Mr Perfect by Linda Howard Page A

bulged as his arm lifted. "My, oh, my," she whispered. Evidently the milk didn't pass muster, because he jerked his head back and set the carton aside.
    "What was that?" Mrs. Kulavich said.
    "Uh – I said fine, just fine." Jaine wrenched her attention from its wayward path. "Mrs. Kulavich, what is Sam's last name? I need to call him about something." That was an understatement.
    "Donovan, dear. Sam Donovan. But I have his number here. It's the same number his grandparents had. I'm so glad, because that way I can remember it. It's easier to get older than it is to get wiser, you know." She laughed at her own wit.
    Jaine laughed, too, though she didn't know at what. She groped for a pencil. Mrs. Kulavich slowly recited the number, and Jaine jotted it down, which wasn't easy to do without looking at what she was writing. Her neck muscles were locked in the upright position, so she had no choice but to look through the kitchen window next door. She thanked Mrs. Kulavich and said good-bye, then took a deep breath. She had to do this. No matter how it hurt, how it would deprive her, she had to call him. She took another deep breath and dialed his number. She saw him cross the kitchen and pick up a cordless. He was standing in profile to her. Oh, wow. Double wow.
    Saliva gathered in her mouth. The damn man had her all but slobbering.
    "Donovan."
    His deep voice was rusty, as if he wasn't truly awake yet, and the single word clipped with irritation. "Urn… Sam?"
    "Yeah?"
    Not the most welcoming of responses. She tried to swallow and found it was difficult to do when her tongue was hanging out. She reeled it in and sighed with regret. "This is Jaine, next door. I hate to tell you this, but you might want to… close your curtains."
    He wheeled to face the window, and they stared at each other across the two driveways. He didn't dart to the side, or squat out of sight, or do anything else that might indicate embarrassment. Instead, he grinned. Damn, she wished he wouldn't do that.
    "Got an eyeful, did you?" he asked as he walked to the window and reached for the curtains.
    "Yes, I did." She hadn't blinked in five minutes, at least. "Thank you." He pulled the curtains together, and her whole body went into mourning.
    "My pleasure." He chuckled. "Maybe you can return the favor sometime."
    He hung up before she could reply, which was a good thing, because she was speechless as she closed her blinds. Mentally she smacked her forehead. Duh! All she would have had to do at any time was close her own blinds.
    "Yeah, like I'm stupid or something," she said to BooBoo. The image of taking her clothes off for him shook her – and excited her. What was she, an exhibitionist? She never had been in the past, but now… Her nipples were hard, standing out like raspberries, and as for the rest of her… Well. She had never gone in for casual sex, but this sudden lust for Sam the jerk, of all people, floored her. How could he go from jerk to tempting just by taking off his clothes?
    "Am I so shallow?" she asked BooBoo, and considered the idea for a moment, then nodded. "You betcha." BooBoo meowed, evidently in agreement.
    Oh, dear. How could she look at Sam again without remembering how he looked naked? How could she meet him without blushing or letting him see that she had a major case of the hots for his body? She was much more comfortable having him as an adversary than she was seeing him as an object of lust. She preferred her lust objects at a safer distance… say, on a movie screen. He hadn't been embarrassed, though, so why should she? They were both adults, right? She had seen naked men before. She just had never seen Sam naked before. Why couldn't he have had a beer belly and a shriveled wiener, instead of rock-hard abs and an impressive morning erection?
    She began drooling again.
    "This is disgusting," she said aloud. "I'm thirty years old, not a teenager screaming over… whoever it is they scream over now. I should at least be able to