“What the hell, Emily?” Ozzie called. Unlike Samantha, he made no move to cover his nakedness. In fact, he crossed his arms beneath his head and directed his question to the ceiling. Truly, he was resplendent in his nudity.
“I wouldn’t have disturbed your…” Emily’s voice trailed off. When she finished with, “workout,” it sounded like she was suppressing a giggle. Samantha felt her cheeks heat. “But I thought you’d both like to know those military records you requested just arrived by courier. Guess they were too sensitive for email or fax. That’s interesting, don’t you think?” Emily’s tough Chicago accent made don’t you sound more like doncha.
Ozzie glanced at Samantha, one eyebrow raised. “That is interesting,” they said at the same time.
“Pinch, poke.” He gave her exposed flank one of each. “You owe me a Coke.”
“Ow!” She slapped his abusive hand away. “How old are you? Seven?”
“Would a seven-year-old be sporting one of these?” He used both hands to indicate his wonderfully erect penis.
Her throat dried at the sight. For the record, that was the only part of her that dried at the sight. “Not sure,” she admitted. “I was under the impression that erections, particularly involuntary erections, started pretty early in life.”
“I’m not talking about its state.” He glowered at her. “I’m talking about its sheer size and majesty.”
It was hard for Samantha not to smile. But she managed, pursing her lips instead. “You have a pretty high opinion of yourself, don’t you?”
He shrugged. “Maybe. But that opinion has been backed up by many satisfied customers.” When he realized what he’d said—come on, you don’t talk about past sexual partners with current sexual partners—a look of horror passed over his face. “Shit! Sorry! That was stupid. I’m an idiot.”
She had to bite her cheek to keep from laughing. Ozzie was the only man she had ever known who could go from being arrogant as hell one minute to boyishly charming the next. She couldn’t resist teasing him. “Save your breath.” She gave him the stink eye. “You’re going to need it to blow up your date later on.”
* * *
Christian was sitting at the conference table on the second floor when Emily climbed the stairs. She’d already changed into what passed for sleepwear for her, silk pajama bottoms and an old pullover—or sweatshirt as Americans liked to call it. Although, for the life of him, he couldn’t understand why.
Sounds as if one is wearing a shirt made of sweat.
“You’re laughing,” Emily declared, staring at him from the top step. That beauty mark was a blatant taunt. Made him have to fight the urge to kiss it.
“I laugh quite often,” he informed her haughtily, delighting in the look of incredulity that spread over her scrubbed-clean face. Emily was the type of woman who needed no artificial enhancement. Her skin was clear and bright. Her lips naturally pink. In fact, he far preferred her au naturel. Perhaps because Emily sans makeup conjured up images of how she’d look the morning after a night of intense lovemaking. Mascara rubbed off. Lipstick kissed away.
“Bullshit you laugh all the time,” she declared. “You laughing is like a solar eclipse. Rare and slightly terrifying to those who don’t know what’s going on.”
She had him there. When she was around, he didn’t laugh. That was because he was trying to stop himself from tossing her up against the nearest wall and silencing her wicked mouth with a deep, punishing kiss.
“So what’s so funny?” She cocked a hip against her hand.
He could have told her she was the reason for his humor. “I wouldn’t have disturbed your…workout.” He’d been ambling by the back door after fetching a cup of tea—you could take the man out of England, but you couldn’t take the Englishman out of the man—when he heard her interrupt Ozzie and Samantha. She was keenly funny. Funny and bossy and sexy and…infuriating. Watching her cover her mouth with her hand and giggle like a schoolgirl had charmed him and tickled him in equal measure. He had been replaying the scene in his mind when she marched up the steps.
“I recognize it is your standard mode of operation to get all up in everyone’s business, as Ozzie would say,” he told her, “but some things, I prefer to keep to myself.” Especially how much she affected him.
The look that entered her eyes told him to sod off. But to his surprise, there was no flurry of barbs hurled his way. Instead, she waved a hand and said, “Fine. Maintain your air of mystery.”
She pulled out the chair at the head of the table, the one usually reserved for Boss. In Boss’s absence, she had deemed herself BKI’s stand-in head honcho.
Cheeky wench.
Tapping a finger on the recently delivered file, she regarded him consideringly. Too consideringly. When he couldn’t take it a second longer, he blurted, “What, pray tell, are you thinking?”
“I really like your hair.”
He lifted a hand to his freshly cut hair. Like everything in his life, his hair ritual was strictly regimented. “You do?” he asked in disbelief. Emily had never complimented him before.
“Yeah.” She nodded. “Tell me though, how do you get it to curl out of your nostrils like that?”
His hand jumped to his nose before he realized she was having him on.
“Gotcha.” She grinned evilly, her lush lips a taunt.
