Standing in the Shadows (McClouds & Friends #2)(63)

He pulled on his chinos and sat down to watch the floor show. Erin was a sight to behold bustling around in her bra and panties. She ignored him as she ironed her things, and then laid her suit out on the bed and held up an imperious hand. "Your shirt, please."

He fished around on the floor until he found it, and handed it to her. "You're sexy when you iron," he told her.

She sniffed. "If you value your life, you will never say anything so stupid to me ever again. Did you know there's a button loose on this?"

"Nope," he told her. "Never noticed. Never would have."

She set aside her iron and dug into her suitcase again, this time producing a big sewing kit. She pulled out spools of thread and held them against his shirt with a worried frown. "I've got taupe, and I've got white, but this shirt is really closer to oatmeal," she fretted. "What I really need is beige, and I thought I had some in here." She upended the whole thing onto the bed and began sifting through the heap.

He gaped at the spectacle. "I had no idea you were like this."

Her eyes narrowed. "Like what?"

"The type that quibbles over taupe or beige. I never would have dreamed that you were so, uh…"

She brandished her needle. "If you say anal retentive, I will stick this needle into your arm a half an inch deep."

He took a cautious step back. "How about obsessive-compulsive?"

"I prefer to think of myself as detail oriented," she said primly. "Take off your pants, please. I want to stitch up that rip in the back, and then they need to be ironed. Badly."

"Detail oriented, huh?" he said, shucking his pants. "Check me out, Erin. I've got a few details I'd like to orient you toward."

She looked, all innocence, and squeaked. His erection bobbed right in front of her, practically at eye level. "Connor, please! You've had your way with me twice this morning! Don't you ever get enough?"

"Once," he said. "It was twice for you. Only once for me."

"Now who's quibbling over details?" she said tartly. "You had your way with me all night long."

"It's not enough," he said. "I'm never going to get enough of you."

The air was suddenly too hot and thick to breathe. His cock stuck straight out, begging for her attention. Damn thing had no dignity at all.

Her lips tightened. "I'm on to you, Connor. You would love it if I was late to this meeting, wouldn't you? Or if I missed it completely. That would suit you right down to the ground."

"I could care less about your meeting, sweetheart."

She turned her head resolutely away. "That's enough of your tricks. I'm in work mode now, and if you value those precious body parts that you are waving around at me, you will wrap a towel around them and hand me those pants. Right now."

He winced. "Ouch. How long does this work mode of yours last?"

"As long as it takes to get the job done," she said briskly. "Right now, my job is to make you presentable. When we get to the resort, I become an expert on ancient Celtic artifacts." She jabbed her finger toward his chest, and he darted back, wary of her needle. "Your job is to be polite and unobtrusive, and not say anything that will reflect badly on me while I do my job. Is that understood?"

His jaw tightened. "My job is to guard you, Erin."

She snatched the pants away from him. "Then guard me politely and unobtrusively, please."

"This work mode of yours is a bitch," he grumbled. "I liked you better when you were in red-hot sex kitten mode."

She harrumphed, and stitched up the rip in his pants with quick, expert skill. "Isn't that just too bad. No masks, Connor. This is the real me, so deal with it. Put a towel over yourself, please."

"What's the matter, Erin?" he taunted. "Is my cock distracting you?"

She snatched up the scissors, and he jerked away. She smiled sweetly, and snipped the thread. "Relax. And don't think I'm fixing up your clothes because I'm playing out some sick domestic fantasy. It is in my own best interests for you to look decent Is that understood?"

"Yes, ma'am," he said meekly.

She glared at him. "Are you making fun of me?"

"Hell, no. Not while you're holding those scissors."

Erin muttered to herself as she rummaged through the sewing stuff. She held up a spool, her face bright with triumph. "Beige!"

He tried not to laugh. "I'm happy for you, babe."

He was ready as soon as he put on the clothes she handed to him, but Erin's complicated toilette had barely begun. He followed her into the bathroom against her protests to watch. It was so sexy and feminine and fascinating, the way she dabbed at her face with all those tiny tubes and pots and brushes. Best of all was the hair. She brushed it until it was smooth and glossy and swept it up, twisting until it fell into place. Then she anchored the gleaming coils with hairpins. The finished result was a goddamn miracle of engineering.

They were finally ready to go. Connor dismantled the squealers and tossed them into his grip. He stepped out into the hall, looked both ways, and gestured for her to follow. She reached up to stroke back a stray lock of his hair and straighten his collar.

He stiffened. "What? Do I not look OK?"