He pushed the mousse to her. “You finish it, then.”
She scraped up the last bite, then looked up. “Which is your favorite?”
He gave her a wry grin. “The chocolate mousse.”
Fen gave him a mock glare. “Okay, which is your second-favorite?”
Carter helped himself to the macaron. “The incredibly girly dessert.”
They split the last bit of chocolate-pistachio tart into two tiny slivers. He fed her one, and she fed him one.
Fen felt very well-fed and content. They kissed lazily, and then less lazily, and then there was a knock at the door. They broke apart, Carter leaping to grab Precious in one hand and Sugar in the other. He deposited them both in the bathroom and opened the door. It was a person from the hotel with two shopping bags full of clothes. Carter thanked and tipped and ushered her out, and released Sugar and Precious from the bathroom. Then he and Fen pounced on the bags like a pair of ravening swamp sharks.
They’d both gone for inexpensive, easy-fit, off-the-rack clothing that wouldn’t look too bad or be much of a loss even if it didn’t fit quite right. In other words, nothing that normally would have warranted excitement. But Fen felt an enormous thrill as she ripped open the packet of plain white cotton panties and shimmied into a pair, followed by a white bra with no underwires. Glorious, glorious fresh clean underwear!
Carter had chosen a pair of white boxers. Despite his bruised and battered condition, he looked truly fine in them.
“You should be an underwear model,” she suggested. “Can I get a runway strut?”
He grinned. “Only if you do one too. If I was a modeling agent, I’d snap you up in a hot second.”
Under normal circumstances, she would never have dreamed of doing such a thing, even for a lover. It was far too undignified. She might get laughed at in the wrong way. That kind of foolery required a level of trust that she’d always thought just wasn’t in her.
But this was Carter, who had not only thrown himself in front of a hail of bullets (he’d thought) for her, but had revealed a form that he found shameful and humiliating for her. He’d never mock her or use her vulnerability against her. And the thought of getting to watch him do a model catwalk in his boxers was too tempting to resist.
“Okay. You asked for it.” She walked to the door and spoke in a voice that was more sports announcer than haute couture. “Presenting! The Latest Hanes For Her Model! Fenella KIIIIIM!”
Fen struck a pose at the door, head held high, breasts thrust forward. Then she strutted across the carpet, trying to catch the rhythm of the model walk, posed in front of Carter with her hands on her hips, then turned and strutted back. On the return trip, she made sure to put some extra swing in her hips, the better to showcase how the plain white panties stretched across her butt.
“Bravo!” Carter shouted. “I’m going to place a call to buy some Hanes stock right now.”
She returned to the bed, laughing. “Okay, I did it. Now you have to.”
“You asked for it,” he muttered as he headed for the door. But once he got there, he straightened up, giving Fen a good look at his masculine silhouette. Broad shoulders, narrow hips, long legs, muscular arms… Carter actually could have been a model if the most important qualification was being incredibly hot. But from what she understood of the industry, it was more important for them to conform to bizarrely persnickety body measurements. And, of course, to look bored and arrogant.
Carter began to walk. He had the bored and arrogant look down, which cracked her up. Once upon a time, she’d thought that was really him—well, not the bored part, but definitely the arrogant part. He strutted across the hotel room, looking lofty and full of himself. (The boxers were certainly full of himself, she noticed appreciatively.) He reached her, paused, and struck a very model-like pose with one arm flung up, highlighting his lean muscle. Then he dropped his arm and strutted back.
When he turned around, his face was a bit flushed. “Well?”
“Bravo!” Fen shouted. “A plus plus! I’d buy those boxers! And the ‘smelling your armpit’ pose was perfect.”
He returned to the bed and said with dignity, “I was not smelling my armpit. I see models doing that pose all the time.”
“So do I. And it always looks like they’re checking to make sure their new deodorant is actually working.”
“Or to make sure they washed off all of the swamp.”
Fen ostentatiously sniffed the air. “Oh, I think you’re all right.”
She put on her own outfit. She’d chosen a light blue cotton sundress—not her usual style, but women’s clothing was so hard to fit without trying it on first that she’d been forced to pick something very forgiving—and ballerina slippers in darker blue.
“Gorgeous,” remarked Carter.
She pulled a face at him. “It’s baggy and the color washes me out.”
“I didn’t mean the dress. I meant you.”
Carter put on the rest of his clothes. He’d selected casual black pants, a white button-down shirt, and black shoes. Nothing special, but he looked good in them.
