Just Kiss Me by Rachel Gibson Page A

beer, he had to admit that he was surprised. He’d expected her to take at least another hour just to annoy him.
    “I shopped as quick as possible,” she said, almost breathless, as if she’d run from one rack of bras to the next. She set her bag and purse in the chair across from him. “I don’t think I’ve ever shopped that quick.”
    Now she was quick. When it didn’t matter. When they still had half an hour to kill before they returned to Berlin’s, and he was kicked back with a beer and some of his favorite bar food. He raised a hand and got the waitress’s attention. “What can I order for you to drink?” he asked as she slid into the chair next to him.
    “I’d love a mojito.” She left her sunglasses on her face like she was a member of the CIA. “Thank you.”
    He gave the waitress Vivien’s drink order and asked for a second plate. “How’d it go? Any of your fans jump out from behind shelves of panties and ask for an autograph?”
    She laughed and again he was reminded of sunshine and honey. Of whiskey in a teacup that warmed a man up from the inside out. “No. I worried about nothing.” She shook her head and the sunlight pouring in through the large windows slid across her smooth cheek. Her dark hair stuck out the back of the baseball cap and brushed the back of her T-shirt. “Thank goodness.”
    “You’re too uptight.” She was all smooth skin and shiny hair and working him like a light switch again.
    “Me?” Her mouth dropped and she sucked in a shocked breath. “You were born uptight, Henry.”
    She was probably right about that, but he wasn’t ever going to admit it. Vivien’s drink and extra plate arrived and she slid three paltry nachos onto her plate.
    “I’m not the one who is so uptight I won’t remove my sunglasses. Inside a bar.”
    “I don’t want to draw attention.”
    “Your sunglasses draw attention.” He took a drink of his beer. “If people stare at you, darlin’, it’s probably because they think you’re hiding a black eye. God, they probably think I gave it to you.”
    “Woman beater.” She laughed and pulled the glasses from her face. She set them on the table and pursed her lips around her mojito straw. “You’re so uptight, you can’t even walk into a lingerie store.” She paused to take a bite of one chip. “You’re probably one of those guys who’s afraid that being surrounded by display bins filled with panties will suck out all your testosterone.”
    “My testosterone is not affected by panties.” In fact, he was very fond of the sight of lacy panties on a woman. Especially if she was trying to suck out his testosterone.
    She shook her head and tried not to smile. “I remember one summer when you pitched a conniption over my and Momma’s clean underwear hanging on the clothesline.”
    He remembered that because he’d been traumatized by the sight of all those granny panties flapping in the breeze. “You two strung your clothesline in front of the carriage house.”
    “We didn’t have a backyard.” She shrugged and finished off her measly chip.
    “I was fourteen and my friends from school were heading up that day.” He wondered if she still wore big silky underwear. Somehow, he doubted it.
    “You could have just taken the laundry down instead of freaking out.”
    He doubted he’d freaked out. “I didn’t want to touch y’all’s grann … ah, laundry.”
    “You haven’t changed. You’re still all uptight and fussy.” She took a drink and swallowed.
    “I’ve never been uptight and fussy.” More like annoyed and provoked.
    “I think you’re scared that all those panties will touch you and will shrivel you up like a raisin.”
    He raised a brow. “Nothing ever shrivels me like a raisin.” Was he really talking about his balls? With Vivien Rochet? “I’m good that way.”
    “The proof is in the pudding, as my mamaw used to say.” She reached for her shopping bag and set it on the table in front of him. “Prove