watching," he repeated. "Let's give 'em a show."
He smiled softly as his head dipped.
This kiss was nothing like the passionate one on the front porch.
His lips moved softly over mine. Tasting. Nibbling. Exploring. His hand, still cupping my chin, drew my mouth open. And I complied.
When his tongue slipped between my lips, I groaned. I was lost in the moment. My imaginary romantic moment had become a reality. And, if the bulge pressing against my abdomen were any indication, this was just as real for Phelps.
A piercing scream rent the air, followed by a deafening explosion. We leapt apart as a second explosion burst directly above us.
"Fireworks," I explained unnecessarily, as a sparkle of embers rained down around us.
Looking back toward the bonfire, I saw Jawbreaker standing between Ferrero and the KYs, delightful malice in her eyes.
"That bi—"
Phelps jerked me into a run as the next string of fireworks burst over our heads. He didn't stop until we were at the picket fence—white of course—separating the manicured lawn from the beach.
"She did that on purpose," I complained. "She could have warned us or—"
"Are you all right?"
"—delayed the start or—"
"Lydia!" Phelps shook me.
"What?"
"Are you all right?"
"Yes, of course." I was fine, but he looked awfully shaken. "Are you all right?"
"Yes, yes, it's just—" He looked warily back down the beach. "I don't... I don't like fireworks."
This looked like more than just dislike. This looked a little like fear.
And rather than gloat, I found myself wanting to sooth his fears. It takes a lot of courage for a man as arrogantly masculine as Phelps Elliot to own up to a fear.
"Let's go inside," I offered.
Away from the fireworks. Away from bosses, scheming and lecherous alike. Away from—I shivered at the thought—those few interrupted moments on the beach.
My heart hardened against Jawbreaker and her scheming triplets. "This," I announced, "is war."
5
Q: Why do you have to go to bed at night?
A: Because the bed won't come to you.
— Laffy Taffy Joke #195
Sleeping arrangements were easily dealt with; Phelps slept on the floor with the caveat that he had to be up before anyone might come to wake us.
I was a little concerned that he had much more depth than Fiona led me to believe. My dreams that night were of a Jacuzzi tub full of Hot Tamales, Phelps, and me. And let me tell you, the heat was not coming from the candy.
At one point I bolted up in bed, shocked by the throbbing between my legs and certain that he must have heard me moaning in my sleep.
But when I peered over the edge, he lay soundly asleep on the floor, his expression angelic.
I collapsed back into the bed and slept peacefully throughout the rest of the night.
Breakfast harkened the arrival of Gavin.
We were on the back deck, plates of eggs benedict and exotic fruit perched on our knees, when I heard the melodious tenor of his voice.
I dropped my plate.
"Good morning, Lydia," he crooned, as I knelt to clean up my mess. Dubble Bubble Damn, why did his first sight have to be me on my hands and knees at his feet. Just where he wanted me, I'm sure.
"Gavin." I nodded my head in the barest tilt of polite acknowledgment.
Then my prince stepped in.
"Hey, you’re the ex!" Phelps thrust out his hand, forcibly taking Gavin's in return and pumping it enthusiastically. "Can't thank you enough for being such an ass. Lyd's the best thing that ever happened to me."
I might have been mortified, but for the look of utter aghast on Gavin's pretty boy face.
"Um, you’re welcome."
Gavin. At a loss for words? Priceless.
"If you hadn't boinked your secretary, then where would we be?"
Fiona must have told him more than just the particulars.
Gavin turned bright red—I had never thought to see Gavin Fairchild embarrassed—and could not come up with a single thing to say.
But I could.
"I don't know about you, Sweet Tooth, but I'd be married to a louse who dropped his pants
He smiled softly as his head dipped.
This kiss was nothing like the passionate one on the front porch.
His lips moved softly over mine. Tasting. Nibbling. Exploring. His hand, still cupping my chin, drew my mouth open. And I complied.
When his tongue slipped between my lips, I groaned. I was lost in the moment. My imaginary romantic moment had become a reality. And, if the bulge pressing against my abdomen were any indication, this was just as real for Phelps.
A piercing scream rent the air, followed by a deafening explosion. We leapt apart as a second explosion burst directly above us.
"Fireworks," I explained unnecessarily, as a sparkle of embers rained down around us.
Looking back toward the bonfire, I saw Jawbreaker standing between Ferrero and the KYs, delightful malice in her eyes.
"That bi—"
Phelps jerked me into a run as the next string of fireworks burst over our heads. He didn't stop until we were at the picket fence—white of course—separating the manicured lawn from the beach.
"She did that on purpose," I complained. "She could have warned us or—"
"Are you all right?"
"—delayed the start or—"
"Lydia!" Phelps shook me.
"What?"
"Are you all right?"
"Yes, of course." I was fine, but he looked awfully shaken. "Are you all right?"
"Yes, yes, it's just—" He looked warily back down the beach. "I don't... I don't like fireworks."
This looked like more than just dislike. This looked a little like fear.
And rather than gloat, I found myself wanting to sooth his fears. It takes a lot of courage for a man as arrogantly masculine as Phelps Elliot to own up to a fear.
"Let's go inside," I offered.
Away from the fireworks. Away from bosses, scheming and lecherous alike. Away from—I shivered at the thought—those few interrupted moments on the beach.
My heart hardened against Jawbreaker and her scheming triplets. "This," I announced, "is war."
5
Q: Why do you have to go to bed at night?
A: Because the bed won't come to you.
— Laffy Taffy Joke #195
Sleeping arrangements were easily dealt with; Phelps slept on the floor with the caveat that he had to be up before anyone might come to wake us.
I was a little concerned that he had much more depth than Fiona led me to believe. My dreams that night were of a Jacuzzi tub full of Hot Tamales, Phelps, and me. And let me tell you, the heat was not coming from the candy.
At one point I bolted up in bed, shocked by the throbbing between my legs and certain that he must have heard me moaning in my sleep.
But when I peered over the edge, he lay soundly asleep on the floor, his expression angelic.
I collapsed back into the bed and slept peacefully throughout the rest of the night.
Breakfast harkened the arrival of Gavin.
We were on the back deck, plates of eggs benedict and exotic fruit perched on our knees, when I heard the melodious tenor of his voice.
I dropped my plate.
"Good morning, Lydia," he crooned, as I knelt to clean up my mess. Dubble Bubble Damn, why did his first sight have to be me on my hands and knees at his feet. Just where he wanted me, I'm sure.
"Gavin." I nodded my head in the barest tilt of polite acknowledgment.
Then my prince stepped in.
"Hey, you’re the ex!" Phelps thrust out his hand, forcibly taking Gavin's in return and pumping it enthusiastically. "Can't thank you enough for being such an ass. Lyd's the best thing that ever happened to me."
I might have been mortified, but for the look of utter aghast on Gavin's pretty boy face.
"Um, you’re welcome."
Gavin. At a loss for words? Priceless.
"If you hadn't boinked your secretary, then where would we be?"
Fiona must have told him more than just the particulars.
Gavin turned bright red—I had never thought to see Gavin Fairchild embarrassed—and could not come up with a single thing to say.
But I could.
"I don't know about you, Sweet Tooth, but I'd be married to a louse who dropped his pants
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