Real Women Don't Wear Size 2 (10 page)

Yeah, all of those for outside sex. That’d work. And lots of inside sex too. Standing up looked rather nice in the movies, and shower sex. How could she forget her shower sex fantasy? She’d want to get in a bit of shower action. Hot water, hot bodies. Well,
his
body would be hot. Maybe, if he’d had enough of those hurricane drinks everyone was holding in the video, he’d believe hers was too. She added the last two to her list.

Clarise giggled, then moved her hands to her chest when the action made her unbound treasures bounce. Could she let go enough to have kinky sex with Ethan? Was he even into the whole wild and frantic sex thing? That topic had never come up during their Friday coffee chats. Then again, what guy wasn’t into wild and frantic sex? However, what she needed to learn was whether Ethan was into . . . her. And what if, at Pirate Fest, he realized that he was? Then Clarise could be like Julia Roberts in
Pretty Woman
finding her Richard Gere for wild and kinky sex and ending up with a lifetime of love. Of course, Julia wasn’t pleasantly plump. Then again, Clarise wasn’t a prostitute either. Who knows? Ethan could see her as more than a friend on this trip. Maybe when Clarise found the nerve to let herself go and pursue her wildest fantasies, he would see there was more to her than meets the eye. She imagined Ethan, whispering in her ear, telling her that he wanted her more than anything in the world. Ethan, having fanatic sex with her for five sizzling days, then professing his undying love. Granny Gert always said if you’re gonna dream, you might as well dream big. Then again, everything about Granny factored as abundantly proportioned, dreams, bosom and behind included.

The blond hunk stared at her via the screen as though willing her to grant his next request.
Go on, blue eyes, ask.
And, since forty-eight seconds had passed, he did. “Shimmy for them, darlin’,” he said, removing a strand of gold beads from his neck and dangling the glittering loop from one of those beautifully long fingers. “Come on. Give us a little shake.”

Clarise flashed a siren smile, trying her best to imitate the one the woman tossed him on the video. Then she leaned forward and flicked her shoulders back and forth, sending Granny Gert’s heritage swinging like heavy water balloons in front of the screen.

The knock on the door caught her midshimmy, and she abruptly stopped moving. Well, most of her did. Boom One and Boom Two still had a whole lotta shakin’ going on. She whirled to snatch the remote from the couch, then slapped at the control to stop the tape. However, in her haste to get rid of the evidence, she hit the
VOLUME
button instead. Within half a second, blonde and friends screamed their approval at the hooters on display.

“Yeah, baby, show us what you got!” one yelled.

“Have mercy!” blue eyes added.

“Ohmigod,” Clarise whimpered, grabbing a fistful of bra and shirt with one hand, while the other frantically punched the
POWER
button on the television. How much could you hear through her apartment door anyway? And why had she never thought to check? “Granny?” she called, hoping it was Granny Gert on the other side but knowing good and well that her grandmother had a key and would have done one of those knocking-as-she’s-entering kind of things.

“No, Clarise. It’s me. Didn’t your grandmother tell you I was coming over? I talked to her when I called earlier, and she cleared it with the guard at the gate,” Ethan called loudly from the other side of the door. “Are you okay in there?”

Murder—the first word that came to mind. She’d kill her grandmother. No, not literally, but somehow, someday, she would get Granny back for this one. And wasn’t this just great? While she was playing exhibitionist with the blond hunk on the screen, the real deal was perched outside her door. The most gorgeous sandy-haired, turquoise-eyed male she’d ever seen, who happened to be her boss and her closest friend, was merely feet away, listening. Or was he? What had Ethan heard? She attempted to control her heart rate.

“Clarise?” Ethan repeated.

Hadn’t he said that he wouldn’t see her until Friday, when they got to Gasparilla? Did he realize how he had surprised her by coming back early? Or how big a surprise it was? As in, a
surprise
heart attack for Clarise? She was usually pretty good at hiding things from Ethan. They’d grown close, but she still kept her secrets guarded. Not many secrets, mind you, only two. One, her real career goal. And two, the fact that he made her head swim and her heart tremble. Heat crept up her body, starting with her bulging boobs, then worked its way up her throat to settle in her cheeks. “I’m—fine, and no, Granny didn’t tell me.”

