Page 24 of Drop Dead Gorgeous

“It’s roughly equivalent to what you threw in mine.” His eyes were glittering, sharp little green lights of mixed temper and satisfaction.

Oh. He’d noticed that, huh?

“You aren’t incapacitated with a concussion! Or by a concussion. Whatever.”

“You’re recovering fast,” he said with a notable lack of compassion. “I wouldn’t be surprised if you went back to work tomorrow.”

I had, in fact, been planning on just that. I scowled at him, which he took for an admission.

“I’m not a marriage counselor,” I said in frustration. “Even worse, I’m almost like one of their own children. They won’t listen to their kids, why do you think they’ll listen to me?”

“That’s your problem,” he said, again with a notable lack of compassion.

“You don’t think it’ll be your problem if I’m not happy at our wedding? Didn’t you hear me say I’mshort on time? This will take time I don’t have!”

“Make time.”

He thought he was so smart. I narrowed my eyes at him. “Okay. I’ll take the time wewouldhave spent making love, and that’s when I’ll talk to Sally and Jazz.”

He actually laughed out loud at that. Yeah, I know my track record for refusing him anything is really pretty sucky, but helaughed.

One cannot flounce when one has a concussion, even one that’s mild. I didn’t even want to get out of his truck by myself, because it’s a big truck and you have to climb down, and if I landed just a little too hard my head would be jarred and that was really no fun at all. So I had to wait for him to come around and lift me out of the truck, which he did with great pleasure because then he could let me slide all the way down his front, and I almost got caught on the parts that were jutting out, which made him smile with satisfaction.

This man was evil.

I said furiously, “Ifwe ever have sex again, which right now is very much in doubt, we’re doing it the tantric way.”

He was grinning as he followed me up the steps to the front door. “I’m not chanting anything when we have sex.”

“Oh, it doesn’t involve chanting. I don’t think. It involves discipline.”

“I’m not letting you anywhere near a whip.”

I scoffed. “Not that kind of discipline. Self-discipline. Tantric sex lasts a long, long time.”

“Now that I can get behind,” he said, looking interested.

Smiling sweetly I said, “Oh, good, we’ll try that, then. You promise, don’t you?”

“You bet,” he said, his libido getting in the way of thinking clearly. That state of affairs wouldn’t last for long, though, so I hurried in for the kill.

“By the way—”

“Yeah?”

“It lasts a long, long time because the mandoesn’t get to come.”

Chapter

Ten

Wyatt gave me an astonished look then burst out laughing, holding his sides as if the idea of tantric sex was the most hilarious thing he’d ever heard of in his life. He howled with laughter. Tears ran down his cheeks. He stopped laughing for a few seconds, then looked at my face and started all over again. He ended up collapsed on the sofa, still laughing.

I stood tapping my foot—very gently—for a while, my arms crossed. What the hell was so funny? I began to get annoyed. I like a joke as well as anyone, but first I have to know what it is. Then I began to get pissed, because I got the feeling he was laughing at me. I got this idea because he kept pointing at me, then breaking into fresh fits of mirth. Finally I was angry.

First, let me point out that if flouncing hurts, marching is out of the question. I had to settle for merely walking, but with attitude, over to glare down at him. “Would youstop?” I shouted, thinking seriously about pinching him. “What’s so funny?” Things were not going my way, and that is so not on my list of favorite things. Evidently I’d overlooked something, and Wyatt is an expert at finding loopholes—or completely ignoring what I tell him. In retrospect, making him worry about the flowers for the wedding didn’t seem mean at all.

“You,” he wheezed, wiping tears from his eyes. He sat up and reached for me, but I hastily stepped back out of reach. I can’t fight if he’s touching me, because I get sidetracked. He fights dirty, using my weaknesses against me by going straight for my neck, like Dracula focusing on an open vein. Forget my breasts; touching them does nothing for me. But man oh man, my neck is a big-time erogenous zone, and Wyatt knows it.

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