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Book: More Blazing Bedtime Stories: Once Upon a Mattress by Julie Leto, Leslie Kelly
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Authors: Julie Leto, Leslie Kelly
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she’d lost a fight with a vengeful kindergartener armed with a sharp stick.
She should have ignored the feminine vanity and skipped the process. It wasn’t like he was going to get close to her calves or thighs, anyway. He’d had his shot and hadn’t taken it.
Maybe he will if you don’t take no for an answer this time!
She ignored the salacious inner voice that had sounded like Angie, a tattoo artist she’d met and befriended in Detroit. The woman had talked Penny into doing some crazy things.
“Forget it, he turned you down,” she reminded herself as she went into her room to grab some clothes. And she couldn’t take another rejection. Not when she wanted him so badly.
Thinking about it, though, she realized he hadn’t looked happy about stopping. In fact, he’d acted like someone had started pulling his fingernails out. So maybe he was being the gentleman who she suspected lurked within that big, sexy body.
Penny donned a Metallica T-shirt and another loose, elastic-waist skirt that wouldn’t brush up against the nicks. Giving her head a shake, she ran her fingers through her wet hair—one definite advantage of such a short do.
As she left her bedroom, she cast a quick glance toward the wrapped box on the shelf and was stabbed with the same mix of emotions she always felt when she looked at it. Amusement, grief, happiness, regret, love. Such love. Then she left her bedroom.
True to his word, Lucas had begun preparing them a late-night dinner. She entered the kitchen and found him frowning down at the stove, where something sizzled in a frying pan she hadn’t used once in the past nine months.
Yuck. “I said I didn’t want any fried….” Her voice trailed off and she came to a sudden stop as he looked over at her.
She’d been in the shower maybe fifteen minutes. Twenty tops. And yet he looked so different. “You must have more testosterone than an entire major league football team!”
“What are you talking about?”
“I massacred my legs with the razor you used, and here you are, looking like you need to use it again.”
He glanced away. “Did you use it anyplace else?”
Wicked man. Trying to change the subject. As if he couldn’t have found out for himself a little while ago, anyway. She’d been so turned on he could have stripped her naked and done her out in the street and she wouldn’t have objected.
Damn the man for starting something and not finishing it.
You started it .
Well, there was that.
“Perhaps the blade was dull to begin with,” he added. “That must be why it wasn’t effective for either of us.”
Funny, she seemed to recall lying on the bed, looking up at him during their previous conversation about where she’d used the razor. And thinking how nice those smooth cheeks might feel on the inside of her thighs if he made good on his threat to tear off her clothes and see for himself.
Then, when she’d kissed him, touched his face, felt him scrape his cheek against her incredibly sensitive nipple, there’d been the tiniest hint of roughness, but that was all.
She shivered. Because now, those cheeks weren’t smooth. And while she couldn’t deny that the rough stubble would probably feel even better against her uber-sensitive skin, she just wanted to know why.
“Veggie burgers,” he muttered, staring at the pan in disgust. “Whoever created them ought to be put in the stockade.”
That didn’t distract her. Penny had been busy and distracted this morning. Injured and woozy, and eventually horny, tonight.
Now she was clear-headed. Fully cognizant that something about this man didn’t make sense.
It wasn’t just the beard. She also wanted to know why his speech sometimes sounded so odd. Why he insisted on taking her with him somewhere, refusing to name the place. Why he had been following her tonight. What the hell the reddish eyes and the sharp-toothed growling had been all about.
And, damn it, why had he stopped when everything from his eyes to
She should have ignored the feminine vanity and skipped the process. It wasn’t like he was going to get close to her calves or thighs, anyway. He’d had his shot and hadn’t taken it.
Maybe he will if you don’t take no for an answer this time!
She ignored the salacious inner voice that had sounded like Angie, a tattoo artist she’d met and befriended in Detroit. The woman had talked Penny into doing some crazy things.
“Forget it, he turned you down,” she reminded herself as she went into her room to grab some clothes. And she couldn’t take another rejection. Not when she wanted him so badly.
Thinking about it, though, she realized he hadn’t looked happy about stopping. In fact, he’d acted like someone had started pulling his fingernails out. So maybe he was being the gentleman who she suspected lurked within that big, sexy body.
Penny donned a Metallica T-shirt and another loose, elastic-waist skirt that wouldn’t brush up against the nicks. Giving her head a shake, she ran her fingers through her wet hair—one definite advantage of such a short do.
As she left her bedroom, she cast a quick glance toward the wrapped box on the shelf and was stabbed with the same mix of emotions she always felt when she looked at it. Amusement, grief, happiness, regret, love. Such love. Then she left her bedroom.
True to his word, Lucas had begun preparing them a late-night dinner. She entered the kitchen and found him frowning down at the stove, where something sizzled in a frying pan she hadn’t used once in the past nine months.
Yuck. “I said I didn’t want any fried….” Her voice trailed off and she came to a sudden stop as he looked over at her.
She’d been in the shower maybe fifteen minutes. Twenty tops. And yet he looked so different. “You must have more testosterone than an entire major league football team!”
“What are you talking about?”
“I massacred my legs with the razor you used, and here you are, looking like you need to use it again.”
He glanced away. “Did you use it anyplace else?”
Wicked man. Trying to change the subject. As if he couldn’t have found out for himself a little while ago, anyway. She’d been so turned on he could have stripped her naked and done her out in the street and she wouldn’t have objected.
Damn the man for starting something and not finishing it.
You started it .
Well, there was that.
“Perhaps the blade was dull to begin with,” he added. “That must be why it wasn’t effective for either of us.”
Funny, she seemed to recall lying on the bed, looking up at him during their previous conversation about where she’d used the razor. And thinking how nice those smooth cheeks might feel on the inside of her thighs if he made good on his threat to tear off her clothes and see for himself.
Then, when she’d kissed him, touched his face, felt him scrape his cheek against her incredibly sensitive nipple, there’d been the tiniest hint of roughness, but that was all.
She shivered. Because now, those cheeks weren’t smooth. And while she couldn’t deny that the rough stubble would probably feel even better against her uber-sensitive skin, she just wanted to know why.
“Veggie burgers,” he muttered, staring at the pan in disgust. “Whoever created them ought to be put in the stockade.”
That didn’t distract her. Penny had been busy and distracted this morning. Injured and woozy, and eventually horny, tonight.
Now she was clear-headed. Fully cognizant that something about this man didn’t make sense.
It wasn’t just the beard. She also wanted to know why his speech sometimes sounded so odd. Why he insisted on taking her with him somewhere, refusing to name the place. Why he had been following her tonight. What the hell the reddish eyes and the sharp-toothed growling had been all about.
And, damn it, why had he stopped when everything from his eyes to
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