“I need to speak with you about the trip,” he said, that sexy, raspy voice making her nipples salute.

“Sure.” She yanked the megacups of her bra together and fastened the closure without taking time to situate the two mounds in their holsters. As a result, righty had a hefty portion plumped over the top and lefty had some side action happening, with a paunch of flesh poking her armpit.

“Do you need me to come back?” he asked, with more than a hint of curiosity in his tone.

“No,” she gasped. Lord, would he be able to tell that she’d been practicing her stripping techniques for Gasparilla? She scanned the room, her eyes lighting on the coffee table, haphazardly shoved against one wall. She leaned over, grabbed the edge and yanked it back in place. Thank goodness she’d already hauled all of her new clothes and unmentionables back to the bedroom. Funny thing was, Ethan would probably chalk all of this up to progress. He’d been trying to get her to come out of her shell for the past three years. If he only knew, she’d do more than that. By tomorrow, she’d come out of her top. Then, if she did it right, she’d be coming period, with the lights on, or outside, or on the grass, or all of the above. Whatever Ethan wanted . . . if he wanted. Have mercy, she hoped he did. But why was he here tonight? And did this mean she should jump-start her plan to seduce him and start a day early? She swallowed hard. Nope. Her mind had prepared for tomorrow, and she simply hadn’t worked up the courage to “go for it” tonight. She needed to get to Tampa, to the wildness of Gasparilla, before she truly tried to pursue her dream. In fact, perhaps one of those tall drinks like the one the guy had been holding in the video would help ease her into seduction mode, because goodness knows right now her pulse was so jittery that she couldn’t seduce him if she tried. If she’d known he was coming, she’d have at least cleaned up her apartment. Was it her imagination, or did it still smell like turnip greens and pintos?

She fumbled her way with the buttons, then jabbed the ends of her blouse into the top of her skirt, all the while thanking God and heaven above for elastic waistbands. Then she snatched her red scarf off the couch and quickly tied it at her waist as elegantly as possible, given her shaky fingers. Making certain the television was off, she took a deep breath, unlocked the door and opened it. Dang if his eyes weren’t bluer than she remembered, and double-dang if he didn’t look even better than last night’s dream. Clarise swallowed. She would
not
think about that now, wouldn’t picture the way she’d envisioned him tearing her clothes from her body in a frantic effort to touch her, hold her, get inside her. She focused on those waves of sandy hair, thick brows, strong jaw, totally kissable mouth, broad shoulders . . . heavens, what was she doing? Blushing, that’s what, and from the brilliant grin on that gorgeous face, he’d noticed. “You wanted to talk about the trip?”

“Yes. Can I come in?” he asked.

Man, she’d missed his voice. “Sure,” she said, trying to disguise how hard she was breathing from the panic attack his knock had initiated. She stepped aside, then nearly jumped when he gave her a brief hug before entering.

“Good to see you, Clarise,” he said, while she inhaled the tantalizing smell of spicy cologne and pure Ethan as he slowly broke from the embrace and entered her apartment.

“You too,” she said, trying to remember how this worked—breathing, that is. In and out, in and out, yeah, that’s it. “Your trip went well, I guess?” she finally asked.

“It was great,” he said, sitting casually on the sofa as if he belonged here, and in her heart, she believed he did. “The Panache deal should go through tomorrow, and we’ll be an eighteen-store corporation,” he said, his excitement evident in the words. But before he told her more about the deal, he pointed to the television, where a neon green arrow glowed from the VCR portion. “Were you watching a movie?”

No way. The tape was still rolling, even though the screen was off, and he could see that blinking arrow, dadgummit. “Yeah,” she said, hurrying across the room, then stretching a finger toward the machine and punching the
STOP
button. A surge of relief flooded through her when the tattletale arrow disappeared. “Would you like something to drink?” she asked, trying her best to change the subject. “A Coke, maybe?”

“Sure,” he said.

“In the can or over ice?” she asked, ever the hospitable hostess for her friend, her boss and her every fantasy.

“The can is fine.” Then, while she withdrew two cans from the fridge, he turned the subject right back to that blasted tape. “Sounded like a Gasparilla parade. Trying to get an idea of what’s in store?” he asked, accepting his Coke from Clarise.

