Читать книгу Truly, Madly, Briefly - Delores Fossen - Страница 16

The Slap Stick: Catalogue Item 333C. Amuse your friends and significant other with this glow-in-the-dark Ruffy the Raccoon cartoon-print boxer. Wait until you see where we’ve put the punch line. Comes with detachable raccoon tail and is available in most sizes.

AIDAN STOOD in the parking lot and sized up the place. Davy Crockett Park was a zoo. Not literally. But there were enough people and activities that it looked like a huge ant farm gone awry.

Smoke billowed from several open barbecue pits. There were carnival rides, assorted amusement booths and a couple of people rolling watermelons down a hill. Others were thumping the melons to make music that no one could have possibly found enjoyable. And, of course, there were women. Lots and lots of women.

Estrogen was heavy in the air.

Aidan glanced around and, even with all the activity and other females, he spotted Bobbie right away. With a magazine resting against her knees, she sat under a sprawling oak. She seemed engrossed in whatever she was reading, but she was also talking on the tiny phone she had pressed to her ear. He caught a phrase here and there—O-ring thong straps, water-filled wonder pouches and heated bun enhancers. She was probably talking to a supplier.

Well, he hoped she was.

Just as Aidan got closer to Bobbie, Crystal hurled a Frisbee in his direction. He caught it, barely.

Crystal hurried to him, an enormous wad of pink gum cracking in her mouth. “I’ll make this quick. During the past week, I’ve been watching Bobbie and you get closer and closer. I like you, and I think you have a whole lot of potential for making her happy. I also think you two make a hot match. But if you hurt her, I will get even, no ifs, ands or buts about it.”

“But—”

“It won’t be pretty,” Crystal continued as if he hadn’t tried to speak. “I’m talking about a bikini wax that starts at your head and goes to the bottom of your feet. It’ll get particularly nasty and painful in areas that are most sensitive to you. Got that, O’Shea?”

“Yes, I do. And I can promise you that I don’t want to hurt Bobbie,” he simply answered. In fact, he didn’t plan to get involved with Bobbie in such a way that hurting was even an option.

“Good intentions don’t count here. Hurt her like that larvae-headed Jasper did, and I start heating the wax. A huge vat of it.”

And with that bizarre threat, Crystal snatched the Frisbee from him and walked away.

“A problem with Crystal?” Bobbie asked when Aidan joined her. She clicked off the phone and tossed it aside on the blanket.

“No.” But then Aidan caught sight of her outfit. There was the problem. Man, he might have to classify her clothes as deadly weapons. She wore denim shorts. The operative word being short. And a tiny little knit flowered top that not only accented her breasts but also showed a couple of inches of her midriff.

She smiled, caught onto his hand and had him sit next to her. “It looks like rain, but it’s still a nice day for a picnic, don’t you think?”

Aidan nodded. It was an even nicer day for planting some wet kisses on her stomach.

He mentally kicked himself. No sexy thoughts today, especially after that waxing threat from Crystal. Besides, with their luck, he’d get his tongue caught on Bobbie’s navel ring, and it’d require major surgery to get them untangled. Then everyone in town would know about his sudden, unexplainable navel fetish.

She put her mouth right next to his ear. “Everyone in town is here,” she whispered. Her hot, cinnamony breath brushed against his cheek and neck. “After today, I doubt you’ll get another Beeping Tom report.”

No, but he might have to deal with a permanent state of arousal.

Heck.

Why did he have this reaction to Bobbie? Why couldn’t his brain figure out that an entanglement, any entanglement, with her would be too high-maintenance? For better or worse, she had her roots firmly planted, and firmly planted was the very thing Aidan planned to avoid.

“I just got my latest copy of Travel-or-Bust Monthly.” Bobbie grinned and held up the glossy magazine for him to see. She began to flip through the pages. “There’s an article about Boston, and they talk about the swan boats in the Public Gardens. Sounds like a blast.”

He smiled at her enthusiasm. “They are.”

“Listen to this,” she continued. She wiggled closer until their heads, shoulders and hips were pressed together. “‘Glide through an urban oasis and feel your troubles slip away. Although a short ride, this trip through a sun-dappled lagoon will carry you to another time. Another place. All you have to do is relax and let the sun and city caress you.’”

“Caress, huh?” Aidan repeated.

Not the best choice of words when his mind was on other types of caresses.

“Afternoon, Bobbie and Aidan,” Winston called out. He was dressed in an Old West getup and was carrying an enormous mackerel-shaped watermelon on his shoulder. Five women of varying ages were following him, apparently vying for his attention. One of the females was using a walker and was doing her best to keep up.

