he said, dropping his shirt to the floor. “You did have too much to drink.” Feeling curiously bold, she stepped out of her dress. “Drinking just makes me more honest. I’ve never told a man what I’ve just told you. I trust you. Call it instinct, whatever. With you, I feel safe saying anything.” He ducked his head, looking endearingly bashful in the dimness as he removed first one shiny black cowboy boot and then the other. She was faintly amused to see that he wore white athletic socks. But when he removed his trousers, her amusement changed to sheer, unadulterated lust. She stared at him in the faint glow of the lithophane nightlight near the bed. This man was U.S. Grade-A beefcake. He ought to have a ratings sticker on him. “You’re staring, ma’am,” he said. She swallowed past the dryness in her throat. “The last time I saw a body like that,” she admitted, “I was in a museum in Italy.” He laughed and drew her close, so that she could feel the silky-warm firmness of his muscles and inhale the expensive scent of his cologne and the unique essence of him—a thousand times more evocative than the cologne.
What do You think about A Fairytale Christmas (1996)?