Her skin tingled when her fingertips brushed his hand, and she sat abruptly on the other end of the couch to try to camouflage her wobbly knees. They’d been having their coffee chats for nearly three years, and she’d controlled herself; what had happened that made a brush of his fingers do this? But she knew; he’d looked at her, really looked at her, that night at the Christmas party, and, being the planner that she was, she hadn’t stopped calculating the possibilities of that look ever since. She fought the impulse to shiver—if a simple touch did this, what the heck would a kiss do? She could hardly wait to find out. Maybe by tomorrow night, she’d know, if she could ever get the nerve to tell him she wanted more than mere friendship, and if he felt the same. So many ifs, so little time. One more day.

“There’s nothing like it, seeing that big Jose Gasparilla ship sail into Tampa with hundreds of the city’s most prominent men dressed as pirates set to take over the place. Then you’ve got the parades and the parties,” he added, then cleared his throat. “I thought I should warn you about some of the—activities—down there. The women are—hell, Clarise, I don’t know how to describe it other than—wild.” His mouth crooked to the side. Then he took a long drink, as if he had to do something with those enticing lips to keep from outright laughing at her attempt to blend with the wild women of Tampa. Was that it? Or was it something else that made him look uncomfortable with the statement?

Well, whatever the reason, Clarise wanted to spout some smart remark about how she could be sexy if she wanted—how she could make him want her, if she wanted—but she couldn’t concentrate on anything beyond watching his neck pulse with each swallow.

Ethan lowered the can and looked at her thoughtfully. “Not that I think you should pass on the trip. I’m glad you’re going, but you’ve never been around anything quite like Tampa during Gasparilla. I want you to be prepared.”

Clarise didn’t mind him giving her a few pointers. Actually, she’d have been surprised if he didn’t try to prepare her, in a friend-to-friend kind of deal. In fact, that lack of preparedness was the real reason she’d asked Rachel to loan her the Gasparilla tape. Ethan was right; Tampa during Gasparilla was more than Clarise had expected. More colorful. More exciting. More naked.

“I’m ready,” she said, and couldn’t keep her smile from bursting free.

He laughed heartily, and the luxurious sound rippled down her skin like hot shower water, touching her everywhere. “I have no doubt you’re ready, but is Tampa ready for you? Clarise Robinson, letting her hair down?” He tipped his head to the side, lifted his Coke, then paused. “I remember a time when you said you’d never be caught dead at one of those parades.”

“That was last year, and I had a case of cold feet. This year is—different.”

“Different how?” he asked, his curiosity still evident. His eyes examined her with that same intensity she’d witnessed at the Christmas party, as though he was looking at her for the first time . . . and liking what he saw. Was he? “Different how, Clarise?” he repeated, his voice lower, sexier.

She swallowed thickly. She’d always had a hard time hiding things from this man. Truthfully, the big 3-0 had been a major factor in the decision to bare the Robinson Treasures at Gasparilla, but the truth was that she needed a wild setting to try to set her rowdy side free—and to try to take this relationship with Ethan to the next level. She turned away and glanced at a watercolor, a beach scene, on one of her walls. She’d meant to keep him from viewing her face, but she’d only managed to recall her
sex on the beach
addition to her list. Their friendship had developed so steadily over the past three years that Ethan could typically look at Clarise and know her every thought, dream and desire. Matter of fact, it amazed her that he hadn’t instinctively recognized her obvious attraction, but he hadn’t, and she thanked heaven above for that small miracle. So, right now, did he know that when she looked at that painting, she visualized the two of them, naked and writhing, hot and heated, wet and ready on that sand?

Dismayed at where her thoughts had once again headed, she swiveled around to glare at the object of her every fantasy. Didn’t he realize how difficult this conversation was? And was he trying to talk her out of going to Tampa? Didn’t he want her there? Because it would be extremely difficult to have wild and crazy beach sex with him if she were still in Alabama. “You told me repeatedly I should take this trip, and now that I’ve decided to go, you’re trying to talk me out of it. I’m old enough to have some fun, and I’m going to,” she added, her frustration at having been caught midstrip wedging its way into the words. Then again, was she frustrated that Ethan had caught her, or that he evidently hadn’t realized the one she really wanted to strip for . . . was him?