man?”
“You’re enjoying this!”
“Hey, it’s not every day a military man lets a toy soldier shoot him where the sun don’t—”
“Never mind. I need treatment. What did you say earlier? Rather the deep blue sea than the devil?”
“Hah. I suppose I’m the deep blue sea?”
“You got it in one, babe.”
“Call me babe again, and I’ll stick something sharp in the other cheek.”
“Point—ouch—taken. I apologize. Harmony . . . Crap, I can’t believe I’m asking you this, but would you please remove this bayonet from my backside?”
“Okay, here goes.” She rubbed her hands together and circled him.
“Wait!” he shouted, pulling his ass from her reach with a groan. “Not like that!”
“Like what then? Does it hurt bad?”
“It’s just a splinter.”
“Yeah?” She went to the life-sized wooden soldier with the missing bayonet. “He did it,” she said, pointing. Then she measured the length of the bayonet on another rifle, and turned to Paxton, her hands at the same spread. “Your splinter is . . . this . . . big.”
“This is not a fish story to tell your friends,” he snapped.
“Spoilsport. Your splinter’s a foot long, McBullseye. Hurts more just knowing it, doesn’t it?”
“Could you stop enjoying this and get the first aid kit? Don’t tell Curt why you need it. I’d never live it down.”
“Okay, but you’re a little pale. Why don’t I help you lie on your stomach on one of the sofas in the formal parlor while you wait?”
He walked slowly and painfully to the sofa, and she helped him lie down, while he cursed the castle and his family tree in general.
Harmony towered over him. “Wanna pull down your slacks to let the air get at it until I come back?”
“Cartwright . . .”
“I’m going, I’m going.” Spooked over the toy room horror show, but more so by their magnetic-libido kissing fest, Harmony ran through the tunnel and down the stairs, slowing as she turned to the construction site so no one would be suspicious. She managed a nebulous request, as if she needed the first aid kit for herself.
Curt, being a man, probably thought, Woman trouble—yikes! and handed it over without question.
By the time she got back to Paxton, he had recovered his manly pride, if not his manly stance. “Okay, tough guy,” she said, sitting beside him, thigh to thigh. “Have no fear, your nurse is here. Oooh, nice ass.”
“Harmony, I’m warning you—”
“Sheesh. You’re no fun when you’re a pain in the ass. Oh, sorry. No pun intended. Shall I pull down your slacks, or do you want to do the honors?”
He looked back at her. “Shouldn’t you take out the splinter first?”
“If you want me to.” She cleared her throat and looked around the formal parlor. “Wanna bite down on the family saber while I do? If not, I have a topical anesthetic in here that’ll make removing it much less painful.”
“Cut the sarcasm. Are there scissors in the first aid kit?”
“Yep.”
Paxton rested his cheek on the sofa arm. “Cut my slacks out of the way. I have spares upstairs. I’ll change after.”
“Going commando are we?”
He looked back at her. “Are we?”
She raised a brow. “One of us could be.”
“Which one of us?” he wanted to know.
“I’m just screwing with your man brain. Boxers or tighty whities?”
“Cut the slacks, and you’ll find out what to cut next . . . if anything. I can’t believe I’m putting my ass in your hands.”
“Such fine words; such unromantic circumstances.”
“You want romance? Get that stick out of my butt.”
“That’s romantic, all right. But which stick? The wooden one or the steel rod? Because I gotta tell you that I think you’ll need a major attitude adjustment, and even then, surgery might be required to remove—”
“Shut . . . up!”
“Okay, playtime’s over. Geez, are you touchy. Wow, your slacks cut like butter. That’s quality. Ooh, yum, black silk.” She knuckled the fabric of
“You’re enjoying this!”
“Hey, it’s not every day a military man lets a toy soldier shoot him where the sun don’t—”
“Never mind. I need treatment. What did you say earlier? Rather the deep blue sea than the devil?”
“Hah. I suppose I’m the deep blue sea?”
“You got it in one, babe.”
“Call me babe again, and I’ll stick something sharp in the other cheek.”
“Point—ouch—taken. I apologize. Harmony . . . Crap, I can’t believe I’m asking you this, but would you please remove this bayonet from my backside?”
“Okay, here goes.” She rubbed her hands together and circled him.
“Wait!” he shouted, pulling his ass from her reach with a groan. “Not like that!”
“Like what then? Does it hurt bad?”
“It’s just a splinter.”
“Yeah?” She went to the life-sized wooden soldier with the missing bayonet. “He did it,” she said, pointing. Then she measured the length of the bayonet on another rifle, and turned to Paxton, her hands at the same spread. “Your splinter is . . . this . . . big.”
“This is not a fish story to tell your friends,” he snapped.
“Spoilsport. Your splinter’s a foot long, McBullseye. Hurts more just knowing it, doesn’t it?”
“Could you stop enjoying this and get the first aid kit? Don’t tell Curt why you need it. I’d never live it down.”
“Okay, but you’re a little pale. Why don’t I help you lie on your stomach on one of the sofas in the formal parlor while you wait?”
He walked slowly and painfully to the sofa, and she helped him lie down, while he cursed the castle and his family tree in general.
Harmony towered over him. “Wanna pull down your slacks to let the air get at it until I come back?”
“Cartwright . . .”
“I’m going, I’m going.” Spooked over the toy room horror show, but more so by their magnetic-libido kissing fest, Harmony ran through the tunnel and down the stairs, slowing as she turned to the construction site so no one would be suspicious. She managed a nebulous request, as if she needed the first aid kit for herself.
Curt, being a man, probably thought, Woman trouble—yikes! and handed it over without question.
By the time she got back to Paxton, he had recovered his manly pride, if not his manly stance. “Okay, tough guy,” she said, sitting beside him, thigh to thigh. “Have no fear, your nurse is here. Oooh, nice ass.”
“Harmony, I’m warning you—”
“Sheesh. You’re no fun when you’re a pain in the ass. Oh, sorry. No pun intended. Shall I pull down your slacks, or do you want to do the honors?”
He looked back at her. “Shouldn’t you take out the splinter first?”
“If you want me to.” She cleared her throat and looked around the formal parlor. “Wanna bite down on the family saber while I do? If not, I have a topical anesthetic in here that’ll make removing it much less painful.”
“Cut the sarcasm. Are there scissors in the first aid kit?”
“Yep.”
Paxton rested his cheek on the sofa arm. “Cut my slacks out of the way. I have spares upstairs. I’ll change after.”
“Going commando are we?”
He looked back at her. “Are we?”
She raised a brow. “One of us could be.”
“Which one of us?” he wanted to know.
“I’m just screwing with your man brain. Boxers or tighty whities?”
“Cut the slacks, and you’ll find out what to cut next . . . if anything. I can’t believe I’m putting my ass in your hands.”
“Such fine words; such unromantic circumstances.”
“You want romance? Get that stick out of my butt.”
“That’s romantic, all right. But which stick? The wooden one or the steel rod? Because I gotta tell you that I think you’ll need a major attitude adjustment, and even then, surgery might be required to remove—”
“Shut . . . up!”
“Okay, playtime’s over. Geez, are you touchy. Wow, your slacks cut like butter. That’s quality. Ooh, yum, black silk.” She knuckled the fabric of
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