Picture me Sexy. Rhonda Nelson
taken one look at her and centuries of in-grained civilized male behavior had been stripped away and replaced with nothing but the blind, single-minded drive to procreate. To mate.
With her.
He’d been reduced to little more than a caveman and grimly suspected that if she didn’t get out of his loft soon, he’d undoubtedly grunt a couple of uga-uga’s, club her over the head and drag her back to his bedroom.
Which would be tantamount to professional ruin.
Which meant she was off-limits.
Sam smothered a frustrated growl. Of all the women in this city, why on earth did his hyper-libido have to zero in on her like a damned homing device? What exactly was it about this woman that had turned him into such a damned lust-ridden, dick-driven wreck?
When she’d gone to make that last costume change, Sam had breathed a tentative sigh of relief. Just the one outfit to go, he’d told himself, then she’d change clothes and leave and he would return to normal. The damned gooseflesh would subside, his scalp would subsist with that infernal perpetual quivering, and the raging erection—which, to his horror, had grown clear out of the waistband of his jeans at one point—would quietly wilt with shame and give him a little peace.
But the sigh of relief had been premature.
When she’d walked back into the studio, Sam’s lungs had momentarily forgotten how to properly function. He hadn’t been able to draw a breath, much less expel it.
For one insane instant, he’d thought she was naked.
The pale-pink teddy had so closely resembled the color of her skin that from a distance she’d almost appeared nude. And upon closer inspection, she might as well have been.
Though there was absolutely nothing precisely sexy about the plain unadorned teddy, it looked sexy on her because it revealed more skin than anything else she’d worn throughout this shoot. She’d obviously had to work up to that outfit, had saved it for last. The fabric draped the mounds of her puckered breasts, whispered over her curvy hips and brushed the tops of her thighs, revealing legs that were flawlessly toned and surprisingly long for someone so petite.
Sam knew that he’d been abrupt with her, had watched that sweet brow furrow in confusion. But due to the fact that he was rapidly losing both reason and resolve, Sam had known he had to speed things up and get her out of his studio before he did something unquestionably stupid.
Like seduce her.
Now all that frantic work had been for naught and Sam faced the unhappy conclusion that his torment wasn’t over, because she’d undoubtedly end up spending the night with him. One could hope that power would be restored to his little section of town first, but he sincerely doubted it. He stifled a dark chuckle. Oh, no. He wouldn’t be that lucky.
Instead of wasting his time hoping for a miracle, Sam decided to redirect his thinking and effort where it was needed the most—focusing on restraint. He’d need every ounce of willpower he possessed and then some to keep his hands off her.
Grimly determined to do just that, Sam led her back into the living room where cozy gas logs burned in the fireplace and emitted a little light as well as some much needed heat. He made a mental note to thank his father the next time he saw him for suggesting the gas heat, gas stove and gas hot water heater.
While the electric blower wouldn’t kick on, the logs would still generate enough heat to keep them moderately warm. Given the fact his blood had been boiling with need since the moment he first saw her, Sam knew he wasn’t in any immediate danger of freezing to death. Still, he’d have hot water for a shower, and the stove would still work, so he’d be able to pull together a quick dinner for his unexpected guest. That was something, anyway.
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