Merry and Bright(8)

She flashed another fake smile and rose, then winced and sat back down. “Honestly, it’s not hurting at all.”

“God, you are such a liar.” He shuffled through the kit. “Damn, I don’t have Band-Aids. I can’t believe it. Joe must have used them all last week when he staple-gunned his finger to the ceiling. The spray should help, though. Did you get a lot of it? Come on, let me see.”

“Can’t.”

“Why not? You have ugly knees?”

She rolled her eyes. “If you must know, I didn’t shave my legs.”

“Jesus, really? I’ll call the fashion police, stat.”

She wasn’t amused at his grin. “It’s not funny. I haven’t been as diligent lately since I’m not dating.”

He sat back on his heels, fascinated by this, by her. “So you only shave your legs for a date?”

“Well, it’s a time sink otherwise, and—Never mind.” She lifted her chin. “My point is, I can’t show you my legs if I haven’t shaved them.”

“Maggie, I don’t care.”

With a look that said she was prepared for his disgust, she finally pulled her skirt up past her knees.

His smile caught in his throat. Disgust was the last thing he felt. She was definitely wearing silk, which had torn and snagged at both knees, but that wasn’t what caught his interest and held it. Nope, that honor went to the fact that her silk stopped at mid-thigh, or one did; the other had sagged down just above her bloody knee, held there by what appeared to be an inch-wide strip of stretchy lace.

If she’d been this sexy in high school, he’d been blind. He tried to control himself, but suddenly all he could think about was what she’d look like in that silk and her white lab coat and nothing else.

As if she could see his wicked, dirty little thoughts, she let out a sound that managed to convey what she thought of him, and snatched the antiseptic herself. “I got this.”

“Okay.” He straightened and jammed his hands in his pockets, waiting for her to deal with it, letting out a slow, long breath, practicing some multiplication problems in his head . . . anything to make sure his brain didn’t focus in on those sexy as hell thigh-highs. But she slowly rolled the stocking down, past the scraped knee, and— “Don’t look!”

“I’m not.”

“You are so.”

Yeah, he was.

“What, you’ve never seen a clumsy woman tear her stockings before?”

“I’ve never seen a beautiful woman so unaware of herself before.”

Her gaze snapped up to his, and he let her look her fill, which she did with a wary hunger that quite frankly turned him on more than the stockings, more than any woman had in a long time.

“So I have a little thing for lingerie,” she said defensively, and sprayed her knees again. “And dammit, ouch.”

He put a hand on her thigh, bent, and blew on the scrapes.

She gasped.

Nope, he wasn’t alone in this odd and inexplicable attraction. “Maggie?”

“Yeah?”

“You’re crazy if you think I have a problem with your lingerie.”

“It’s not that I’m crazy. Although in general, women are thirty-seven percent more likely to need a psychiatrist.”

That made him smile. “You know some interesting things.”

“I know, it’s odd. I’m . . . odd. I dress in lab coats every day and I wear glasses, and my hair—Well, just never mind about my hair. I know what I look like. Wearing sexy underwear gives me the illusion of being sexy, at least in my own mind.”

He took in her slightly disheveled, sexy-as-hell appearance and shook his head. “Hate to argue with someone thirty-seven percent more likely to need professional help, but there’s no illusion here. You are sexy as hell.”

She blushed beet red. “And not that it’s any of your business, but the thigh-highs are far better for the female body anyway, and—” She broke off when he slipped his hand around the back of one calf and lifted her leg enough to get a good look at her trashed knees.

“And . . . ?” he prompted, when she didn’t finish.

“And . . .” She slid her eyes to his hand on her. “I lost my train of thought.”

“You were talking about your lingerie fetish.”

She pushed him back a step. “It’s not a fetish!”

“Okay.”

“It’s not!” She shook her head and let out a breath. “Oh, forget it.” She thrust the antiseptic spray at him and got up. As she straightened her legs, she sucked in another breath.

“Still hurt?”

“It’s just scraped knees.” She shoved her nose up into nose-bleed heights. “I’ll be fine.” She put a hand to his chest to push him out of her way, then frowned down at her hand.

“Yeah,” he said, feeling the pull at the touch. “Quite a punch, huh?”

“What’s quite a punch?”

“The chemistry. Our chemistry. Fitting, I think, since chemistry is where we first met.”

She paused. “You think we have chemistry?”

“I guess it could be static electricity.”

She choked out a laugh, looking down at her fingers, still spread over his chest. “Do you remember me catching you in that empty classroom with that girl?”