“Oof!”
Something soft and warm crashed into my bare chest.
“Oh my gosh! Wes, I’m so embarrassed!” Brea looked up at me and swore.
I smirked at her colorful language.
“Why are you here?” she hissed.
“Delivery for Liz.” I held out the bag.
Brea looked at it, swore again, and wrapped her arms around herself. She was wearing a bra and panties but nothing else.
“Is there something going on?” I asked.
“I’m not standing here having a conversation with you while I’m not wearing any clothes and you’re not wearing any clothes!” she shrieked. She snatched the bag from me and ran back toward the bedrooms.
What the hell is Brea doing here?I was momentarily stunned. I looked around the apartment.And why didn’t she have any clothes on? The image of her curvy figure in nothing but the sheer lingerie burned in my mind.
The thought rose up unprovoked:What would she look like fully unclothed?
17
Brea
Islammed the door of Liz’s bedroom behind me, breathing hard.
Mark Holbrook is cut.
No, brain, we are not going down that road.
I opened the door a crack and cautiously peeked down the hall. Mark was still standing there, shirtless, with washboard abs and broad shoulders to make any girl drool, his pecs and biceps just hanging out there, saying,Yeah, I’m awesome, I’m just going to run around shirtless.
He turned and peered down the hall. I slammed the door shut again.
“Did you get my water?” Liz asked, fanning herself.
“Uh—shoot.”
That was what I had run to the kitchen to retrieve. I had been at her condo in the first place to do an emergency sewing session on her dress. I had been in the middle of trying on dresses when Liz had been convinced she was dying of thirst, was about to have a stroke, and desperately needed water. I had freaked out and run to the kitchensansrobe.
“I’m—”Not thinking about Mark.
Liz snapped her fingers in front of my face. “Are you all right?” she asked in concern.
“I forgot your water, but I have your boots!”
“Ooh, perfect!” she squealed. “I wanted to wear those tonight.”
“Mark brought them,” I blurted.
“Ah,” Liz said, taking the boots from me, “hence the thousand-yard stare.”
“He wasn’t wearing a shirt.”
Liz giggled. “He’s really cut, isn’t he?”
I nodded and swallowed, or tried to. I really needed that water too. “He’s just standing there.” I gestured to the general vicinity of the kitchen.
