His head was spinning…
When the doorbell blasted for the third time, and the mail slot thing started to jiggle, I roared, jackknifing off the couch.
Jesus, could the idiot not take a fucking hint?
Stomping across the room, I spat run-on expletives I made up on the fly.
Christ, it’s my own damned fault… I should’ve parked in the garage, instead of leaving my ride out in the open so that any undesirables would know I was home.
I yanked open the door, hissing like a snake.
“What the fuck, man?”
Goggling, I almost swallowed my tongue on the spot. It wasn’t D.J. Nor was it Tommy B. Nope, far from it.
Tansy Martin herself was standing there, a nervous half-smile curving pink lips, her gorgeous face too perfect for words.
My eyes dropped slowly, and I gripped the jamb for support. Good thing, too, because the shit she was wearing?
Breathing hard, I took a swift inventory.
Oh, God. Skintight, faded jeans hugged her legs, ass, and pussy slit. Above that low waistband, a skimpy tank top in a light pinkish color clung to tight little tits. I stared at it as gallons of scalding hot blood headed to points south. It too was tight, and thin. Very thin. So thin, it was fuck-all obvious that the beauty wasn’t wearing a bra.
I didn’t catch the footwear, for obvious reasons.
Fuckin’ A, I sound like a card-carrying Paleo.
Blinking, I tried to think straight.
What in Sam Hill is she doing here? Hadn’t little missy informed me just a few short days ago that there was no way she could see me again? That it was one of her steadfast rules? And hadn’t I agreed, being a card-carrying member of the same “No Relationship Ever” club that she was?
Although, right now, revoking my membership sounds like a fuckin’ splendid idea…