crotchless snow bikini. Wow, no wonder the model sported some major THOs.
Too bad it rarely snowed in this part of Texas. She couldn’t add snow play to her Cameron and Allie sexual scenario list.
The deep rumble of a male voice led her toward an ajar door. She edged it open with her toe because Scoot had apparently misplaced his cleaning supplies twenty years ago, and that doorknob might harbor something worse than the restrooms at Dirty Harry’s, a bar on Highway 12 where even the women preferred to use the trees out back in lieu of the restroom.
She opened the door fully, making the door hinges squeal. Cameron swung around to face her, while he listened and occasionally responded into the phone. He was sprawled in a black leather office chair large enough to hold his body with ease. His legs were splayed, highlighting the worn stress point across his fly.
Scenario number seventy-two—she and Cameron utilizing that chair and its many ergonomic positions. She had to starting writing these down or she was going to forget one.
“Mom, gotta go.” He motioned Allie inside. “Got company, but I’ll swing by soon. Love you.”
She could still hear Emmalee asking who her son’s company was when he punched the off button. Thinking back to her conversation with her dad, she decided Cameron’s behavior wasn’t the same as her dad hanging up on her. He’d told his mom he loved her, and he’d meant it.
Allie’s advice to her clients was to never get serious about a man who wasn’t good to his mother. Not that she planned to get serious with Cameron Wright.
“The princess is slumming tonight.” He pointed to a ratty recliner shoved into the corner. “Sorry, but that’s the best seat in the house, unless you want this one.” He started to stand, but Allie waved him back.
“This is fine.” Allie leaned back cautiously. “Just keep an eye on it. I’d like to get out alive.”
“I’ll protect you. Besides, if it held Beck, your hundred and change won’t break it.”
She ran her hands over the cracked arms. “Have you considered that shooting it might be more humane than keeping it alive?”
Those sexy lines appeared at the corners of his eyes when he smiled.
Now that she was here, on his turf, Allie’s stomach jumped as though she’d swallowed a handful of Pop Rocks. She was usually a good conversationalist, but what did a woman say to kick off a so-are-we-going-to-have-sex-or-not conversation? “I admired your artwork on the way in.”
He laughed, a scratchy sound as if he were out of practice. “Left them up to keep me company while I cleaned out the bays. If it makes you feel better, I plan to rip them down before I open for business.”
“I bet they have good personalities and other assets.”
“I figured they would offend someone like you.”
“Someone like me?”
“With this business of yours, don’t you think it demeans women when men ogle pictures of big ti—breasts?”
“I believe ‘To each his own.’ What I don’t like is when women, real women, compare themselves with women who have been sculpted, padded and airbrushed. It gives them the impression they can never measure up. That they—we—have to have a 36D bra size in order to please a man, and more importantly, to please ourselves.” And wasn’t she the pot for wishing she’d worn a padded bra at the ball field?
“Besides, I’d be out of luck if big breasts were required for great sex.” Sure enough, he checked out her chest. It wasn’t impressive, but it was truth in advertising to make sure he understood what he was and was not getting if he went to bed with her. She took a breath. “And speaking of great sex—”
“Ah, are you thirsty? Hungry?” Cameron opened his desk drawers one after another. “I think I have a couple of snacks around here somewhere.” He pawed around and pulled out a wrinkled bag of peanuts.
Was she making him nervous? Surely not. This was a man who’d had the reputation for
Too bad it rarely snowed in this part of Texas. She couldn’t add snow play to her Cameron and Allie sexual scenario list.
The deep rumble of a male voice led her toward an ajar door. She edged it open with her toe because Scoot had apparently misplaced his cleaning supplies twenty years ago, and that doorknob might harbor something worse than the restrooms at Dirty Harry’s, a bar on Highway 12 where even the women preferred to use the trees out back in lieu of the restroom.
She opened the door fully, making the door hinges squeal. Cameron swung around to face her, while he listened and occasionally responded into the phone. He was sprawled in a black leather office chair large enough to hold his body with ease. His legs were splayed, highlighting the worn stress point across his fly.
Scenario number seventy-two—she and Cameron utilizing that chair and its many ergonomic positions. She had to starting writing these down or she was going to forget one.
“Mom, gotta go.” He motioned Allie inside. “Got company, but I’ll swing by soon. Love you.”
She could still hear Emmalee asking who her son’s company was when he punched the off button. Thinking back to her conversation with her dad, she decided Cameron’s behavior wasn’t the same as her dad hanging up on her. He’d told his mom he loved her, and he’d meant it.
Allie’s advice to her clients was to never get serious about a man who wasn’t good to his mother. Not that she planned to get serious with Cameron Wright.
“The princess is slumming tonight.” He pointed to a ratty recliner shoved into the corner. “Sorry, but that’s the best seat in the house, unless you want this one.” He started to stand, but Allie waved him back.
“This is fine.” Allie leaned back cautiously. “Just keep an eye on it. I’d like to get out alive.”
“I’ll protect you. Besides, if it held Beck, your hundred and change won’t break it.”
She ran her hands over the cracked arms. “Have you considered that shooting it might be more humane than keeping it alive?”
Those sexy lines appeared at the corners of his eyes when he smiled.
Now that she was here, on his turf, Allie’s stomach jumped as though she’d swallowed a handful of Pop Rocks. She was usually a good conversationalist, but what did a woman say to kick off a so-are-we-going-to-have-sex-or-not conversation? “I admired your artwork on the way in.”
He laughed, a scratchy sound as if he were out of practice. “Left them up to keep me company while I cleaned out the bays. If it makes you feel better, I plan to rip them down before I open for business.”
“I bet they have good personalities and other assets.”
“I figured they would offend someone like you.”
“Someone like me?”
“With this business of yours, don’t you think it demeans women when men ogle pictures of big ti—breasts?”
“I believe ‘To each his own.’ What I don’t like is when women, real women, compare themselves with women who have been sculpted, padded and airbrushed. It gives them the impression they can never measure up. That they—we—have to have a 36D bra size in order to please a man, and more importantly, to please ourselves.” And wasn’t she the pot for wishing she’d worn a padded bra at the ball field?
“Besides, I’d be out of luck if big breasts were required for great sex.” Sure enough, he checked out her chest. It wasn’t impressive, but it was truth in advertising to make sure he understood what he was and was not getting if he went to bed with her. She took a breath. “And speaking of great sex—”
“Ah, are you thirsty? Hungry?” Cameron opened his desk drawers one after another. “I think I have a couple of snacks around here somewhere.” He pawed around and pulled out a wrinkled bag of peanuts.
Was she making him nervous? Surely not. This was a man who’d had the reputation for
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