Page 4 of Touch Me

Goddammit. That stupid thought ruined it. I had yet to discover something to treasure as if my life depended on it.

I slapped the water, casting a wave over the edge of the bath and onto the black and white, cow-skin patterned bathmat on the floor. The water was promptly soaked up by the present my mother had sent to me for Christmas.

My twenty-year collection of unique Friesian cow ornaments hit rock bottom with Mom’s gift. The collection I’d started was meant for small, intricate black and white cow ornaments that were unusual or quirky.

If I ever managed to convince a man to join me in my apartment, I’d need to enter in stealth mode first and eradicate all existence of my once-cute collection.

But I didn’t need to worry about that; I’d never had a man in my apartment.

And it’s been more than three years since I’d had sex.

I slapped the water again. Damned if this year was going to be my fourth.

My permanent night shift made it impossible to meet guys, let alone go on a hot date. I didn’t do one-night stands either.

Sex with a man I knew nothing about pushed me way out of my comfort zone.

A thought crashed through my conscience, and I sat up, gripping my arms around my knees.

George Whiteman was an old acquaintance.

That would bypass my one-night stand idiosyncrasy.

However, after playing the scenario in my mind, I sighed.

I couldn’t do anything with him.

There was a one-hundred-percent guarantee George would tell someone about it, and before I knew it, details of our encounter would pass through every home in Mildura like a bad dose of dysentery. My mother would faint onto her world-famous orange teacake, and my cheating bastard ex-fiancé would cherish the notion that I’d lowered myself to his fucked-up standards.

An idea whizzed through my brain like a shot of tequila. I climbed from the bath, and dripping wet, I marched to my wardrobe. The door banged open with my eagerness, and the automatic light at the top illuminated my meager clothing collection.

Shopping for clothes was not my thing, and my scant assortment highlighted that. My shoes, on the other hand, were my pride and joy, stored in five neat rows at the bottom of my wardrobe.

I yanked all the clothes aside to locate the fancy-dress costume Lolly had talked me into for the Hot Horizon Hotel Christmas party. Of course, I’d chickened out in the end. Just the thought of my shithead boss ogling my breasts as they were forced to bulge over the top of the stiffened lace was enough to curdle my stomach.

As I pulled the French maid costume off the hanger and threw it onto the bed, I caught my reflection in the full-length mirror inside the wardrobe door. My slightly lopsided shoulders were a freaky compliment to my lopsided breasts. My left boob was a fraction bigger than my right.

This abnormality had amused my cheating-bastard ex-fiancé to no end.

Screw him!

I spun toward the sexy costume and holding it against my body I assessed the disguise.

This could work.

George won’t even recognize me.

And I’ll do my makeup so I can’t even recognize myself.

I couldn’t decide if I was bat-shit crazy, or the most desperate woman in the world.

Probably both.

I was about to do something wild. Something I would probably regret.

But I had to do it.

Chapter Two

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