huh. I think a pretty bad one. I sort of didn’t eat yesterday, either, after lunch.”
Junior got to her feet, and still the woman didn’t seem to notice or care that she was stark naked.
“‘Scuse me,” she mumbled, and gently pushed him aside as she passed.
Griff cleared his throat. “No problem,” he managed to croak.
He waited until the bathroom door shut before he dared to turn around, then bolted back downstairs.
Okay, so she didn’t appear to hold last night against him. So he was off the hook. Right? No harm, no foul. He’d done his best, and even if it hadn’t been perfect, at least she had experienced the touch of a lover, an extremely enthusiastic one at that.
Except –
A horrible thought gripped Griff. He sank into one of the mismatched flea market kitchen chairs. What if she didn’t even remember it?
She’d certainly had a lot to drink. And yet, she wasn’t exactly incoherent. She’d seemed pretty much alert right up to the moment when she began to snore gently in his arms, even as he was struggling to catch his breath.
But why else would she be acting so cool this morning?
But she was naked !
Was it possible that she hadn’t noticed ? Hell, this was unreal. Griff squinted his eyes shut and tried to think. In his worst hangover, had he felt miserable enough that he wouldn’t have noticed if he woke up without a stitch on? Alcohol hits women harder—he’d read that somewhere. Maybe it affected them differently too, disoriented them somehow, scrambled their senses. So maybe Junior had forgotten everything after his arrival last night, and assumed she’d gone to bed alone.
But if that was true, what would Junior say when she figured out she was completely naked? Which, doing whatever women do in the morning, she was about to—
“Come on, it wasn’t that bad, was it?” growled a husky voice inches from his ear. Griff nearly fell out of his chair. Instead he straightened, opened his eyes, and found himself staring into a multicolored tie-dyed vortex.
He focused—it was a T-shirt, or had been once, but now it had been cut into some sort of sleeveless nightshirt. The bottom, which barely skimmed the top of her thighs, was fringed with a wide band of lace.
“‘Mornin’,” Junior said, yawning. Before she turned away from him she wove her fingers into his hair and gave him a playful ruffle, as if he was a kid fresh out of the tub.
“I’ve been wanting to do that since I first saw you,” she added sleepily. “How much did you have to pay somebody to do that to you?”
“Uh—excuse me?”
“Your haircut, silly.”
Griff reddened. As a matter of fact, it had occurred to him before that fifty bucks was a heck of a lot to pay somebody to simply cut off half an inch every few weeks. But he wasn’t about to admit it to this ravishing hillbilly. Other women liked it, after all—they’d told him so.
“Some people like it,” he said stiffly.
“I didn’t say I didn’t like it,” Junior said mildly, opening cabinet doors and taking things out. She barely glanced at the smoking coffee pot before putting it in the sink and running water on its burnt contents. Then she slid a saucepan in its place and turned on the coffee maker.
As she poked around the top shelves, her nightshirt slid up her silky white thighs, barely covering the curve of her bottom. “You just don’t see much of that sort of thing around here. All that hair. On guys over the age of four, anyway.”
Griff steamed. This was good, though. Irritation was better than what he’d been feeling before, way better than chagrin and embarrassment and guilt and even the unmistakable urge to cup his hands on the nicely rounded curves of her derriere.
“Sugar?”
“Huh?” She was staring at him expectantly. He reddened and wondered if those wide green eyes could see what he’d been thinking, if they could read the lust in his eyes. That would certainly add to the jerky behavior he was guilty of.
But when
Junior got to her feet, and still the woman didn’t seem to notice or care that she was stark naked.
“‘Scuse me,” she mumbled, and gently pushed him aside as she passed.
Griff cleared his throat. “No problem,” he managed to croak.
He waited until the bathroom door shut before he dared to turn around, then bolted back downstairs.
Okay, so she didn’t appear to hold last night against him. So he was off the hook. Right? No harm, no foul. He’d done his best, and even if it hadn’t been perfect, at least she had experienced the touch of a lover, an extremely enthusiastic one at that.
Except –
A horrible thought gripped Griff. He sank into one of the mismatched flea market kitchen chairs. What if she didn’t even remember it?
She’d certainly had a lot to drink. And yet, she wasn’t exactly incoherent. She’d seemed pretty much alert right up to the moment when she began to snore gently in his arms, even as he was struggling to catch his breath.
But why else would she be acting so cool this morning?
But she was naked !
Was it possible that she hadn’t noticed ? Hell, this was unreal. Griff squinted his eyes shut and tried to think. In his worst hangover, had he felt miserable enough that he wouldn’t have noticed if he woke up without a stitch on? Alcohol hits women harder—he’d read that somewhere. Maybe it affected them differently too, disoriented them somehow, scrambled their senses. So maybe Junior had forgotten everything after his arrival last night, and assumed she’d gone to bed alone.
But if that was true, what would Junior say when she figured out she was completely naked? Which, doing whatever women do in the morning, she was about to—
“Come on, it wasn’t that bad, was it?” growled a husky voice inches from his ear. Griff nearly fell out of his chair. Instead he straightened, opened his eyes, and found himself staring into a multicolored tie-dyed vortex.
He focused—it was a T-shirt, or had been once, but now it had been cut into some sort of sleeveless nightshirt. The bottom, which barely skimmed the top of her thighs, was fringed with a wide band of lace.
“‘Mornin’,” Junior said, yawning. Before she turned away from him she wove her fingers into his hair and gave him a playful ruffle, as if he was a kid fresh out of the tub.
“I’ve been wanting to do that since I first saw you,” she added sleepily. “How much did you have to pay somebody to do that to you?”
“Uh—excuse me?”
“Your haircut, silly.”
Griff reddened. As a matter of fact, it had occurred to him before that fifty bucks was a heck of a lot to pay somebody to simply cut off half an inch every few weeks. But he wasn’t about to admit it to this ravishing hillbilly. Other women liked it, after all—they’d told him so.
“Some people like it,” he said stiffly.
“I didn’t say I didn’t like it,” Junior said mildly, opening cabinet doors and taking things out. She barely glanced at the smoking coffee pot before putting it in the sink and running water on its burnt contents. Then she slid a saucepan in its place and turned on the coffee maker.
As she poked around the top shelves, her nightshirt slid up her silky white thighs, barely covering the curve of her bottom. “You just don’t see much of that sort of thing around here. All that hair. On guys over the age of four, anyway.”
Griff steamed. This was good, though. Irritation was better than what he’d been feeling before, way better than chagrin and embarrassment and guilt and even the unmistakable urge to cup his hands on the nicely rounded curves of her derriere.
“Sugar?”
“Huh?” She was staring at him expectantly. He reddened and wondered if those wide green eyes could see what he’d been thinking, if they could read the lust in his eyes. That would certainly add to the jerky behavior he was guilty of.
But when
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