“Don’t laugh at me,” sh
e told him, a smile flickering across her mouth. “You robbed me of all common sense.”
He leaned down and grabbed the edge of the bedspread and sheet. He ripped them away from her. She stared up at him, aghast.
“All your boldness too?” he asked, quirking up his brow in a challenging gesture. His smile faded as he checked out her naked body. His stare stuck on her pussy when he noticed the glint of moisture on her smooth labia. Suddenly, she shifted from her huddling position, her thighs parting, her hips shifting in a come-hither movement. Heat flashed through him. His cock perked up to attention. His gaze darted to her face, and there it was. That small, sexy, “I hold all the cards and then some” grin.
“Not all my boldness,” she assured.
He shook his head and sat at the edge of the bed. “Ingénue or witch, that’s what I’d like to know,” he mumbled to himself, leaning back next to her on the bed.
“Witch?” she asked, sitting up and propping herself on one elbow. He noticed her scowl and hid his smile by reaching for the water glass. “That’s what you’d call a . . . you know . . . a sexually confident woman?” she accused.
“No,” he replied calmly, turning toward her. “It’s what I’d call you.”
She blinked, her scowl fading. “Sit up. Drink some water,” he told her matter-of-factly. She followed his instruction, sitting up against the pillows, despite still appearing dazed. Puzzled. Miffed? She drew the sheet up over her breasts. He scowled at her covering herself, but she ignored him and reached for the glass.
“Because in my experience, men are always doing that,” she said, taking a big gulp of the water and swallowing. “Making women into either whores or virgins, sluts or saints.”
“Men think that, in your experience,” he repeated levelly, taking a swallow of his water.
“That’s right,” she said, eyes flashing.
He leaned back into the pillows. “It’s hard to imagine a guy having the ability to think much of anything when you’re flashing your pussy at him in a public place one second and running like a scared rabbit the next.”
She gave him a disgusted glance at his sarcasm. “You don’t understand at all.”
“I think I’ve been pretty up front about that from the first.” He set down his water glass and turned to her, thinking it might be advisable to change the subject. He’d never experienced anything like it before: the way he disapproved of her exhibitionism and boldness for some stupid reason, and yet was still turned into a rutting pig by it. “So . . . what are you doing for Thanksgiving?” he asked her.
“Spending it with my mom and dad in Evanston.”
“Just the three of you?”
She nodded. “What about you?”
“I’m driving to Rockford for the long weekend.”
“For . . .”
“My parents are there. That’s where I grew up, on a farm a few miles out of town. My sister and her family will be there too. I think my brother is coming from New York as well.”
“So you have a brother and a sister? And your parents are still together?”
“Oh yeah. They’re still disgustingly in love too even after forty-four years.”
“Really?” she asked slowly. “That’s nice.”
“Yeah.”
“It all sounds so . . . normal.”
“Normal? What’s that supposed to mean?” he wondered.
She looked a little guilty. “I don’t know . . . you’re so . . . not normal. I was just expecting you’d spend your Thanksgiving holiday in a more exotic way.”
“So you think I’m abnormal?”
“No. I think you’re exceptional.”