“The seed-spitting contest is about to start,” Winston added. “Don’t miss it.”

Bobbie gave her uncle a distracted wave and got back to the article. “It talks about the museums and the shops. You are so lucky to have been born there.”

“I guess. But a lot of people would think you were lucky to be born here in Liffey.”

Her gaze met his. She blinked. And paused. “Do you really think I’m lucky?”

“Well, Liffey’s not a big city, but it’s thriving. And it’s, uh, quaint in a non-touristy sort of way.” At that exact moment, her Uncle Quincy hurried past them. He had a ferret on a leash. A ferret wearing a pair of tiny raccoon-print boxers complete with a fake bushy tail. “Well, it’s quaint, or something.”

What was left of Bobbie’s smile evaporated. “Yeah. Or something.”

So, she had a point. Liffey wasn’t exactly a normal place with normal residents. He’d seen a lot of weird things, but never a leashed ferret wearing raccoon-print boxer shorts.

“Have you ever thought about taking a break from the factory so you can travel?” he asked.

She shrugged and turned her gaze back to the magazine. “My uncles have owned Boxers or Briefs for nearly thirty-five years. It’s a family business, and since my folks died, I’m the only family left around to run it. My cousin, Wes, isn’t a good candidate because he’ll eventually have to take over for Sheriff Cooper. And I can’t very well ask my uncles to come out of retirement just because I want to travel.”

Family duty. Yep, he understood that. It was what brought him home for holidays and an assortment of births, weddings and funerals—or as he liked to call them: hatch, match and dispatch events. But Aidan also understood that wistful, longing look in Bobbie’s eyes.

Definite wanderlust.

He hated to tell her that it was an itch that was awfully hard to satisfy by staying in one place. Especially a place like Liffey.

Because he had an overwhelming urge to touch her, Aidan picked a piece of grass off her knee. What he didn’t do was move his hand even after he’d tossed the grass aside. He just sat there, touching her bare knee while she turned the page to a glossy picture of Beacon Street.

“I talked with Sheriff Cooper about the missing underwear,” Aidan informed her. Maybe if he discussed business, his brain wouldn’t dwell on Bobbie’s body. “He thought maybe we should take a harder look at Rudy Tate, your floor manager.”

She paused and pursed her lips. “I guess it’s possible he was involved, but I can’t imagine why he’d do it.”

“Maybe he’s selling it?” Even though Aidan didn’t want to speculate about how someone would go about finding an illegal market for thongs.

“Miss Callahan?” a man called out.

Aidan braced himself for one of the uncles, but their visitor wasn’t a local Liffey-ite.

“Oh, God.” Bobbie put the magazine in front of her face and tried to hide. “That’s Mr. Eidelson, the maker of that awful Sensuous Musk Massage Oil that attracted the critters. I hope he doesn’t see me.”

“Too late. He’s headed right for you.”

She groaned and yanked down the magazine. “I’m not working today, Mr.—”

“This won’t take long,” Eidelson interrupted. With a toothy grin on his too-thin face, he set a bright orange gift bag next to her. “It’s a sample of my new and improved Sensuous Massage Oil. Let me know what you think of it.”

And the man practically sprinted away. Bobbie groaned again, but that was the only protest she had time to make. Before the dust had settled from Eidelson’s departure, more visitors sauntered their way.

“Well, well,” the woman purred.

It was the queen of kitty-rescue requests and excessively tight jeans—Maxine Varadore. And to make matters worse, she had Jasper with her. However, despite her accompanied status, she had a come-hither look in her eye. Aidan had no intention of taking her up on that hithering, though.

“Bobbie,” Jasper said crisply. But his voice got a whole lot crisper when he spoke to Aidan. “Good afternoon, Deputy O’Shea. I see you didn’t take my advice about staying away from my fiancée.”

“Nope. I didn’t,” Aidan informed him.

Realizing this could turn ugly, or just plain stupid, Aidan got to his feet. It was probably a fluke and not some bad omen that it thundered at exactly that same moment.

Jasper slipped his narrowed gaze to Bobbie. “And I can see you’re still playing hard to get.” He didn’t give her time to deny that absurd claim. “Well, two can play at that game, darling.”

And with that announcement, Jasper hooked his arm around Maxine and hauled her against him. The lovers’ embrace perhaps would have been far more effective if Maxine hadn’t winked at Aidan.

Bobbie got to her feet as well. “Is there a point to all of this, Jasper?”

