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She arches a brow. “Really? Why? For being too warm and supportive and wonderful?”
“For being nosy and intrusive and not respecting my boundaries,” I say. “Not to mention bossy. Bossiness is in the DNA and really fucking annoying. Even my younger siblings feel like they have the right to boss me around.”
She grins, a mischievous light in her eyes. “Really? Bossy? You don’t say.”
“Yeah, bossy,” I say, knowing exactly where she’s headed.
“Have you um…looked in the mirror lately, perchance?”
I fight a smile. “No, I haven’t. Someone had their clothes spread out all over the bathroom floor, so I couldn’t get to the mirror above the sink. That’s why I was changing by the front door.”
The mischief in her eyes takes on a sultrier edge. “My clothes were not on the floor. They were in the shower.”
“And spilling out onto the floor,” I say, my focus dropping to her full lips.
“Maybe the tiniest bit.” Her face drifts closer to mine. “Like…two inches. Maybe three.”
“It’s a lot more than two inches,” I whisper.
“That’s what all the guys say,” she says, summoning a startled laugh from my throat. “Sorry,” she adds. “The dirty stuff just comes out when I’m with you. I can’t help it.”
Cupping her cheek, I murmur, “That’s not dirty stuff. I could show you some dirty stuff, Nora Boudreaux.”
“I would really like that Matty McGuire,” she says. “I’d like it a lot.”
I lean in, a breath from kissing her in a way I haven’t before. I’ve never kissed her in private, in a place where the kiss doesn’t have to stop…if we don’t want it to. And I really don’t want it to.
Ishould. This isn’t what’s best for either of us.
But right now, with her sweet smell swirling through my head and the need to comfort her, preferably with my mouth all over her body, pumping through my veins, I find I’ve lost my will to resist.
Unfortunately—fortunately? Hell, if I know anymore—Clyde decides to help me out by emitting a horrendous belch before vomiting on Nora’s lap.
“Oh no,” she says, lips pulling away from her teeth as she glances down at the warm, sour mess. “Oh, you poor thing. Do you think he has a virus or something? Should we take him to the emergency vet?”
I shake my head. “I’m not sure where we’d find one open anywhere close to here. And I think he’s okay. Probably just stressed out from all the drama.” I gather the cat gently in my arms. “But I’ll make some plain white rice to mix into his food. Hopefully, that will calm his stomach.”
“That sounds smart,” she says, hooking her fingers into the top of the flannel pants she’s wearing. “And delicious. Even with cat vomit all over me, I’m still starving. I’ll take the world’s fastest shower and be out to help make supper in two seconds.”
Before I can reply, she’s shimmied out of the pants and scooped them carefully from the ground, cradling the mess. Standing there in nothing but my black t-shirt, the one that’s barely long enough to cover whatever she’s wearing underneath, she cocks her head. “What should I do with this? I’m thinking—rinse it off in the rain on the porch, then wash it with a little dish soap and hang it by the fire to dry? We’re going to keep the fire going, right? I love a fire on a chilly night.”
Without waiting for me to respond, she crosses to the door and steps out into the rain. She leans against the railing, reaching out beneath the overhang to get the soiled pants properly soaked, while I stand gaping at the bare curves of her ass peeking out beneath the shirt.
“Am I losing it?” I whisper to the cat in a rough voice. “Or is she not wearing panties?”
Clyde belches again, just as Nora glances at me over her shoulder, shooting me such a steamy look, I know that flash of her ass wasn’t an accident.
Damn…
She’s way more trouble than I was anticipating.
And I kind of fucking…love it.
Chapter Seven
From the texts of Nora Boudreaux
and Delores “Gram” Rockport
