A Midsummer Night's Romp by Katie MacAlister

broken.”
    â€œSteel-toed boots . . . you must be an archaeologist,” he said with a quirky half smile.
    â€œNot really, no.” It was on the tip of my tongue to tell him that my old roommate had been an amateur digger, but I stopped myself in time, appalled at the fact that a few seconds of sitting on his lap and I was ready to blabeverything. “But I do know that boots are
de rigueur
for dig sites.”
    â€œThey are indeed. I’m glad to hear your foot wasn’t injured.” He stared at me for a second, and it crossed my mind that I should get off him. But one of his arms was still wrapped around me, holding me firmly to his torso. “I do apologize, but as I said, you just came around that corner unexpectedly, and there was nothing I could do. I’m Gunner, by the way. Gunner Ainslie. And you are . . . ?”
    â€œLorina Liddell. Wait, Gunner as in the father of Cressy?”
    His eyes seemed to light up. “You’ve met my little girl?”
    â€œShe’s hardly little,” I said before realizing that he might be insulted by such honesty. “That is, she’s a smidgen taller than me, and I’m a behemoth.”
    â€œYou are not a behemoth. Far from it.”
    â€œI am. I’m just shy of six feet, and I won’t tell you my weight because it would probably make you run screaming from me.”
    â€œWomen and their body issues,” he said, shaking his head. “I’ve never understood why women feel that men find bony bodies desirable.”
    â€œTelevision,” I said sourly. “Movies. Magazines. Every other form of media.”
    â€œYes, well, they’re wrong,” he said, waving away such paltry things. “I happen to like women with some substance to them. Cressy takes after her mother in that respect, and I have no doubt the day will come when I will be carrying a shotgun around just to keep the boys off her. If she ever expresses an interest in them, that is. Her grandmother assures me that it’s only a matter of time before she ceases being horse-mad and turns to romance.”
    â€œAh, the horse stage,” I said, remembering my own youth. “I kind of hope she doesn’t change too much. She’s quite charming, actually.”
    â€œShe is that. Don’t know where she gets it from—certainly not her mother, and I’m just an old crusty photographer who does better with inanimate objects than people.”
    I stared at him in horror, my stomach contracting with a sudden spurt of concern. For a minute, I thought I might hyperventilate. “You’re a photographer?”
    â€œThere’s a more technical title relating to building sites and forensics, but I like to think of myself as being a photographer at heart. I’m also a minister in an Internet religion if you want to get married.”
    My eyes widened to the point where I wouldn’t have been surprised if they bugged out. “Did you just ask me to marry you?”
    â€œNo, I offered to—oh, I see what you’re asking.” His smile, which had been pleasantly lopsided, turned into an outright full-fledged grin. “Although the Ainslie men tend to wed after a short acquaintance, I think that even my brother, who married a perfectly charming American—you’re a Yank, too, aren’t you?—even Elliott would have something to say if I offered myself to you after having known you for only five minutes.”
    â€œOh, good, I didn’t think . . . but it just seemed like . . .” I remembered that he was the enemy, a man who could potentially destroy the cover I’d built for myself, and returned to feeling sick to my stomach. “Well, thank god you’re not into me.”
    â€œThat is a
very
risqué thing to say when you are sitting on my lap.”
    â€œI’m sorry.” I sighed, and pushed myself off his lap, flexing my foot before