“You need a stepladder for this thing,” she said as she looked down at the ground.
Quinten chuckled and scooped her up from the seat before she had a chance to move. It was a simple matter to transfer her to the ground but instead he stood there holding her, looking her in the eye. The heat from his muscular arm under her thighs seeped through the silky fabric of her costume. “Now why in the world would I want to do that and miss out on fun like this?”
Her heart palpitated as she looked into his eyes, the power of speech deserting her. They were both nearly a foot taller than her so she rarely ever got this close to eye-to-eye with them. Even when she stood on the rail they’d had built for her behind the bar, she still had to look up to either of them.
“Umm…because you’re gonna strain your back.”
Quinten frowned at her quizzically, arching his brow, and scoffed. “Are you kidding me?” He kicked his truck door closed but didn’t put her down. Is he planning to carry me to the house? “You’re a little sack of sugar, baby.”
Her eyebrows rose as she stared at him. Baby? Her abdomen fluttered as she wondered what they were up to. He walked to the house and finally released her legs so they slid down his body but he still held her against his lean, strong physique. Her pussy quivered with excitement at the sensation. Time lost meaning as he steadied her at her hips once she was on two feet. With shaky hands she dug in her purse for her keys and unlocked the door for them.
Quinten reached in and flipped on the lamp by the door. While she hung up her coat and put her handbag away, he walked through the house.
“Watch out for the bucket,” she said as she pointed to the item in question.
“What’s the bucket for?” he asked as he walked through the house.
“With all the storms we’ve had this week, I discovered I have a roof leak. The landlord is supposed to be getting back with me about when it can be fixed. Until then, I have a bucket to catch the drips.”
She heard one of the heavy old windows in her bedroom slide closed and the lock being latched. He returned a moment later, frowning. “Did you leave your bedroom window open?”
She thought about it for a second. “I opened all the windows this morning because I like the cooler temperature, and to air out the house. I must’ve forgotten to close it.” She’d been distracted when she’d gone through the house before leaving for work to close all the windows but thought that she’d gotten them all, including the ones in her bedroom. She wasn’t sure.
“The screen was off of it too.”
She nodded. “My landlord has had to fix a couple of them. This house was built in the fifties and the window screens hang on metal hinges. Several of the old hinges have rusted out and needed to be replaced. The wind probably caught it and broke it off.”
Quinten looked troubled but said nothing else. He turned and walked through the rest of the house and came back, seeming satisfied. The twinkle was back in his eyes. “We didn’t have our shot tonight.”
Camilla grinned. “I’ll get the tequila and I have a deck of cards around here somewhere. I propose a game of poker.” She got the bottle of Jose Cuervo Gold from the refrigerator and pulled two shot glasses from the kitchen cabinet and placed them on the breakfast bar.
He asked, “You’re not sleepy?”
“No. It always takes me a little while to unwind after work.”
Quinten chuckled, and the sound sent a rivulet of arousal through her body. He took a seat on one of her barstools and said, “Make that strip poker and I’m in.”
With her back turned to Quinten, Camilla didn’t bother to school her expression as she rifled through a drawer for her deck of cards. Foolish, foolish man.
* * * *
Ben smiled when he heard laughter coming from inside Camilla’s quaint little house, which was tucked into an older, quiet neighborhood in Divine. It was after midnight and they were still up.
He knocked on the door and heard soft footsteps scamper across the house to the front door, then it opened. Camilla stood there, smiling, looking bright-eyed and happy. “Come on in, Ben.”
He nearly faltered, figuring that when he arrived she’d tell them again that she didn’t need them to stay. Instead, she looked happy to see him. He looked around for Quinten and located him at the small bistro-style table in the corner of her kitchen, and then he was struck speechless.
“Quinten is being a good sport,” she said with a snicker.
It was then that he noticed she was still wearing her costume but she was missing the outer bolero jacket that went over the bra-like top. In comparison, Quinten was down to his socks and boxers. Her jacket was draped over his shoulder like a prize. Quinten gave him a shit-eating grin and raised his shot glass to him. “Hey!”