basket on the floor with a sigh. Did the wash never end around here? She’d put everything away except for Richard’s clothes. She’d do that now while Elisa and Ricky were getting ready and before Richard came home. Ventura strode to the master suite, thinking things were coming along. She’d figured out her new cell and had already memorized the children’s schedules. This made it easier for her to plan out her day, when she had a good grasp on the order of her duties.
Ventura was halfway through the door when she stopped short. There, straight in front of her, standing half-nude before his dresser was…Richard!
His chest was muscled and broad, taut abs constricting. “Ventura,” he said, turning toward her with a jerk. “What are you doing here?” He wore crisp white shorts, tennis socks, and shoes. A tennis racket case lay on his bed. His very big bed. The one he probably slept in half-naked—at least.
Ventura swallowed hard, her face on fire. Her palms pooled with sweat, loosening her grip on the basket handles.
“I was just putting away the laundry,” she offered lamely.
He glanced at the basket in her hands. “I see.”
Ventura felt something weighty smack her left foot and looked down to see she’d dropped the basket. It spilled over, balled-up pairs of socks escaping in all directions. “I’ll get that,” she said, mortified.
But as she raced forward, so did he. “It’s all right. Let me.”
Before she knew it, Ventura’s toe caught on— oh please, not that —a pair of Richard’s plaid boxers, and she stumbled forward.
“Ventura!” he called, reaching out to catch her.
“Richard!” she screeched, crashing into him.
He grabbed her around the waist and shored her up, steadying her frame against his gloriously rock-hard chest.
“Are you okay?” he asked, looking down at her with deep dark eyes.
She nodded and collected herself. “Yeah,” she said, barely breathing the word.
“Good.” He straightened her, then let her go.
“I’m so sorry,” she babbled apologetically. “I had no clue you were in here.”
“I had no idea you and the kids were back. It’s my fault, really. I should have shut the door.”
“No harm done,” she said, backing away, her cheeks still flaming hot.
“None at all,” he agreed as he watched her with a curious expression.
As she turned to leave, he stopped her. “Ventura?”
She stared at him, her heart pounding.
“Do you think I could have my shorts back?”
Ventura gasped and looked down in horror, spying Richard’s underwear twisted snugly around her shoe.
Chapter Seven
“That’s not what most women mean when they talk about getting into their boss’s shorts.”
“Shut up,” Ventura said with a laugh. She and Mary stood thumbing through a rack of sexy bras at a downtown lingerie shop.
“How about this one?” Mary asked, her face aglow. “This will make Charles sit up and take notice.”
Ventura scrunched up her lips at the black-and-red lace bra with “peekaboo” cut-away nipples. “I’m going on a date, not a ho down .”
“Very funny.” Mary picked through the rack, producing another selection. It was cobalt blue with a hefty underwire and big push-up pads. “Well?”
“It looks…small.”
Mary cocked an eyebrow. “Don’t you want to put your best assets out there?”
Ventura studied her doubtfully. “I don’t know.”
“Come on,” Mary urged. “Try it on. It will make you feel sexy.”
Of all the things Ventura had been in her lifetime, sexy had not been among them. “It’s not like Charles will be seeing it.”
“Who says he has to? It’s all about how you feel on the inside. That undercurrent of… yeow. ”
“Fine,” Ventura said, resigned. “I’ll try it on.”
“Ooh!” Mary said, grabbing a few more items off the rack. “Take these too!”
A few moments later, Mary called over the dressing room wall, “So? How’s it look?”
“Too tight,” Ventura said, popping open
Ventura was halfway through the door when she stopped short. There, straight in front of her, standing half-nude before his dresser was…Richard!
His chest was muscled and broad, taut abs constricting. “Ventura,” he said, turning toward her with a jerk. “What are you doing here?” He wore crisp white shorts, tennis socks, and shoes. A tennis racket case lay on his bed. His very big bed. The one he probably slept in half-naked—at least.
Ventura swallowed hard, her face on fire. Her palms pooled with sweat, loosening her grip on the basket handles.
“I was just putting away the laundry,” she offered lamely.
He glanced at the basket in her hands. “I see.”
Ventura felt something weighty smack her left foot and looked down to see she’d dropped the basket. It spilled over, balled-up pairs of socks escaping in all directions. “I’ll get that,” she said, mortified.
But as she raced forward, so did he. “It’s all right. Let me.”
Before she knew it, Ventura’s toe caught on— oh please, not that —a pair of Richard’s plaid boxers, and she stumbled forward.
“Ventura!” he called, reaching out to catch her.
“Richard!” she screeched, crashing into him.
He grabbed her around the waist and shored her up, steadying her frame against his gloriously rock-hard chest.
“Are you okay?” he asked, looking down at her with deep dark eyes.
She nodded and collected herself. “Yeah,” she said, barely breathing the word.
“Good.” He straightened her, then let her go.
“I’m so sorry,” she babbled apologetically. “I had no clue you were in here.”
“I had no idea you and the kids were back. It’s my fault, really. I should have shut the door.”
“No harm done,” she said, backing away, her cheeks still flaming hot.
“None at all,” he agreed as he watched her with a curious expression.
As she turned to leave, he stopped her. “Ventura?”
She stared at him, her heart pounding.
“Do you think I could have my shorts back?”
Ventura gasped and looked down in horror, spying Richard’s underwear twisted snugly around her shoe.
Chapter Seven
“That’s not what most women mean when they talk about getting into their boss’s shorts.”
“Shut up,” Ventura said with a laugh. She and Mary stood thumbing through a rack of sexy bras at a downtown lingerie shop.
“How about this one?” Mary asked, her face aglow. “This will make Charles sit up and take notice.”
Ventura scrunched up her lips at the black-and-red lace bra with “peekaboo” cut-away nipples. “I’m going on a date, not a ho down .”
“Very funny.” Mary picked through the rack, producing another selection. It was cobalt blue with a hefty underwire and big push-up pads. “Well?”
“It looks…small.”
Mary cocked an eyebrow. “Don’t you want to put your best assets out there?”
Ventura studied her doubtfully. “I don’t know.”
“Come on,” Mary urged. “Try it on. It will make you feel sexy.”
Of all the things Ventura had been in her lifetime, sexy had not been among them. “It’s not like Charles will be seeing it.”
“Who says he has to? It’s all about how you feel on the inside. That undercurrent of… yeow. ”
“Fine,” Ventura said, resigned. “I’ll try it on.”
“Ooh!” Mary said, grabbing a few more items off the rack. “Take these too!”
A few moments later, Mary called over the dressing room wall, “So? How’s it look?”
“Too tight,” Ventura said, popping open
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