency to settle on her braless breasts. To give him something to do, she poured another glass of iced tea and handed it to him.
“Have you ever been married?”
