Her Naughty Holiday

She narrowed her eyes at him. He narrowed his eyes at her. Then he reached out and opened the nightstand drawer.

“I knew it,” he said. “Nothing.”

“Not nothing. There’s something in there, right?”

“Yeah. A packet of silica gel that the manufacturer put in here that you never took out. Oh, and this is the receipt for your lamp.”

She snatched both of them out of his hand and tossed them into the white wicker trash can.

“Okay, so I’m not home much,” she said. “Don’t you start in on me, too. I get this from my parents.”

“Whoa there.” He raised both hands in surrender. “I’m not telling you that you need to get married and have kids. I’ve been married. I’ve had a kid. Trust me, neither one is a requirement for happiness. I would die for my daughter. I’ve also come close to killing her a few times. Marriage and kids is another kind of work. What I’m saying is it looks to me like you need to work less, not more. At least for this week. Maybe be a homebody. Maybe be...my body?”

She put her hands on her hips and stared him down.

“You’re sexy when you glare at me like that,” he said.

“I am not. You just said I’m wearing a robe over a schooner sail.”

“You’re still sexy.”

“I don’t feel sexy,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest again.

“How do you feel?”

“Prudish. Uncomfortable.”

“Well, you aren’t prudish. You asked me to spend the night with you.”

“I think that was your idea.”

“Beside the point. You liked the idea.”

“I did. Kind of.” She smiled.

“But what about this uncomfortable thing? Are you uncomfortable with me? Or are you uncomfortable with you?”

“What do you mean?”

“You said you liked that I’m comfortable with myself. Are you comfortable with yourself?”

“If I were, do you think I’d be wearing a schooner sail?”

“Good point. Maybe let’s lose that. Can we?”

“You’re trying to get me naked already? That was fast.”

“Not naked. Not yet, anyway. Here.” He stood up in front of her and unzipped his black fleece Columbia jacket. Under it he wore a white V-neck T-shirt. He tossed the Columbia jacket onto the back of her armchair and then pulled the T-shirt off over his head. “Take this.”

“What?” She looked at his naked chest in shock. Shock, surprise and pleasure.

“I want you to put on my T-shirt. If you would. If you wouldn’t mind. I’d appreciate it. You’re really doing me a favor here.”

“Doing you a favor by putting on your T-shirt,” she repeated.

“When a beautiful woman puts on my shirt, it makes me feel better about the state of the world. And if the only other thing she has on is her underwear, I’m downright optimistic for the future. And don’t we all need a little more optimism these days?”

“So I put on your T-shirt and traipse around in my underwear and you’ll feel better about world events?”

“Now that you mention it, I don’t really know exactly what traipsing is. But I would like you to do it, yes. Whatever it is.”

“So you’ll feel better about the world?”

“Right,” he said, nodding. “I’m feeling perkier already.”

“Perky...that’s what we’re calling it now, are we?”

“Lose the sail and I’ll be downright cheerful.”

She sighed and took the T-shirt out of his hands. She tried not to stare at his chest as she did it, but she didn’t try very hard. He had a good chest, nice broad shoulders and the right amount of chest hair—more than a boy’s and less than a Sasquatch’s. Flat stomach, which was good. No washboard, which was better. She would feel really uncomfortable getting undressed in front of a man with a six-pack. She much preferred normal bodies over perfect bodies considering just how unperfect her body was.

“I’ll go change in the bathroom. If that’s okay,” she said.

“Your pony, your saddle. You change where you want. I’ll be right here.” He patted the bed.

She walked into the bathroom and shut the door behind her. She went to lay Erick’s T-shirt on the bathroom counter but she paused and lifted it to her nose. Cedar. Cedar and soap. She would happily smell that all night. Maybe she could, too, if she didn’t screw this up.

“Clover?” Erick called out, and she almost dropped the shirt on the floor.

“Yes?”

“You mind if I open the window a little? I like night air.”

She smiled and pressed the shirt to her chest.

“Me, too,” she said. “Go for it.”

“Plus if you’re cold you’ll have to come to me for body heat,” he said, and she quietly laughed to herself. This was flirting. Good flirting. The man could really flirt. So could she, couldn’t she?

“Or I could just get the extra blankets out of the closet,” she called back through the door. Her robe was gone and now the gown.

“Where’s the linen closet?” he replied as she pulled his T-shirt on over her head.

“In the hall. Why?”

“I’m just going to go throw all your blankets out in the backyard. Be right back.”

She didn’t believe him until she felt his footsteps on the floor and heard a door opening and closing.

“Oh, don’t you dare,” she said as she walked out of the bathroom to find Erick nowhere near her linen closet. He was on her bed. No. Not on. In her bed. He was in her bed and his pants weren’t. She knew his pants weren’t in the bed because they were on the floor at her feet.

“Kidding,” he said.

“I knew you were.”

“Good. Very good. Great even.”

“That I knew you were kidding?”

“That you’re standing in the middle of the bedroom in your underwear,” he said.

“Yeah, I guess I am.” She looked down at bare legs, her bare feet and the T-shirt barely covering anything past her hips. “You feeling better about world events yet?”

“Life is good. Very good. Could be better.”

“How so?”

“If instead of there...” He pointed at her feet on the floor. “You were here.” He tapped the pillow next to him.

“Well... I wouldn’t want you to lose your sunny outlook on life,” she said. He looked so inviting in her bed, warm and strong and male and everything she’d wanted for a long time. She slipped in next to him and lay on her back, her head on the pillow.

“Comfortable?” he asked as he rolled onto his side and propped himself up on one arm.

“Very.” She turned her head to look at him and found his face only inches from hers.

“Are you?”

“I am,” she said. “Your shirt’s nice.”

“Cotton. Preshrunk. I go for the fancy shit.”

“I might keep it.”

“I’d like that.” He raised his hand to her face and traced her lips with his fingertips. “Although if you decided at some point tonight that you hated it and wanted to burn it, I wouldn’t complain about that, either.”

“I don’t think that’s likely.”

“No?”

“Why burn it? I’d use it for washing my car.”

He nodded, grinning his cocky half grin. “Good idea.”

“Harrison Ford.”

“What? Where?” Erick glanced around the room.

“No, you. I was trying to figure out earlier who you reminded me of. You look like a young Harrison Ford. But with a beard.”

He lowered his head so that their lips were barely an inch apart and whispered two words to her.

“I know.”

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