Bedding the Wrong Brother(15)
All he'd done was close the door, loudly singing Happy Birthday to You, as he walked down the walkway to his car.
She'd felt so self-satisfied then. Giddy that he'd agreed to help her. Now, she stared at the single large piece of luggage that had been laid across the luggage rack as if it contained something horrible. Standing, she walked toward it, stopping when she saw a few items that Max had laid on the long surface of the dresser. A black toiletry bag. A bottle of cologne. A comb. And—
Her eyes widened, and she reached out, nudging the cologne bottle aside. There, sticking half-out of a toiletry bag, was a box of condoms. Hand shaking, she picked it up.
It was open. Looking around as if to make sure no one had snuck into the room while she'd been distracted, she read the label more closely. Good thing he'd come prepared because what she'd bought wasn't nearly as interesting. She'd gone for the standard stuff, whereas his tastes ran to Magnum extra large, ribbed, and flavored. She flushed but couldn't resist grabbing one of the foil-wrapped Magnums and studying it.
The men she'd been with had all been of like size, and she knew they'd fit well within the range of average. This condom didn't look unusually big. Really, how much difference was there between Magnum and acceptable? Was it just a marketing device designed to play on a man's insecurities? There was one sure way to tell.
Rifling through her own bag, she took out one of the condoms she'd brought. Sitting cross-legged on the bed, she ripped open each foil packet and laid the small latex disks on the coverlet. Dragging her purse closer to her, she extracted the small measuring tape in one of the side pockets. Pursing her lips, she unrolled both condoms then laid them flat.
After some quick measurements, she sat back.
Okay, there was a definite difference. She couldn't accuse the condom makers of false advertisement. The Magnums were indeed about thirty percent larger than the regular-size condoms. Mostly in width, since the condom wasn't designed to fit the entire length of a man's penis anyway.
Feeling light-headed, she tried to envision herself helping Max put one of those things on.
All that did was make her start hyperventilating.
Stop it, she told herself. Don't go there.
To distract herself, Melina carefully tucked both unused rubbers into her overnight bag. She couldn't very well leave them in the trash can and risk Max seeing them and guessing what she'd done. He'd tease her about it mercilessly.
He'd probably tease her about this whole situation once the shock wore off.
If he showed up in the first place.
Breath catching, she once again felt dizzy. Frantic.
Desperately, she searched the room, her gaze landing on the minibar. She rushed to it, opened the door, and stared at the little bottles of alcohol.
She'd seen a stocked minibar before, but she'd never actually drank from it. Too expensive. Plus, the little bottles of alcohol had seemed silly somehow. Right now, silly seemed appropriate, and she was desperate to calm her jittery nerves. Taking out the five small bottles, she lined them up on top of the dresser and perused the selection. One finger tapping her pursed lips, she selected one bottle. Unscrewing the cap, she took a swig.
And gasped.
Holy moly, that burned.
The second swig, not so much.
By the time she took her third, she was already starting to feel better.
She set the bottle down then looked at the clock. It was almost eight.
Max would be here soon, and she was still fully dressed, hardly what one would call comfortably.
Rushing into the bathroom, she stripped down to her underwear, simple boy-short panties and a cotton camisole and bra. Face flushed with nerves and alcohol, she stared at herself in the full-length mirror.
What she'd told Max was true. She wasn't beautiful, and she didn't have the world's best body, but she was attractive. Certainly nothing like he and Rhys were used to, but Max must find her at least reasonably attractive, or else he wouldn't have agreed to her little proposal.
Unless he felt sorry for her.
Oh, God. Was she about to be pity f*cked?
The idea didn't sit well with her. She was a strong, independent woman who simply wanted to expand her repertoire of tricks. She'd read sex books. She'd watched porn. But besides making her incredibly hot and frustrated, most of the sexual acts and responses she'd viewed still seemed somewhat perplexing to her. The whole thing with the nipples, for example. Nipple stimulation did next to nothing for her, but other women seemed to enjoy it. Did men?