Page 25 of Life, Love and the Pursuit of Happiness

Okay, that’s a stretch.

Well, for all those reasons, and then some, the sweet kiss turned wicked. Wicked good.

Sometimes bad is good, and good is bad. Didn’t Masters & Johnson, or Einstein, or Dr. Ruth, or some frickin’ expert on Oprah say that one time? Merrill mused, his Mensa brain always at work, like a bloody encyclopedia. Hey, I can multitask. Kiss and think at the same time. Can’t I?

No, that’s stoo-pid! Get your brain out of your dick, sailor! Or your dick out of your brain.

I am so losing it!

The sweet kiss turned molten—a moist, hungry burn of the senses.

And she was hot damn kissing him back.

I’ve still got it!

In fact, there might be tongues involved. Yes, definitely tongues.

This has got to be the second-best reason why God invented tongues.

Sweet, sweet, sweet!

No, hot, hot, hot!

Am I breathing too hard?

Did she just moan?

He moved his hands from cupping her face to cupping her buttocks.

WHAT?

When did she crawl on top of me?

Who the friggin’ hell cares!

Forget the fucking window. This is a door. And I’m in!

He explored her body with wide sweeps of his palms, from her shoulders to her waist and the small of her back, over her buns, and down her thighs. She was soft and cushy everywhere. Not fat. No, she didn’t have an ounce of extra fat on her body, but she wasn’t hard muscled or toned like the athletic women he was usually involved with, either. A delicious change. He wanted to sink into her creamy skin and lap it all over.

Needless to say, he had a hard-on that would like to swim in that cream, too. That is so crude. Hope I didn’t say that out loud.

For the sake of his sanity, or before he went monkey ass trigger-happy with a premature ejaculation, he rolled them both over so she was flat on her back and he was looking down at her. Her blue eyes were smoky with passion. Her lips were rose hued and kiss-swollen. In other words, blonde bombshell personified. Every red-blooded man’s wet dream.

Which they both woke from with a start when Charlie, who had a voice like a megaphone, could be heard yelling from above, “Hey, boss, the UPS driver needs you to sign for a delivery. You up for that?”

He was up, all right. In more ways than one.

Jumping to his feet, which caused the two bumps on his head to begin a drumbeat behind his eyes, he helped Delilah to her feet. She had two matching bumps on her forehead, which probably hurt just as bad as his did.

“I knew this would happen, I knew this would happen,” she was muttering as she pulled a long-handled feathery mop out from under the bed. It was loaded with dust bunnies, an old sock, and a bunch of other clingy stuff. That’s apparently what she’d been doing when he came in. Mopping under the bed. Why, he hadn’t a clue. “I just knew this would fu—freakin’ happen.”

Oh, great! She’s having regrets. Already.

“I’m sorry. I never intended to do . . . this when I came in here,” he apologized.

“It’s not your fault.”

Excuse me? “It’s not?”