said.
Christian then added “But you’ll need to
prove it,” and she just about fell over.
“P—prove it?” Sara quite stunned by so
few words.
“Yes. Prove to me you are not wearing
anything under your dress and then I’ll believe you.”
Sara’s snort could not be contained even
if her life depended on it. “Are you serious? You want me to— “
Christian shook his head, yet his
response was quick and sure. “I want you to prove to me you are not wearing any
underwear. I don’t care how you go about doing it, but I do expect that it be
done before the end of this night.”
Her brows rose. Her smile firm and set
in place. Surely, this was only a jest by a man needing to find humor in his
night?
“Before or after the fine dining on
frozen dinners?” she teased back.
Christian, unfortunately, did not take her
challenge as such. His large shoulders handed her a massive shrug as he shoved
his hands deep into the pockets of his suit pants. “However, and whenever will
work for me.”
“Are you for real?” she jibed, trying to
force the good Reverend to state he was only teasing her and hoping to have a
little fun at her expense. On the other hand, a root canal would have been fun,
whereas this was anything but sexual tension at its heightened best.
Besides, the raise of his brow quite
clearly said he’d meant every word out of his mouth. It wasn’t a tease.
Christian Mohr— Reverend Christian Mohr—was not kidding. He wanted her to
prove she had nothing under her dress—as well, that this nothing would lead to
a very interesting something before the end of their night.
He took hold of Sara’s trembling hand
and redirecting their thoughts, started walking them toward his parked car.
Sara could barely put words to her
thoughts. Once seated safely inside the vehicle, only then did she remember she
needed air to breathe, dragging in deep gasping breaths and letting the oxygen
go straight to her head. Her palms were sweaty, her heart was racing, and this couldn’t
even begin to describe what her lower half wanted from the ‘Attention
Department’ all of a sudden.
Reverend Mohr backed out of the parking
stall, made a hasty turn of the wheel, then drove in the direction from which they
came from a half hour ago. He eased the vehicle onto a long gravel drive that
bent around an even longer row of Spruce trees. He then slowed the car down to
a crawl when they came upon a small ranch-styled house at the far end of the
drive.
Ten seconds later, he told her, “Well,
this is it. Home sweet home.”
Sara let slip out, without proper
preparation, “But this is a normal person’s house!”
Her hand clamped over her mouth to trap
anything else stupid wanting to come forth.
His chuckle was robust. “What did you
think it would be? A dragon’s lair?”
Sara turned in her seat to face the
music, and the man. “I hadn’t meant it that way . . . I’m sorry. I don’t know
why, but everything that slips off my tongue this evening hasn’t and wasn’t what
I meant.”
Christian’s heavily made sigh caused the
flaring of his nostrils. “I know. I’m sorry, too. It’s just that I’m hungry,
and a hungry man will say whatever is on his mind until fed.”
Sara smiled as gently as she could and
put her hand to the door handle. The most she able to do was go inside his
‘home sweet home’ and see what came of this. See, as well, what Christian Mohr
made out of their night. Sara figured it to be either halos and golden wings,
or fire and brimstone to greet her once inside. It certainly wouldn’t be both.
His quick outreach of hand to her arm stopped
her exit.
“No. Stay put. We are technically still
on our date. A gentleman, or so I have been told, opens all doors for a lady while
on a date. Not quite certain what the protocol for dragon behavior is . . . so
we’ll just have to save that discovery for another time.” A wink and a sheepish
grin made as quick apology for having said this as
Christian then added “But you’ll need to
prove it,” and she just about fell over.
“P—prove it?” Sara quite stunned by so
few words.
“Yes. Prove to me you are not wearing
anything under your dress and then I’ll believe you.”
Sara’s snort could not be contained even
if her life depended on it. “Are you serious? You want me to— “
Christian shook his head, yet his
response was quick and sure. “I want you to prove to me you are not wearing any
underwear. I don’t care how you go about doing it, but I do expect that it be
done before the end of this night.”
Her brows rose. Her smile firm and set
in place. Surely, this was only a jest by a man needing to find humor in his
night?
“Before or after the fine dining on
frozen dinners?” she teased back.
Christian, unfortunately, did not take her
challenge as such. His large shoulders handed her a massive shrug as he shoved
his hands deep into the pockets of his suit pants. “However, and whenever will
work for me.”
“Are you for real?” she jibed, trying to
force the good Reverend to state he was only teasing her and hoping to have a
little fun at her expense. On the other hand, a root canal would have been fun,
whereas this was anything but sexual tension at its heightened best.
Besides, the raise of his brow quite
clearly said he’d meant every word out of his mouth. It wasn’t a tease.
Christian Mohr— Reverend Christian Mohr—was not kidding. He wanted her to
prove she had nothing under her dress—as well, that this nothing would lead to
a very interesting something before the end of their night.
He took hold of Sara’s trembling hand
and redirecting their thoughts, started walking them toward his parked car.
Sara could barely put words to her
thoughts. Once seated safely inside the vehicle, only then did she remember she
needed air to breathe, dragging in deep gasping breaths and letting the oxygen
go straight to her head. Her palms were sweaty, her heart was racing, and this couldn’t
even begin to describe what her lower half wanted from the ‘Attention
Department’ all of a sudden.
Reverend Mohr backed out of the parking
stall, made a hasty turn of the wheel, then drove in the direction from which they
came from a half hour ago. He eased the vehicle onto a long gravel drive that
bent around an even longer row of Spruce trees. He then slowed the car down to
a crawl when they came upon a small ranch-styled house at the far end of the
drive.
Ten seconds later, he told her, “Well,
this is it. Home sweet home.”
Sara let slip out, without proper
preparation, “But this is a normal person’s house!”
Her hand clamped over her mouth to trap
anything else stupid wanting to come forth.
His chuckle was robust. “What did you
think it would be? A dragon’s lair?”
Sara turned in her seat to face the
music, and the man. “I hadn’t meant it that way . . . I’m sorry. I don’t know
why, but everything that slips off my tongue this evening hasn’t and wasn’t what
I meant.”
Christian’s heavily made sigh caused the
flaring of his nostrils. “I know. I’m sorry, too. It’s just that I’m hungry,
and a hungry man will say whatever is on his mind until fed.”
Sara smiled as gently as she could and
put her hand to the door handle. The most she able to do was go inside his
‘home sweet home’ and see what came of this. See, as well, what Christian Mohr
made out of their night. Sara figured it to be either halos and golden wings,
or fire and brimstone to greet her once inside. It certainly wouldn’t be both.
His quick outreach of hand to her arm stopped
her exit.
“No. Stay put. We are technically still
on our date. A gentleman, or so I have been told, opens all doors for a lady while
on a date. Not quite certain what the protocol for dragon behavior is . . . so
we’ll just have to save that discovery for another time.” A wink and a sheepish
grin made as quick apology for having said this as
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