at the windows, then down at her car, trying to judge the angle. Geometry wasn’t her strongest suit, but it didn’t seem utterly impossible that somebody looking down might have seen as much as this guy had. Plus, she had a sunroof.
“This is bad,” she whispered.
“It’s okay, you can handle it. If anybody says anything, just tell them you were worried about making it on time.”
Gawking, she snapped, “Most people would be too polite to say anything.”
“What does politeness have to do with it?”
“A gentleman wouldn’t put me on the spot about this.”
He crossed his arms over his chest. “You mean I wasn’t being a gentleman? My mom’ll be crushed.”
If there had been any snarkiness in his voice, she might have been annoyed, but something about his charm was getting around her defenses. So far, he had been gentlemanly in trying to let her know he’d seen her stripping off her underclothes in broad daylight in a public parking lot.
“Look, I had a run,” she explained, her tone grudging.
He glanced down. “In those heels?”
“Down one whole leg.”
“I thought both legs were usually required for running.”
She managed not to groan, realizing he thought she’d gone for a run. “I had a run in my pantyhose, okay?”
His gaze remained downward, and his voice was the tiniest bit husky when he said, “No big loss. You definitely don’t need ’em. You have great legs.”
Her cheeks warmed. The way he said that indicated he was a leg man. That in itself was refreshing, as most men she knew professionally were interested only in her academic credentials. And the few she met when at a bar or a party were all focused on the two appendages sticking out the front of her body, not the two at the bottom. Hmm. Are breasts appendages?
“Thanks. But the point is, I’m late, I want to make a good impression and I didn’t have time to stop and buy hose.”
He finally got it. “Ahh. That’s why you did it?”
Wondering how pink her cheeks were, she mumbled, “Yes.”
Smiling, he replied, “Well, luckily, I was here to see.”
She gasped. Had he really just said that? Seriously, had he just admitted he’d been lucky enough to catch a crotch-shot from a complete stranger?
“Because, like I said, you really don’t have to sweat the time. So you can go ahead and take care of this.”
“Take care of it?” she asked. What? Did he think she was going to run back and magically produce new pantyhose from her purse, like a rabbit out of a hat, and put them on?
“Sure. Just get back in your car. I’ll help you out.”
Her jaw dropped open. “Uh…”
“I mean, if you need some directions, I can hop in the passenger seat and show you.”
Directions? She’d bet he knew a lot about women’s underwear and could give directions on how to get in—or out—of them.
The very thought of that reminded her again that she wasn’t wearing anything under her skirt; that cool spring breeze flitting up her legs now felt a bit warmer.
The man did put off some serious heat.
She suddenly acknowledged the second big danger of going commando—aside from possibly getting caught. Getting aroused.
No, not aroused. But aware. Very, very aware.
He gestured down at his clothes. “That is, if you don’t mind getting in close quarters with somebody so dirty.”
She gulped, more confused than ever. Was this guy intentionally playing word games? Was he propositioning her…or teasing her? Being flirtatious, or serious? Was she just being dirty-minded when thinking about how he’d said the word dirty?
“I’m not following,” she said.
Appearing sympathetic, he explained, “You look stressed and nervous. Let’s just get in the car and eliminate some of that tension before you go inside.”
Relieve her stress. Her tension.
There was one surefire way to do that. Hmm. Maybe that explained why she’d been stressed for thirteen months, two weeks and four days. Oh, and seven hours. But who was counting how long it had been since she’d been laid? Though, she supposed writing a dissertation had been pretty stressful, too. At least, that’s what the last guy she’d been involved with had thought. He’d stopped calling around the time she hit page one-twenty and officially lost her mind. Well, unofficially lost it—diagnosing yourself was a no-no in her line of work.
“Come on, let’s just do it. You’re running out of time, and you know you’ll feel better afterward.”
There. He’d stopped beating around the bush and suggested they do it. It, it. There had been no suggestive wag of the eyebrows, but what else could he mean? They’d moved beyond flirting and pantyhose. This complete stranger was proposing he help her relieve her tension by having sex in her car.
“It’ll just take a couple of minutes.”
If he did mean it it, she couldn’t help wondering why he’d brag about it being over so fast. But she didn’t wonder long; mainly she just felt disappointed. Yeah, she’d been distracted by his sexy wickedness for a moment or two. But now she could only feel punched in the gut by disappointment. He hadn’t gone for the cheap line right away, but he’d still managed to come up with a sleazy suggestion eventually.
He might look like a blue-collar Prince Charming, but he was just another guy playing a game of follow-the-leader with his own dick.
“I don’t think so. Heaven forbid it take longer than you think,” she said, keeping her chin up and her eyes narrowed.
Marissa turned to walk away, already wondering how long she’d be thinking about those twinkling amber eyes and that incredibly sexy smile. Would she stop wondering what it might be like to kiss those perfect lips with the words that had emerged from them ringing in her ear?
“Okay, it’s your wallet.”
She paused midstep, glancing back at him. “My wallet?”
“Sure. The towing charge is $250.00.”
Utterly confused, she turned around completely. “What on earth are you talking about?”
He pointed to a nearby sign. The one that said, “Employee Parking Only.” In the small print beneath were a few more words: “Violaters Will Be Towed At Owner’s Expense.”
“They’re real Nazis about it, even when the lot’s practically empty.”
Oh. My. God.
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