Tossing out the rest of his coffee he went upstairs. He picked up her clothes and straightened the table where she’d written last night, his eyes skimming the words of her dime novel.
Hmm, she was remarkably explicit in describing there first time as man and wife.
“Mitchell touched her softly, his rough hands stroking her pale skin in the moonlight. Cynthia bit her lip and held her breath waiting for the pain she’d been told was coming. Instead she gasped in wonder at the pleasure stealing through her body.
He made small, satisfied noises. She tensed for a few moments until he whispered of her loveliness and how fortunate he felt to have made her his wife. His words soothed her. She felt valued, treasured. Surely, he would not hurt one so long sought after. She relaxed in his strong arms, trusting him to know what to do, trusting him to make the sweet ache that threatened to consume her go away.”
Straightening, Micah set the papers back down, brushing his damp hands on his jeans. He sure as hell hoped he was Mitchell and she was Cynthia!
“I said I don’t have pretty panties. At least not on me. I do own one pair, but I save them for special occasions and I didn’t think a ‘casual’ date was worth wearing them for. They are special, after all,” she stated a bit regally.
“I’m afraid I don’t understand,” he replied.
“Of course you don’t,” she said with a slightly intoxicated sneer. “Your underwear probably cost a thousand dollars a pair, mine are bargain basement, except for the special pair of panties of course,” she explained as though she were talking to an idiot.
“So, it wasn’t the thought of me spanking you or the possibility of my team seeing you getting spanked that bothered you,” he said in an incredulous voice. “It was that they might see your, shall we say, less than stunning panties?”
“Well, sort of, yes,” she admitted, waving her hand at him dismissively. “A girl likes to look pretty, even for something like that. Not that I believed you would do it, but still, you might have and it bothered me you would see them. Then later, when I realized it might not only be you, but nameless, countless other men, well, that is just not something I would allow.”
Finn smiled, a wicked and in her mind slightly evil smile and rose slowly from the couch.
“And you think you could have prevented it?” he asked, approaching her with measured steps.
Trish rushed across the room, stumbling once, and ended up behind the bar where she at least had something substantial between her and the man with a determined gleam in his eye. She picked up the bottle of wine.
“Put that down,” he ordered sharply.
Glaring at him for a moment, she then stuck out her tongue. It was on.