“Yeah, it’s nice.” Tony wanted her to love it. He wanted to tel her he had bought it for her—the bed, the dressers, the whole damn house was for her. A part of his campaign to win her over; show her that he could give as much to her as any Italian chef.
“Tony?”
“Yeah?”
“I don’t have anything to sleep in.”
“What?”
“Your car was only headed home remember?”
“Oh right.” He had been kind of an ass at the bar, but he had been looking forward to having Libby to himself
—and then she had mentioned going back to Stuart’s. So yeah, he had been an ass. He could have at least stopped and let her pack a bag. “Do you want to borrow a tee shirt?” He would never be able to sleep if she was lying next to him wearing only his tee shirt. Not that he planned on being able to sleep anyway.
“I have a camisole on under this… Maybe if you have a pair of boxers or something?”
“Sure, here you go.” Tony numbly walked to a dresser and tossed her a pair of blue boxers. He wondered what a camisole was. Some kind of undershirt he guessed.
He puled extra pilows out of the top of the closet, and started lining them up down the middle of the bed.
“Umm… just in case” he muttered when she raised an eyebrow at him.
Of course. Libby’s insides came crashing down.
Clearly she had no idea what was slutty, sultry, or otherwise. He was determined not to take advantage of her, and she was too mortified to be any bolder. So much for her one memory. “I guess I’l just use the bathroom, and get changed.” Dejectedly Libby walked into the hal bath and changed clothes. Hanging her dress over the bath tub to preserve it for the next day she walked back into Tony’s room.
Okay, not an undershirt! A camisole was apparently a torture device made from silk and lace. Tony could barely tear his eyes from Libby, she was so beautiful.
Her camisole was beige (practicaly skin colored) and scraps of lace teased at the tops of her breasts. Breasts that were obviously bare beneath that silk—the material pooled slightly at the neck line, and Tony wondered what he might see if she were to lean forward slightly. “I’m gonna grab a shower.” A cold one. “Don’t wait for me or anything.” Tony walked right into his bathroom and didn’t look back.
Officialy a failed seductress, Libby climbed onto her half of the bed, careful not to destruct the great wal of pilows, and fel asleep… eventualy.
Tony took a long cold shower. And then he waited, Tony took a long cold shower. And then he waited, he counted to a thousand, he folded the pile of clean towels in his linen closet, he cleaned the toilet, he tried to remember al the states in alphabetical order (he could only think of 47
—wait North Carolina-- 48!), and then he quietly eased into the room slipped into the bed, and waited for sleep. 6
times 8 is 48, 7 times 8 is 56, 8 times 8 is 64.
Chapter Eighteen
This was his best dream. Tony was dreaming of lavender, and silk, and soft soft skin. In his best dream ever Libby was spooned in front of him, her silk covered breast filing one hand, and her hip curved temptingly beneath the other. Of course normaly in his Libby dreams she wasn’t wearing shorts, but no matter, he tugged the cotton down low enough to gain access to a palms worth of warm smooth skin. Dream Libby made a soft mewing noise.
Tony’s eyes flew open. Libby, real Libby, was curled into him. Her soft perfect bottom nestled into his hips, and her legs tangled with his. Craning his neck slightly Tony could see a pile of pilows lumped near their feet. Who had moved the pilows? Duh. He was the one on the wrong side of the bed. Libby mewed again.
Tony tried not to panic. He also tried not to think about the incredible sensations awaiting him if he were only to thrust forward slightly. Lesson number one in how to send a woman screaming into another man’s arms: Molest her in her sleep. What the crap was wrong with him?
Slowly, gingerly he eased the elastic of her borrowed boxer shorts back into place. She was stil lying on one of his arms. Holding his breath, and praying she stayed asleep, Tony cradled her in a loose hug , and roled their bodies until he was able to slide his arm free. The loss of her weight and warmth against him pierced painfuly in his chest. His arm’s wanted to reach out and pul her close again, so he got up and stalked into his bathroom for another cold shower.
Twenty minutes later, and wondering at the ineffectiveness of cold showers, Tony tip toed quietly back into the bedroom. He didn’t so much as glance towards the bed. His body was demanding that he climb back in there and finish his dream. Maybe he should get out of here?
Breakfast—he owed her the best take out breakfast he could find. Tony remembered his promise from the night before. A course of action began to take form in his mind.