not what I meant!”
“No? What did you mean, then?”
The dark blue eyes that stared at her
dared her into speech. “I meant I was uncomfortable because I . . .”
“Say it,” he ordered.
Sara flinched and yanked her chin out of
his grasp. The mutiny she felt became unstoppable and truly intolerable. “I was
uncomfortable inside the restaurant because I am not wearing any underwear!
Happy?”
The second this slipped off her tongue, she
felt the urgent need to crawl in to a hole.
At first, the poor man looked too
startled to speak. However, the all-out chuckle following any temporary
muteness brought out her fury in a definite hurry.
“What the hell is so funny about it?” she
asked as the damaging heat crept into her cheeks.
Struggling to force the laughter out of
his eyes, Christian returned his gaze swiftly to hers’. “There is not one damn
thing funny about it, Ms. Ruby.”
“You’re laughing at me. And my . . . Well,
you do seem quite amused by my lack of, for a better way to describe it.”
The word shame barely fit the rolling
emotions inside of her. Good Lord! She just told this man she was nearly naked.
Not all. Nearly.
When she’d dressed for dinner and he’d shown
up at her door fifteen minutes early, Sara grabbed what she could, tossed a
dress over her head, and figured he would never know she’d been unable to find
a pair of clean underwear to save her soul. Surely he wouldn’t have discovered
this for himself. Yet the second she sat down on her chair inside the
restaurant she felt self-conscious; as if all eyes were looking at her, hoping
to catch a glimpse of parts she should not have been showing—especially, while
in public.
She bought the dress because she liked
the color and at the time could afford to splurge. Deep navy blue, the sale’s
lady told her the shade brought out the color of her eyes. Not once had she
tried to sit down while wearing it, until tonight. Huge mistake. The dress came
to barely the knees while standing. When seated, it rode up to almost half
thigh. The right angle, and anyone with a working pair of eyes would’ve been
able to catch glimpse the lack of material and the feminine assets for which
said material should’ve been covering.
Christian lowered his gaze to that
particular area of her person, as well. “No. I am sure it was not done on
purpose,” he reasoned—to a continuous groan coming from her.
As his sight drifted back up, Sara’s
fell into the trap of a very skillful man; a very dangerous trap in which to
drown in.
“So? Why did you?” he added.
Insolence wasn’t a Reverend’s forte.
Sara glared through her bewildered gaze,
checking his smile. “Would you believe me if I said I had none that were
washed?”
“Should I?” he chuckled.
Jeez! A little harder checking for any
unguarded reaction to an unwarranted admission might have been nice. Then
again, she really didn’t know much about this man.
“Yes. You should,” she determined.
It was the truth. Once the telephone
disconnected accidentally, Sara’s washing machine in the basement of her
apartment building went mysteriously out of order—the only night Sara ever did
her laundry, and the only night she would’ve had the laundry room all to
herself. She didn’t own much in the way of clothing, so what she did have was carefully
taken care of. She spent her money on antiques, not clothing or frivolous girlie
stuff.
A hasty nod, and another smile sent her
way, Christian muttered, “Okay. Then yes, I believe you.”
Sara waited. Regrettably, her conscience
had a mind of its own and forced out the word, “But?”
“But what?”
“There is always a but lingering in the
surrounding air with you,” she ruled. “So what is it?”
His dimples dug deep. With slight
pressure, he raised her hand to his mouth and gave a tender kiss to the back of
her knuckles, arching Sara’s brows. It was a kiss meant to reassure her he
truly did believe what she’d
“No? What did you mean, then?”
The dark blue eyes that stared at her
dared her into speech. “I meant I was uncomfortable because I . . .”
“Say it,” he ordered.
Sara flinched and yanked her chin out of
his grasp. The mutiny she felt became unstoppable and truly intolerable. “I was
uncomfortable inside the restaurant because I am not wearing any underwear!
Happy?”
The second this slipped off her tongue, she
felt the urgent need to crawl in to a hole.
At first, the poor man looked too
startled to speak. However, the all-out chuckle following any temporary
muteness brought out her fury in a definite hurry.
“What the hell is so funny about it?” she
asked as the damaging heat crept into her cheeks.
Struggling to force the laughter out of
his eyes, Christian returned his gaze swiftly to hers’. “There is not one damn
thing funny about it, Ms. Ruby.”
“You’re laughing at me. And my . . . Well,
you do seem quite amused by my lack of, for a better way to describe it.”
The word shame barely fit the rolling
emotions inside of her. Good Lord! She just told this man she was nearly naked.
Not all. Nearly.
When she’d dressed for dinner and he’d shown
up at her door fifteen minutes early, Sara grabbed what she could, tossed a
dress over her head, and figured he would never know she’d been unable to find
a pair of clean underwear to save her soul. Surely he wouldn’t have discovered
this for himself. Yet the second she sat down on her chair inside the
restaurant she felt self-conscious; as if all eyes were looking at her, hoping
to catch a glimpse of parts she should not have been showing—especially, while
in public.
She bought the dress because she liked
the color and at the time could afford to splurge. Deep navy blue, the sale’s
lady told her the shade brought out the color of her eyes. Not once had she
tried to sit down while wearing it, until tonight. Huge mistake. The dress came
to barely the knees while standing. When seated, it rode up to almost half
thigh. The right angle, and anyone with a working pair of eyes would’ve been
able to catch glimpse the lack of material and the feminine assets for which
said material should’ve been covering.
Christian lowered his gaze to that
particular area of her person, as well. “No. I am sure it was not done on
purpose,” he reasoned—to a continuous groan coming from her.
As his sight drifted back up, Sara’s
fell into the trap of a very skillful man; a very dangerous trap in which to
drown in.
“So? Why did you?” he added.
Insolence wasn’t a Reverend’s forte.
Sara glared through her bewildered gaze,
checking his smile. “Would you believe me if I said I had none that were
washed?”
“Should I?” he chuckled.
Jeez! A little harder checking for any
unguarded reaction to an unwarranted admission might have been nice. Then
again, she really didn’t know much about this man.
“Yes. You should,” she determined.
It was the truth. Once the telephone
disconnected accidentally, Sara’s washing machine in the basement of her
apartment building went mysteriously out of order—the only night Sara ever did
her laundry, and the only night she would’ve had the laundry room all to
herself. She didn’t own much in the way of clothing, so what she did have was carefully
taken care of. She spent her money on antiques, not clothing or frivolous girlie
stuff.
A hasty nod, and another smile sent her
way, Christian muttered, “Okay. Then yes, I believe you.”
Sara waited. Regrettably, her conscience
had a mind of its own and forced out the word, “But?”
“But what?”
“There is always a but lingering in the
surrounding air with you,” she ruled. “So what is it?”
His dimples dug deep. With slight
pressure, he raised her hand to his mouth and gave a tender kiss to the back of
her knuckles, arching Sara’s brows. It was a kiss meant to reassure her he
truly did believe what she’d
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