“Yes!” Jasper gave Bobbie a heated look and blew her a kiss. “The point is that one way or another, I intend to win you back, darling. You will be mine, and we will go on that honeymoon to Paris.”

Another wink from Maxine. “Plus, Deputy, the lottery’s over tomorrow, and everything will get back to normal. Bobbie won’t have dibs on you anymore.”

That threat alone was enough to make Aidan want to extend the Twango-Drifter Plan indefinitely.

Bobbie took a step toward the winking, puckering couple. They looked as if they had nervous tic disorders. “You know, I’m a little tired of all this dibs talk.”

“Yeah?” Maxine challenged.

“Yeah,” Bobbie countered.

Uh-oh. Hoping to stave off disaster, Aidan reached for Bobbie. Too bad that reaching caused him to step the wrong way. His foot landed right on the gift bag that Mr. Eidelson had left on the ground.

Aidan heard the too-familiar sound of breaking glass mere seconds before he got his first whiff of new and improved Sensuous Massage Oil. Ohmigod. Like a deadly top-secret-weaponized chemical agent, the reeking aroma engulfed them.

“Ewwww.” Maxine clothes-pinned her nose. Jasper began to fan his hands around.

Aidan took full advantage of the distraction and turned to Bobbie. “Why don’t we skip the seed-spitting contest and get out of here?”

“Agreed.”

She latched onto him, and they headed away from the smelly toxic spill. “I don’t have my car here. I rode in with my uncles.”

The first drops of rain splattered on them as they made their way across the baseball field. If Aidan had been thinking right, he might not have led Bobbie in the direction of his car. But the massage oil had obviously dulled his senses because that’s exactly where they ended up when the sky opened and it began to pour.

“I think Jasper and Maxine are following us,” Bobbie let him know as he stuffed her into the car. A jolt of lightning zipped across the sky.

Aidan climbed into the car and checked the rearview mirror. She was right. Jasper and Maxine were in hot pursuit.

But they weren’t alone.

Raccoons and squirrels scurried out of the trees and adjoining woods. Most went straight for the squished orange bag, but a couple of especially obstinate-looking raccoons made a beeline for Jasper and Maxine.

But that didn’t mean Bobbie and he had escaped disaster just yet.

Sugarfoot, the boxer-clad ferret, broke away from the crowd and headed for Aidan’s car. Obviously, enough of the scent had permeated their clothes for the critter to take notice and come after them.

It was like a scene from a Hitchcock movie.

So Aidan did the only thing he could do. He gunned the engine and put some distance between them, the amorous ferret and the human couple trying to catch them.

“Whew, we made it,” Bobbie said looking back at the chaos they’d left behind. She laughed.

Aidan probably would have laughed too if he hadn’t cast his gaze in Bobbie’s direction. With that simple innocent glimpse, he glimpsed at a lot more than he’d counted on glimpsing. Pressed against her rain-soaked, nearly transparent shirt, her rose-colored nipples had tightened. They were perfect little buds that his fingers itched to touch.

Oh, man.

He forced his itchy fingers into a death grip on the steering wheel. Talk about icing on the proverbial cake of needy things. Not only was he alone with Bobbie. And not only did she smell like bottled sex. She looked like bottled sex.

No, he didn’t need this.

He didn’t need her.

And as soon as his body started to soften, Aidan was sure he’d remember that.

BOBBIE STUCK her index finger in her nonlistening ear to shut out the storm noise so she could hear what the factory-floor manager had to say. Too bad she hadn’t waited until Aidan had gotten her home to take this call, but if Rudy Tate had just said what she thought he said, then this wasn’t something she could put off.

“There’s a whole case of triple-X Bold-as-Brass Sheikh Yerbootees missing,” Rudy repeated. “I’ve double-checked the inventory, Bobbie, and they just aren’t there. I don’t think I’m jumping the gun here if I say that someone’s taken them.”

She wrinkled up her nose. “You looked in the overflow stock room, I suppose?”

“Absolutely. But I only found some glow-in-the-dark Boogie Boxers, some fantasy briefs and a couple of cases of those seatless Casanovas—the ones with the padded red silk lips on the fly-front. But I tell you, there’s not a Sheikh Yerbootee in sight.”

Thank goodness Aidan couldn’t actually hear the bizarre phone conversation. It was a definite silver lining to an otherwise silverless moment.

Obviously, the thief had struck again, and he or she delighted in stealing underwear with weird, kinky names. Why couldn’t this sticky-fingered person steal Gladiator boxers or Happily-Ever-After briefs? At least those were items that she could comfortably discuss in public.

