Just Fooling Around(37)

“You need any help?” he asked, trying to be polite, trying to ignore the way her neckline gaped only slightly below the two unfastened buttons at the top. Or the way a dark vee promised great treasures to whoever delved farther below. Never shy about exploring, he leaned over, angling a little farther, until she pushed him back with a firm hand to the thigh.

“You need to sit still,” she ordered, in that firm, husky voice that was some cross between schoolmarm and nightclub singer.

“It’s going to be a lot of work to cut through that steel. I just don’t want you to exert yourself too hard on my account.”

She rested the saw on the chain and shot him an intense look. “Do you want this off?”

“I’d love to get it off, ma’am,” he answered sincerely. She blushed, and he was a no-good scoundrel for teasing her, but he liked to see her blush, her cheeks pink, her brown eyes dancing with life. “If it’s not too much trouble.”

“Sit still,” she ordered.

“Maybe if you could sort of brace against my leg for moral support. It’s a little unnerving, the size of that blade, and I’m very attached to my leg.”

She leveled him with a flat stare. But to his eternal happiness, she scooted closer, her chest resting mere inches from his knee. Not shy at all, Chance moved his leg, closing the distance, gratified to feel the soft cradle of her bosoms warm against him.

She glared, and he shrugged innocently. “You don’t mind, do you? It’s sort of comforting.”

She muttered something which could have been “whore dog” but no matter, because she didn’t move. He sat there quietly, his life in her hands, while she sawed at the chain. The gentle weight of her breasts brushed against him, back and forth, and he watched her work, the dark line of her lashes, the way she bit her lip with concentration. When the chain refused to budge, she scooted closer, pulled up the hem of her gown, locking her legs around his one, using his weight for leverage. Chance had always loved physics, but never so much as now.

With each stroke, the teeth of the saw cut deeper into the metal, and she moved closer, too, her gown inching up higher, exposing nicely toned legs. Starting to realize that he wasn’t nearly as much in control of his emotions as he wanted to believe, Chance shifted uncomfortably and she stilled her sawing.

“I won’t be held responsible if I amputate your foot.”

“I’m doing my best,” he apologized. “It’s not every day I sit through this, and your legs are starting to distract me. You got some very adequate muscles there, not too hard, not too soft. I dated a biker once—Schwinn, not Harley—and she had these rock-hard calves, like somebody injected a steel paperweight under her skin, and sometimes when she’d be rolling around…well, we don’t need to go there, but yours are a lot nicer. Firm, but they don’t feel like office furniture.”

“I suppose you broke up with her, too,” she muttered.

“Actually, she found religion and felt like I was a sinful influence, so she told me that it was best that we didn’t see each other anymore.”

Two months later, the female in question had called him at 3:00 a.m., well and truly plastered and ready to denounce all her newly found principles of the more celibate lifestyle, but Chance didn’t feel like that bit of information was germane to the conversation.

“You don’t look very heart-broken,” she told him.

“No, ma’am. I like my women soft. More—” he gestured with an innocent hand “—pliable.”

She didn’t answer, but went back to sawing, although he noticed that she was working it with a lot more force than before. This woman had some seriously untapped energy that was just begging to be tapped. Honestly, she’d be a lot less tense if she gave herself over to a willing man, which was one of those bullshit justifications that men use when they know they have no business thinking what they’re thinking, but Chance tried to be honest with himself. He knew his flaws, and he took responsibility for them.

Next thing he knew, the steel link broke in two, and the chain rattled to the floor, the ball rolling free. He’d still have a leg iron around his ankle, but he could live with that one. At least he didn’t have to drag that damned cannonball around anymore.

Now that her work was done, Devon moved back, and tucked her gown demurely around her ankles, breaking his heart in the process. The view of those legs had been mighty nice. In fact, the only nicer view would be legs spread, locked around his back, squeezing around him….

Chance snapped out of the fantasy and noticed her curious look. “Thank you for doing that,” he told her politely, sincerely, and without a trace of “I think we should get naked” in his voice.