Earth Angel by Siri Caldwell Page B

I use? went unspoken. “You didn’t have a very girly childhood, did you?”
    “No bobby pins, or, obviously, tiaras, but I did go through a fairy princess phase.”
    Abby’s eyes twinkled. “Hard to believe.”
    “Yeah, I know. All that frog-kissing talk gave me away.” She might not have been girly, but fairies and magic had fit right in with her real-life angel friends. And who was wearing the fairy princess dress right now? “I’m sure you had princess fever worse than I ever did.”
    “Oh, yeah. There was hot pink crapola all over the house.”
    “And Barbie dolls?”
    “You think I’m going to admit to that too?”
    “I’ll admit to it,” Gwynne said. “What I can’t figure out is why I wanted to undress them so much.” She’d developed early, what could she say.
    Abby gave up on her dress and dropped her arms to her sides. The dress hung precariously on her shoulders, the back gaping open, just waiting to slide off. “Can’t you?”
    Abby was going to have to work on her outraged face. Right now it was hard to distinguish from her come-hither pout. Her voice was kind of breathy too.
    “Just this inexplicable fascination, I guess.”
    “You are something else.”
    Gwynne decided no apology was necessary. “I’m not the only girl in the world who changed her dolls’ outfits a lot.”
    “How convenient. You can help me zip up my dress.”
    Oh, no, not that. Abby had played right into her hands and now she really wished she had kept her mouth shut. She should have left her bedroom the minute Abby started to get changed. She was crazy to have stayed.
    Gwynne replaced the circlet on the dresser with a clink. Of course she stayed. Anytime Abby was around, Gwynne stayed. It was like a compulsion, the way she needed to be near her.
    “So, Gwendolyn?”
    “It’s Gwynne.”
    “No feeling me up.”
    “I wouldn’t dream of it.”
    “I noticed that about you, Guinevere. You’re very polite.”
    Abby wouldn’t say that if she knew Gwynne was imagining what it would feel like to pop open her bra and slide her hands into the back of her dress and around to the front and impolitely cup her very lovely breasts.
    “It’s just Gwynne.”
    “Is that short for something?”
    “No.”
    Abby’s lips curved in a bewitching, not-so-innocent smile. “Okay, have it your way, Gwynnosaurus.” She turned her back to her and swept her long hair out of the way, exposing the delicate column of her neck.
    Gwynne’s laugh came out hoarse and bothered. That freckle-covered neck looked quite kissable. So did the curve of her lower back, laid bare by that too-long zipper. She reached for the zipper. She could stand behind her forever, stroking the hollow of her spine and kissing the back of her neck and making her very, very late for her gig.
    Why did Abby have to wear a dress? Blouses were nice. They came in a range of colors and they had the added bonus feature of buttoning in the front, making them easy to close without requiring assistance from friends. She could have worn a blouse with a long skirt instead of this handmade dress that had a tight bodice and a tricky zipper. Then Gwynne wouldn’t be in this situation, fantasizing about the softness of her skin against her lips instead of already on her way out the door.
    It wasn’t too late to refuse to help. She could say no. But she’d seen Abby struggling with the tight closure, and refusing to help would be rude.
    Rude. Sure. Talk about a rationalization.
    It was clouding her judgment to stand this close to her, close enough to breathe in her lilac scent, close enough to unhook her bra. The wide expanse of her back begged to be freed. Abby stood very straight and Gwynne leaned in.
    Stay away from her bra, Gwynne.
    The closeness was making her crazy. Abby breathed faster, audibly, reacting to her nearness, or possibly to her very careful hand placement, one hand tugging on the zipper tab and the other holding down the fabric for counterbalance at her