She’d have to make a report to Aidan, of course, but at least she wouldn’t have to give him a running commentary of their most bizarre inventory in the overflow stock room.

“A problem?” Aidan asked when she hung up and dropped her phone into her purse.

He stopped the car in front of her house. What he didn’t do was look at her. In fact, he hadn’t looked at her since they’d left the park. He sat soldier-stiff on the seat and kept his attention focused straight ahead. And he’d cleared his throat at least a dozen times. Maybe that massage oil had caused some kind of strange allergic reaction.

“That was Rudy Tate. He says there’s more vanishing underwear.” Bobbie glanced up at the sky and huffed. The rain was still coming down in buckets. “Why don’t you come in for a while, and I’ll give you the details? There’s too much water on the road for you to be driving back into town anyway.”

He hesitated but finally nodded. And he cleared his throat again. That time, Bobbie had a pretty good idea what caused that throat clearing and the hesitation. It probably wasn’t a good idea for them to be under the same roof alone, but the sudden storm hadn’t given them a lot of options. She didn’t want him getting into an accident after rescuing them both from Sugarfoot the ferret and her navel-lint ex-fiancé.

She covered her head with the travel magazine, and they made a mad dash into her house.

“This time there’s a case of briefs missing,” she explained as she tried to shake off some of the rain. Still, Aidan didn’t look at her, and he had his hands clenched by his sides. Definitely weird. What was going on? “Hold on and I’ll get you a towel.”

“Uh, were the briefs size triple-X?” he asked.

Bobbie opened the linen closet and yanked out several thick towels. “Yes, how’d you know?”

“Lucky guess.” He took one of the towels she offered and scrubbed it over his water-beaded face. Actually, he covered his entire face with it. “But it might be an important clue. Maybe size matters.”

Bobbie fought to stop herself from laughing, but she didn’t quite succeed. She playfully nudged his arm with her elbow. “I’ll bet that’s the only time a man’s ever admitted that to a woman.”

Aidan slowly lowered the towel. His mouth twitched, but he too lost the battle and grinned.

All that arm-nudging and grinning came to a grinding halt, however, when his gaze dropped. The moment might have been light, but they were right against each other. Arm touching arm. Their bodies only a couple of inches apart, and they were definitely sharing the same air space.

Not good.

Bobbie cleared her throat and stepped away from him. “Anyway, about those Sheikh Yerbootees. I mean, that’s the name of the underwear. Rudy checked around the factory, and the case is definitely missing.”

“Uh, Bobbie?”

There was a look almost of pain on his face. “What is it, Aidan?”

He motioned in the general direction of her shirt. “You’re sort of…well, I mean the rain…”

Bracing herself for the worst, Bobbie glanced down.

Yikes!

Her flowered print top was practically invisible. Ditto for her lacy push-up bra. In fact, the only things that were perfectly visible were her breasts.

She jerked the towel from her face to cover up, swatting herself in the eye during the process. “I’m sorry. I had no idea.”

“I know. That’s why I decided to tell you.”

Bobbie motioned toward her bedroom. “I’d better go change.”

She managed to keep her voice calm enough, but on the inside, that was a different story. The intimate apparel gods were obviously having a good belly laugh at her expense. First, she had to discuss Sheikh Yerbootee underwear with Aidan. And then, there was that whole “size matters” thing.

But those were mere appetizers in the whole humbling underwear scenario of life.

Now, he’d seen her breasts in all their glory. Or rather their less-than-ample glory. She might never be able to look him straight in the eye again.

The phone rang the moment that she shucked off her shirt. “Aidan, get that for me, please?” she called out.

With her luck, it’d be Rudy with yet more news of missing underwear. This time, it would likely be a case of those seatless Casanovas with the attached padded lips. Or maybe some of the ultraclassy Cheek-a-boos.

Bobbie hurriedly changed and rushed back into the living room to face her fate. She came to a halt the moment she saw Aidan.

From the look on his bleached face, it was more than fate she’d have to face. Much more. It appeared he’d received some horrifying news. Maybe the entire factory inventory was missing, and she’d have to discuss each item in excruciatingly embarrassing detail.

“That was your Uncle Quincy,” Aidan informed her. “He said the rain washed out the road leading back to the highway, and they’ll have to stay in town tonight.”

Even though on the surface that didn’t seem as much of a calamity as missing Cheek-a-boos, Bobbie knew differently. If the road was gone, then that meant Aidan had to stay. At her house. With her.

Alone.

All night.

The Cheek-a-boos would no doubt have proven a lot easier—and much less hot—to handle.