Undercover Sir. Carolyn Faulkner
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Название: Undercover Sir
Автор: Carolyn Faulkner
Издательство: Ingram
Жанр: Исторические любовные романы
isbn: 9781645632726
isbn:
Ia nodded, saying, "I understand."
Taffy stopped abruptly on their way out onto the deck that overlooked the backyard. "I know you do. Have you ever smoked before?"
"No."
"Not even in college?" She sounded dubious.
"Uh-uh."
"You really are a goody-two-shoes, aren't you?"
Ia sighed. "Guilty as charged."
"Well, who can blame you, I guess, with him raising you It's a wonder he didn't put you in a convent."
"Might as well have."
It turned out that she didn't like smoking, or it didn't like her. The more she tried to inhale, the worse her cough got, until she'd coughed so much, she thought she was going to be sick. So, she handed the rest of her half-smoked cigarette back to Taffy. "I don't want to waste it. I don't think smoking is for me." She grinned. "I'll just stick with liquor and bad boys."
Taffy laughed at that. "Well, liquor, anyway. I'd be willing to bet you haven't even had a good boy!"
Ia didn't laugh at that at all, and, to her credit, Taffy noticed.
"Oh dear, I'm sorry! I didn't mean for that to sound…well, you know, mean."
"I know, I know," Ia reassured her automatically, really trying not to think about what she'd said, or she was going to burst into tears.
But Taffy saved the day by stubbing out her cigarette and guiding Ia back into the living room, where she produced a game that turned out to be absolutely hilarious when played drunk—Life. When they were supposed to go to Millionaire Acres, they started over instead, so they never really finished the game and declared a winner. Instead, each of them ended up literally having a carful of children trailing them around the board, and they had both been most of the possible careers—although Taffy kept saying that she didn't want one, but she did it for the money.
Surprisingly, drunk Mystery Date was even better, but they didn't finish that one, either. By then, they were getting sleepy.
Taffy did manage to ask Ia which one of the men—as she cheated and looked through the pictures of the possible dates—was her type.
Ia colored. "I'm not sure."
"Well, the the first thing you need to decide is what kind of man you want. Then you know who to set your sights on!"
She said it as if that was all Ia would need to do to have hordes of men knocking down the door to date her.
Her sister-in-law was determined to help her, but by that point, it was the middle of the night, and they were hammered. Taffy fell asleep with her cigarettes in her hand, having intended to go out and smoke one last one before retiring. Ia passed out on the couch with her slippers actually on it, which was a testament to just how polluted Taffy was, or she would have been screaming bloody murder at her to get her feet off the couch.
Chapter 2
"What in hell is going on here?" The demand was issued by someone who sounded extremely angry.
"Stop yelling!" Taffy, who, when she lifted her head off the coffee table had at least one little plastic car and several peg people of various sexes affixed to her cheek, whined.
"Yeah. Pipe down!" Ia added, turning over on the couch to present whoever the rude person was with her back.
But she didn't remain there for long.
Both Taffy and Ia found themselves hauled unceremoniously onto their feet by their arms as Daniel pulled them close to him, looking back and forth between them. "Well? Do you two have anything to say for yourselves about the condition I'm finding this house in after leaving you two alone in it for ten days? Or the fact that the two of you obviously drank yourselves into a stupor last night?"
"You're not supposed to be home!" Taffy would be made to regret that remark, but it was the first thing she thought of, and she was very hungover, if not still reasonably drunk.
"Yeah. Not 'til Friday!" Ia joined in.
"Well, believe me, this sorry scene has made me sincerely regret taking the chance to come home early and surprise my wife." He glared fiercely at, first, Taffy, then Ia.
He sounded angrier than Ia could ever remember hearing him, and it was sobering her up—sort of—quickly.
"We're sorry. We were just having fun."
Daniel asked in a clipped tone, "Just how much fun do you need to have, Patricia?"
Uh-oh! Daniel had never in her memory—except while making his vows to her on their wedding day—used Taffy's real name. They were really in for it. "All of this is making me wonder if I need to hire some kind of babysitter for the two of you, since you're apparently acting like young hoodlums when I'm gone." He sniffed the air then continued to chide them, "You're both still blitzed, and I smell cigarette smoke for some—"
Then his eyes fell on the pack of Newports and the lighter lying on the coffee table, reaching down to pick them up.
Ia had never heard him use such a disappointed, accusatory tone as his hand tightened around her arm. "And I want to know, right this minute, whose these are. And I hate to think I have to say this to either of you, but don't even think about lying to me." He looked from Taffy to Ia, and back again, but neither woman said anything.
Ia's stock with Taffy went up because she held her silence in the face of Daniel's fury, but she didn't want the younger woman to take the blame for something that was her fault.
"They're mine," she answered quietly, not looking at her husband, but rather at the floor.
Daniel sighed, throwing the cigarettes and lighter on the table and running his hand through his hair. He finally noticed, in the dead silence, the unmistakable, repetitious sound of his extremely expensive, precious stereo system indicating that it had reached the end of a record some time ago, but the arm hadn't retracted, and neither of the drunkards in the living room had noticed that fact.
They were loosed abruptly, and after he'd picked his way through the minefield of candy wrappers—some empty, some full—and stray cereal and pretzels from a bowl of Chex mix that had spilled all over the floor, Daniel literally growled when he looked down at the records that were strewn everywhere—some of them his—some half in their jackets and half out. That was not to mention the fact that someone had put their drink down on the nice wooden cabinet without a coaster, which was going to leave a water ring.
He carefully rescued the tonearm from one of his new favorite albums—Patsy Cline—picking up a Cheeto that had fallen onto it at the same time and just throwing it onto the carpet.
But he held onto his temper, clenching his teeth with the effort as he turned back toward the girls, who were both looking guiltily at the floor.
"I'm assuming the two of you know that you are both in a heap of trouble, and I'm sure you realize that by the time I get through with you, neither of you is going to want to sit down for a month or so. But I will СКАЧАТЬ