Sex Drive. Susan Lyons

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СКАЧАТЬ with his swag, meaning his skimpy bundle of possessions?”

      “Damned academics,” he groused. “Take everything so literally.”

      “How did you know I’m an academic?”

      “Grading exams from the uni?”

      “Oh, of course.”

      He glanced back to the magazine. “Hate those dresses with the rigid tops that don’t move when the woman does. And why do so many of these models look miserably unhappy?”

      “Way to sell a dress, eh? What’s the myth they’re selling? Isn’t it supposed to be, this is the happiest day of your life?”

      “Myth? You mean you don’t buy into it?”

      She shrugged. “I guess it’s nice to start out feeling that way. Even if the reality is, you’ve got more than a fifty percent chance of being miserable.”

      Whoa. A cynical bride? Of course, she must figure she and her fiancé would beat the odds. “How’d you come up with that depressing statistic?”

      “Roughly half of marriages end in divorce. And lots of spouses are unhappy but don’t get divorced. Ergo, there’s probably something like a quarter of marriages that are actually happy.”

      Ergo? What kind of woman said ergo? As for her statistics…Damien shook his head, bemused. He was thirty-three and had never met a woman who’d made him want to settle down, yet he’d kind of figured on getting married one day. Really married, in the traditional “grow old together” way. As the prof had laid out the facts, it sounded like he’d be crazy.

      Absentmindedly he flipped another couple pages. Hmm, here were some dresses that were actually nice, worn by models who looked like real, attractive, smiling women. If he was Theresa, that was the designer he’d be looking at.

      When he started to turn the page again, her hand caught his. “Wait.”

      Her touch felt great, but she didn’t even seem aware of the contact. Instead, she stared at the magazine, transfixed. “That one. It’s lovely.” Her finger brushed the page reverently.

      The ivory-colored dress was simple, but prettier than the fancy ones. The strapless top was soft rather than rigid, and decorated with pearls or lustrous beads. A band of lacy, pearly trim ran along the top and below the bustline, then the dress fell to the floor in a slim drift of fabric. A woman could waltz in it and it would bell out gently, romantically, drifting seductively around a guy’s legs. And under his hands, her back would be bare, soft, warm…

      Not that he was into weddings or anything.

      But for some reason, he felt a weird twinge at the thought of Theresa in that dress, whirling around the dance floor with another man. Then later, in the honeymoon suite of a fancy hotel, being unzipped. Or did the back have buttons? The dress would slip down her body to pool on the floor, leaving her clad in something white and lacy, very brief, showing off her slim but definite curves.

      Double whoa. He shouldn’t be thinking this way about another man’s bride.

      He cleared his throat and tried to sound objective. “It’s pretty and you’d look good in it. It’d show off your neck and nice arms. The model’s got that long hair all over her shoulders, but the dress’d look better with short hair like yours.”

      She was staring at him, looking stunned. Shit, was he sounding all gay?

      “Me?” she squeaked.

      “It’s the prettiest wedding dress you’ve looked at.”

      “Ooh! Are you getting married, Ms. Fallon?” Carmen was back, resting a hand on Damien’s shoulder so she could lean across and peer at the magazine. “Let’s see. Oh, those are too plain.” She dismissed the page he and Theresa had been studying, and flipped a few pages. “Look! Isn’t this one stunning?”

      He peered at the picture. “Why’s it all caught up in those flouncy things? It looks like mosquito netting.”

      Carmen’s hand squeezed his shoulder. Rolling her eyes, she said to Theresa, “Men. They have no taste when it comes to this kind of thing.” Using Damien’s shoulder for support—and getting in another squeeze—she straightened. “This calls for champagne. I’ll be right back.”

      “I don’t—” Theresa started to say, but Carmen had gone. The prof turned to Damien with a mischievous grin. “I’m with you. That dress does look like mosquito netting.”

      “Unless your guy’s into the whole wilderness safari thing, I’d stick with the other one.”

      “It’s not me who’s getting married. It’s my baby sister.”

      “Ohhhh.” The one syllable eased out of him slowly, on a breath of…Relief? No, it had to be pure sexual pleasure that she wasn’t already taken. That she was fair game, to stick with the safari analogy.

      “I’m flying to Vancouver, where my parents and Merilee live, to organize the wedding.”

      “And you’re not married yourself?”

      “No.” Those billabong eyes studied him for a long moment. “Divorced. And not about to give it a second shot.”

      So, she had personal experience with those divorce statistics. “Sorry it didn’t work out.”

      She shrugged nonchalantly, but shadows clouded her eyes. “It was a learning experience. How about you?”

      “Haven’t even come close.”

      “Guess you have more sense than I did.”

      “Not so sure it’s a matter of good sense. I’ve got nothing against the idea. In principle.” He gave her a quick grin. “Or at least I didn’t, until you started quoting stats. Just haven’t found a woman who doesn’t bore me.” Even as he said the words, he wished he could call them back. Not that they weren’t true, but they made him sound like a—

      “Don’t think well of yourself, do you?” she taunted.

      “Nah.” He laughed. “Well, kinda. You have to think well of yourself. I mean, who else is gonna do it?”

      She laughed. Man, the woman had a pretty laugh, soft and husky like a breeze rustling through gum leaves. “I’ll give you that. But how can you suggest that all women are boring?”

      “Not what I said.” He paused, setting her up. “Haven’t found a bloke I’d want to marry, either.”

      Another chuckle. “Somehow I don’t figure you as gay.”

      “You think?”

      Oh, yeah, he liked her smile, her laugh, the sunlight-on-water sparkle in her eyes. Things were definitely looking up.

      He didn’t even mind when Carmen arrived with the champagne. At least until she bent toward Theresa to hand her a flute glass, and shoved her left boob in his face.

      Not that he had anything against women’s СКАЧАТЬ