actually.” She winked. Tossing the towel aside, she stood.
When he got a good look at what she was wearing, his jaw sagged. He gave her a more thorough and appreciative examination. Her hair was pulled into two short ponytails behind each ear, which made her look like a teenager. But that wasn’t what caught his attention. He waved a hand at her swimsuit. “What is this?”
“A crochet bikini.” She ran a finger along the tie at one hip. “I designed the pattern for it over a year ago, but didn’t have a reason to wear it until now.”
Slender crisscrossing strands formed tantalizing patterns that shaped around her breasts on top and over her ass and between her legs on the bottom. The whole thing was held together by braded cords that fastened at each hip and behind her neck. The cut wasn’t immodest, but it fit her every curve to perfection, and there was something about the material—as if it was so delicate it might tear away at any moment. He couldn’t take his eyes off it, hoping for that fateful moment.
He licked his lips. “You made this?”
“Well, yeah.” She shrugged. “What did you think a fiber artist did?”
“I had no idea.” He reached out to slide his thumb along the same tie, dropping his voice to a low timbre. “But I’m in favor of any profession that creates something this sinful.”
She flushed. “Thank you. I think.”
“So tell me what a fiber artist does.” He slipped an arm around her waist and guided her toward the water’s edge.
“Well, first and foremost, I run a fiber arts store.” She tucked a lock of escaped hair behind her ear. “Actually, since Aunt Eloise died, I guess I own and run a fiber arts store. It’s a business, like any other.”
“A successful business, I’m guessing.” Especially if she sold confections like the one she was wearing. Every woman on the planet should have one.
She shrugged modestly. “Purl Moon has done pretty well, even in the crappy economy. I took the business online in the last year, so we get orders from all over the world now. That’s helped boost our profit margin.”
“You still haven’t answered my question. What exactly does a fiber artist do?” He kissed the side of her neck, just above the tie, and a shiver coursed through her.
“Okay, the simplest explanation is: I get raw fibers from different kinds of sheep, goats, and even rabbits.” She lifted a finger. “Oh, and some plants too, like bamboo. I dye them by hand and spin them into yarn that I can sell or use to knit, crochet, felt or tat into products I can wear, give as gifts, display as samples, or sell to customers. That’s generally what a fiber artist does.” She tipped her head, eyebrows scrunching. “But I also buy and sell a lot of yarns that I don’t make myself. And I teach classes on how to do all of those things—spin, knit, crochet, etcetera.”
He blinked. “Impressive.”
“Thanks.” She dimpled. “This bikini is made of cotton, so it doesn’t get as waterlogged or stretchy as other fibers, which means you can actually swim in it, rather than just sunbathe.” She gave him a look. “Or pose for a gentleman’s viewing pleasure.”
“It is a pleasure, indeed. You’re right about that.” If he didn’t stop staring at her soon, his cock would be straining the confines of his trunks in very visible ways. “Let’s test the swimability of your creation.”
Maybe by the time they got out of the water, he’d have calmed down a bit. It was a pretty futile hope with this woman nearby, but he didn’t have much choice. The water closed around him, feeling far too cold against his heated skin. It would only take a few minutes to adjust, fortunately, because he shuddered at the first submersion.
It wasn’t until he was waist-deep that he realized any fear he’d had about her being uptight over the passing-out-on-her incidents had dissipated. Being around her was…easy. Fun. He couldn’t remember the last time he could
When he got a good look at what she was wearing, his jaw sagged. He gave her a more thorough and appreciative examination. Her hair was pulled into two short ponytails behind each ear, which made her look like a teenager. But that wasn’t what caught his attention. He waved a hand at her swimsuit. “What is this?”
“A crochet bikini.” She ran a finger along the tie at one hip. “I designed the pattern for it over a year ago, but didn’t have a reason to wear it until now.”
Slender crisscrossing strands formed tantalizing patterns that shaped around her breasts on top and over her ass and between her legs on the bottom. The whole thing was held together by braded cords that fastened at each hip and behind her neck. The cut wasn’t immodest, but it fit her every curve to perfection, and there was something about the material—as if it was so delicate it might tear away at any moment. He couldn’t take his eyes off it, hoping for that fateful moment.
He licked his lips. “You made this?”
“Well, yeah.” She shrugged. “What did you think a fiber artist did?”
“I had no idea.” He reached out to slide his thumb along the same tie, dropping his voice to a low timbre. “But I’m in favor of any profession that creates something this sinful.”
She flushed. “Thank you. I think.”
“So tell me what a fiber artist does.” He slipped an arm around her waist and guided her toward the water’s edge.
“Well, first and foremost, I run a fiber arts store.” She tucked a lock of escaped hair behind her ear. “Actually, since Aunt Eloise died, I guess I own and run a fiber arts store. It’s a business, like any other.”
“A successful business, I’m guessing.” Especially if she sold confections like the one she was wearing. Every woman on the planet should have one.
She shrugged modestly. “Purl Moon has done pretty well, even in the crappy economy. I took the business online in the last year, so we get orders from all over the world now. That’s helped boost our profit margin.”
“You still haven’t answered my question. What exactly does a fiber artist do?” He kissed the side of her neck, just above the tie, and a shiver coursed through her.
“Okay, the simplest explanation is: I get raw fibers from different kinds of sheep, goats, and even rabbits.” She lifted a finger. “Oh, and some plants too, like bamboo. I dye them by hand and spin them into yarn that I can sell or use to knit, crochet, felt or tat into products I can wear, give as gifts, display as samples, or sell to customers. That’s generally what a fiber artist does.” She tipped her head, eyebrows scrunching. “But I also buy and sell a lot of yarns that I don’t make myself. And I teach classes on how to do all of those things—spin, knit, crochet, etcetera.”
He blinked. “Impressive.”
“Thanks.” She dimpled. “This bikini is made of cotton, so it doesn’t get as waterlogged or stretchy as other fibers, which means you can actually swim in it, rather than just sunbathe.” She gave him a look. “Or pose for a gentleman’s viewing pleasure.”
“It is a pleasure, indeed. You’re right about that.” If he didn’t stop staring at her soon, his cock would be straining the confines of his trunks in very visible ways. “Let’s test the swimability of your creation.”
Maybe by the time they got out of the water, he’d have calmed down a bit. It was a pretty futile hope with this woman nearby, but he didn’t have much choice. The water closed around him, feeling far too cold against his heated skin. It would only take a few minutes to adjust, fortunately, because he shuddered at the first submersion.
It wasn’t until he was waist-deep that he realized any fear he’d had about her being uptight over the passing-out-on-her incidents had dissipated. Being around her was…easy. Fun. He couldn’t remember the last time he could
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