Smooth Talking Stranger (Travis Family #3)(30)

"I wasn't implying that," I protested, while humiliation sent a wash of scarlet from head to toe. The truth was, I had been implying it. As if I, Ella Varner, were so irresistible that Jack Travis would go to extraordinary lengths to have me live in the same building. Good Lord, from what part of my ego had that emerged from? I struggled to come up with a save. "I just meant that you couldn't be happy about the prospect of having a noisy newborn in your building."

"I'd make an exception for Luke. After the start he's gotten in life, he's due for a good turn." Jack led the way to an apartment near the end of a gray-carpeted hallway, part of an H-shaped layout. He pushed the buzzer, and the door opened.

NINE

Haven travis was slender and so much smaller than her brother that it seemed questionable they had come from the same parents. But the Gypsy-dark eyes were identical. She was fair and black-haired and delicately beautiful. Her expression was vibrant with intelligence and yet there was something about her . . . a hint of bruised vulnerability in a way that suggested she had not gone unscathed from life's sharper edges.

"Hey, Jack." Her attention was instantly captured by the sleeping baby in the carrier. "Oh, what a cute baby." She had a distinctive voice, bright and warm, a little raspy, as if she'd just taken a swallow of expensive liquor. "Give that carrier to me—you're jostling him."

"He likes it," Jack returned calmly, ignoring her efforts to take Luke. He bent his head for a kiss. "Ella Varner, this bossy woman is my sister, Haven."

She shook my hand in a firm and confiding grip. "Come in, Ella. This is such a coincidence—I just started reading your column a few weeks ago."

Haven welcomed us into her apartment, a small one-bedroom unit decorated in shades of white and cream and distressed dark woods. The disciplined color scheme was enlivened by a few jolts of fresh botanical green. A Swedish wooden floor clock occupied the corner. The main living space was filled with a few simple pieces of furniture— antique French chairs, an overstuffed sofa covered in black-and-cream toile.

"My best friend Todd decorated it," Haven told me, noticing my interest.

"It's wonderful. It looks like something out of a magazine."

"Todd says the mistake some people make with decorating small spaces is that they choose too many delicate pieces. You need something substantial like that sofa, or there's nothing to anchor the room."

"It's still too small," Jack said as he set the baby carrier on the low, wide coffee table.

Haven smiled. "None of my brothers," she informed me, "think a sofa is comfortable unless it's the size of a pickup flatbed." She went to the sleeping baby and regarded him with tender concern. "What's his name?"

"Luke." As I answered, I was surprised to feel a flush of pride.

"Jack told me a little about your situation," Haven said. "I think it's terrific, what you're doing for your sister. Obviously it's not the easy road to take." She smiled. "But it's exactly what I'd expect Miss Independent to do."

Jack looked at me speculatively. "I'd like to read some of your stuff."

"There are a couple of issues of Vibe on the side table," Haven told him. "It might be a nice change from Troutmaster Digest."

To my dismay, Jack picked up the most recent issue, which contained one of my more provocative columns.

"Maybe you shouldn't . . ." I began, but my voice trailed away as he paged through the periodical. I could tell the moment he found my page, with its cartoon portrait of me wearing cartoon high heels and a fashionable swing coat. And I knew exactly what he was reading even before his brows began to inch toward his hairline.

Dear Miss Independent,

I'm dating a fantastic guy—handsome, successful, caring, and good in bed. But there's a problem. He's built on the petite side, sexually speaking. I've always heard that size doesn't matter, but I can't help wishing he had more to offer in that department. I want to stay with him in spite of the fact that he's hung like a cocktail weenie, but how can I stop wishing for a kielbasa? "

—Length Lover

Dear Length Lover,

Despite the claims made by a barrage of spam in Miss I.'s mailbox, it is not possible to increase a man's genital size. But here are a few relevant facts to consider: there are approximately 8,000 nerve endings in the clitoris, and a lesser concentration in the outer third of the vagina, and virtually none in the inner two-thirds. Therefore, a shorter penis is able to provide all the necessary stimulation that a longer one can.

For most women, a partner's skills are far more important than his size. Try various positions and techniques, emphasize foreplay, and keep in mind that many roads lead to Rome.

Finally, if you want something big to play with during intercourse, bring some toys to bed. Think of it as outsourcing.

—Miss Independent

Jack's expression was faintly bemused, as if he were attempting to reconcile the persona of Miss Indepen-dent with what he had observed of me so far. Lowering to the small moss-green sofa, he continued to read.

"Come see the kitchen," Haven told me, tugging me toward a tiled area with granite countertops and stainless-steel appliances. "Would you like something to drink? "

"Yes, thanks."