Cover Me. Stephanie Bond

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СКАЧАТЬ silicone—had rolled away. He retrieved them with long, tanned arms, and handed them to me. When our fingers touched, my heart raced, and my ears rang like wedding—er, church bells. Spending time with this man would be hazardous to my plan of finding a nice unsexy guy to settle down with. I was already half in love with him and I didn’t even know his name.

      While covering the words on the box, I stuffed the canisters inside and stood, trying to act as nonchalantly as possible. “Thank you, um—”

      “Sam,” he said.

      Nice name. “Thank you. Sam.” His friendly eyes held an invitation that promised to have me on an antihistamine drip.

      “And you are?”

      “Just leaving,” I said with a tight smile. It was for my own good.

      “Oh.” He seemed disappointed, but accepting. “Well…happy birthday.”

      “Thank you.”

      “Nice almost meeting you.”

      I experienced a pang of regret because the man emanated sexual vibes that my body honed in on. “Nice almost meeting you, too.”

      I turned to go, telling myself I might meet my nice unsexy settling-down guy while I waited for a cab.

      “Hey,” he called. “You forgot something.”

      I turned back and, to my horror, saw him bending to retrieve the pink sheet of paper with the Make Your Own Dildo directions written on it. The subhead—The Only Kit That Lets You Cast It from the Real Thing—seemed to jump off the page. I lunged for the paper, but Sam was too quick for my tequila-diluted mobility. When he lifted his gaze from the sheet, a mischievous smile curved his mouth and his eyes danced. “Looks like fun.”

      Desire gripped me and I mentally reviewed the ground rules for a one-night stand. Olé.

      3

      WHEN I JERKED AWAKE, sunlight was streaming through the crack in the curtains of the hotel room and Sam’s warm breath bathed my shoulder blade. I enjoyed two seconds of blissful afterglow until panic seized me like a giant hand, squeezing the air out of my lungs. What time was it? I bolted upright and a tiny tequila bomb exploded inside my head. I carefully raked the hair out of my eyes, searching for a clock. Next to me, Sam moaned and reached out an arm—presumably for me. I put a pillow under his hand, and he seemed content to pull it close and fall back into a dead sleep.

      So much for being irreplaceable.

      Holding my head, I left the bed, trying not to disturb him, and trying not to shriek in my mounting fear that I was probably late for work. The air-conditioner vent was blowing like an arctic breeze—I was naked and freezing and my thigh muscles screamed from overuse as I limped around the room looking for my watch, my underwear and my mind. What had I been thinking to spend the night with a stranger in his hotel room? I felt like a…dirty girl.

      I found my watch on a table under a pile of clothes, and nearly swallowed my tongue—I had ten minutes to dress and get to work on time. Helena would have my head.

      I scooped up the pile of clothes and my bag that doubled as briefcase and purse, then sprinted into the bathroom, closing the door behind me before flipping on the light. I stared blinking into the mirror, horrified at my reflection—my blond hair stood on end and my eyes were mascara-rimmed. Worse, with my kiss-swollen mouth and heavy-lidded eyes, I looked as if I’d just had the best night of sex in my life.

      Which was true.

      Except my swollen lips and heavy eyes were actually manifestations of the allergic reaction that had claimed my body—they perfectly complemented the hives raised on my neck and chest. I was allergic to big Sam, big time.

      While I ran enough water in the sink for a quick wash up, I tried not to dwell on the image of Sam’s bronze body wrapped around mine, and the amazing things he’d done to me. Granted, not dwelling was easier said than done considering that sitting on the sink vanity was the cardboard cylinder that held the cast we’d made of Sam’s…you know. Hardened flesh-colored silicone seeped from the end of the cast impression, and I was dying to see how the dildo had turned out, but getting ready for work took priority.

      I downed aspirin from my handbag and willed it to kick in quickly. With soap and a washcloth, I gave my body a quick once-over, then rummaged in Sam’s leather toiletry bag for deodorant. The sporty scent might raise a few eyebrows, but it was better than the alternative. I pulled makeup basics from my purse, and applied it all in record time, then squirted perfume on my wrists. The hives were itching like crazy, but I knew scratching would only make them worse.

      I pulled my haphazard hair back into a twist and secured it with the only clasp I could find in my purse—a banker’s clip. It would have to do until I could grab something from the prop room at work. Then I sorted through the clothes with dread in my stomach. If I showed up wearing the same clothes I’d worn yesterday, I might as well wear a sign that read I Got Laid Last Night. I opted not to wear the same pair of panties, reckoning that my pantyhose would be enough of a barrier between me and my slacks for decency’s sake. But my blouse was stained with makeup from yanking it over my head last night, and I hadn’t worn a jacket.

      I eyed the closet next to the shower and peeked inside to find a beautiful tan-colored suit, white dress shirt, and geometric tie hanging under plastic. I was surprised because Sam didn’t seem like the suit type—he’d told me he was a doctor visiting from out of town, but hadn’t Jacki said to assume he was lying? I had certainly lied, as instructed, including telling him my last name was Moore.

      With murmured apologies, I slid the dress shirt from the plastic, shrugged into it, rolled up the sleeves, secured it wrap-style, and tucked it inside my navy slacks. I used the geometric tie as a belt, then glanced into the mirror. Not bad for a ten-minute session—as long as no one looked too closely.

      I stuffed my makeup bag, blouse and panties into my bag and prepared to dash out the door when I remembered the “cast.” Since I’d never see Sam again, I was definitely taking that souvenir with me. But when I hefted the cardboard cylinder that held the hardened cast, I realized it was too heavy to lug around and would take up too much room in my bag. So I slipped my fingers under the mound of silicone at the base of the cast, and after a couple of tugs, pulled out the dildo with a pop.

      I gasped. Granted, the kit had said the dildo would be lifelike, but…damn. It was indeed an exact replica of Sam’s finest physical asset. A splendid springy, firm, flesh-colored replica that brought tingly memories flooding back to various parts of my body. I had lucked out when I’d chosen Sam as the “caster.” This baby was going on display in my china cabinet.

      After a couple of appreciative strokes, I shoved the homemade dildo into my bag, flipped off the light, and opened the door as quietly as I could. In the semidarkness, Sam was still snuggled up to the pillow. I conceded a stab of desire just looking at his long lean body in the twisted sheets. The chemistry between us had been magical, but I knew that the intensity of our lovemaking had more to do with the fact that we’d never see each other again than with any kind of kismet. Besides, the unbearable itching on my chest was proof enough that my body would be in a constant state of chaos if I spent any time at all with the man.

      Still…the romantic in me wanted to believe that our one-night stand was better than any one-night stand in history. I had the overwhelming urge to push the hair off his forehead and kiss him goodbye, but gave myself a mental shake. I did, however, recall what Jacki СКАЧАТЬ