The Cop and the Chorus Girl by Nancy Martin Page B

not—”
    â€œIt’s you who can’t control what you’re thinking,” Dixie snapped, suddenly standing up and whipping the towel around herself. The mirrors behind her gave away all her secrets, and Flynn caught a beautiful glimpse of her naked bottom dripping suds and warm water.
    The glare in Dixie’s eyes was very hot, though. “You look at me and think about making love with this body, but is that my problem? No!”
    â€œI didn’t—”
    â€œYou want to pretend you haven’t thought about sex with me?”
    â€œNo, but— Well, I mean—”
    â€œIs it my problem that your imagination is out of control?”
    â€œBut—”
    â€œShould I stifle who I am because of what’s going on in your head?”
    â€œI only meant—”
    â€œI know what you meant!” Dixie thundered. “And it’s the fault of men like you who want to pigeonhole women like me for the way we look—not once thinking that we might be doing the same thing with you!”
    â€œWhat?”
    She pulled herself up very straight and trembled with outrage. “I think you’d better leave, Mr. Flynn.”
    â€œWait a minute—”
    â€œDo you deny thinking about me as a sex object?”
    â€œHold on! You kissed me, remember? Nobody kisses somebody the way you kissed me in the street today without deliberately planting the idea of—”
    â€œThat was different.”
    â€œDifferent?”
    â€œYou asked for it!”
    â€œ I asked for—”
    â€œIt’s time you left my bathroom, Flynn.” She hugged her towel like a Victorian lady taking offense at the uncouth actions of a barbarian.
    â€œExactly what just happened here?” he demanded, a little drunk from just watching the bathwater stream down her exquisitely long and shapely legs.
    â€œYou can sleep on the sofa in the living room,” she said tartly. “Good night.”
    â€œBut—”
    â€œI said, good night.”
    â€œI—”
    â€œScram!”
    Flynn scrammed. When he’d closed the door and fled, he could hear Dixie slamming bottles and plates around the bathroom, having a temper tantrum.
    On the sofa later, he tossed and turned, trying to figure out what he’d said or done that was wrong. But either Dixie’s argument hadn’t made any sense or his brains were truly scrambled by being so near her.
    * * *
    In the morning her bedside telephone woke Dixie bright and early. “Yes?”
    â€œGood morning, sleepyhead!” chorused two voices on the phone. She recognized the high spirits of two friends from the theater—Rob and Jan Murdock, who were known as Rob and Jan Munchkin because they were both quite small and always adorable.
    In Dixie’s ear, Rob sang, “We’re in the lobby—here to help make your boyfriend believable. Let us in!”
    â€œHe’s not my boyfriend,” Dixie grumbled, remembering her battle with Flynn the night before. She rubbed one eye and glowered at the alarm clock. It was almost ten, time to get up, anyway.
    â€œWhatever,” Rob said with a laugh. “Tell us the suite number and we’ll be right up.”
    Dixie did so, then slid out of bed and headed for the bathroom. Minutes later she felt presentable and went out to wake Flynn before her friends arrived. She considered hitting him over the head with a sofa cushion.
    He was uncomfortably sprawled on the living room sofa, one arm trailing on the floor, his face squished into a pillow. With a gulp, Dixie saw that he was wearing a pair of jeans and nothing else.
    He looked gorgeous, Dixie thought at once, stumbling to a halt to stare at him. But she pushed that unwelcome idea aside and poked him. “Wake up, sugar. We’ve got company.”
    â€œMrf?” Flynn mumbled. “Wha—”
    â€œIt’s morning, see?” Dixie flung open the curtains and a blaze of morning