Call of the Highland Moon

Page 33

In about twenty minutes, dinner would be served. Problem solved.
If only all of his problems were that easy, Gideon thought ruefully. He opened the fridge, grabbed one of the three beers he’d found tucked way in the back that had probably been there since she’d moved in, and wandered back out into the living room to sink onto Carly’s couch, stare out the window, and wait.
What he was waiting for, he only wished he knew.
t t t
Carly wished she could hide in the shower, definitely for the night, possibly forever. Yes, it was unrealistic, but considering that was the bent her life had taken anyway, it might not hurt to try. She stood in the hot spray, lifted her hands to study them.
Pruney. Well, that wasn’t going to work, either.
Hell with it.
She twisted the knob to shut off the water, reached around the curtain to grab her giant, fluffy bath towel, and stood in the residual warmth as long as she could, toweling off her skin and then scrubbing at her hair. She was thinking, a habit which she was seriously considering giving up after her life got back to some semblance of normal. Because thus far, thinking hadn’t done anything for her but give her the beginnings of a nice tension headache.
To seduce or not to seduce. That was the question. Well, besides the question of whether or not she was even capable of a full-on seduction, but Carly really wanted to give herself the benefit of the doubt on that one. She’d talked herself into giving it a go, until she saw the disarray Gideon had put her stockroom into. Then she’d just wanted to take one of those boxes and … well, actually, she was pretty sure that somewhere in her fit of temper she’d told him exactly where she’d like to shove one of them. Not that he’d been repentant.
And not that she hadn’t spent the whole time wanting to jump him, which just made her angrier. Carly pumped some vanilla-scented lotion into her palm and began to smooth it over her skin, frowning while she mulled over what to do with Mr. High-Handed, who seemed to have decided to make himself comfortable in her space, up to and including telling her that he was going to be taking her car for a bit, thank you very much, and you’ll need to come so be a good girl, won’t you? She bit her lip, counted slowly to ten so as not to punch anything and ruin her nails. God, being with Gideon was worse than PMS as far as her mood swings were concerned. She knew what Regan would say … it was time for a healthy release of tension. Which was all well and good, except Carly still wasn’t sure that there was anything healthy about this fixation on Gideon. How could she be so crazy about someone she barely knew? And earlier, when he’d managed to knock her socks off yet again, the way he’d held her …
Love. The word formed in her mind immediately before she could put up any defense against it, promising to send her down the road to Migraine City if she didn’t knock it the hell off. This was not about deep inner feelings. This was about finally having the guts to take something she wanted, just on a purely physical level.
And oh, horrifying. So, no thinking. Or as little as she could manage, Carly decided as she combed through her hair, eyeing herself critically in the oval mirror she’d hung above the pedestal sink. Not bad. Little tired, maybe. She wasn’t big on a lot of makeup, but she had adequate emergency supplies for special occasions.
The possibility of sex, no matter how remote, definitely counted. In this case, as both an emergency and as a special occasion.
She dried her hair until it fell in loose, shining waves around her shoulders, slid on the simple black satin bra and thong that made up the entirety of what Regan had decided was her “sex collection” (how two items of underwear could possibly merit the term “collection” was something she’d brought up, but it hadn’t seemed to matter, as usual) and pulled on her favorite jeans, the ones that shaped her butt somewhere between ScarJo’s and J. Lo’s. With that and the tight black scoop-neck tee-shirt she’d dug out, all she needed, Carly decided as she examined all her angles in the mirror, was a little eye shadow, gloss, and probably mascara since her lashes were pretty blond. Nothing major. Then, she’d just saunter on out, she guessed, and … something. Something possibly good, and possibly naked. She and Gideon. Naked. Oh, God.
No thinking, she commanded herself again. Otherwise, she really was going to live in the bathroom forever. She got her small pink makeup bag out of the tall, slim cabinet against the wall, rummaged until she found what she needed, and went to work. A smudge of gold across her eyelids, a hint of pale pink shimmer across her lips (flavored, just in case, she told herself, and thank God for Philosophy’s nearly edible lip gloss). All easy enough, until she got to her nemesis, the tube of mascara. Carly leaned close to the mirror, brandishing the wand like a foreign and potentially dangerous object. Her tongue was out as she concentrated, a habit that didn’t bother her nearly as much as the thought of stabbing her eye out.
She brushed lightly against her top lashes, cursing the evil genius who’d invented the stuff. She was usually at least semi-coordinated, but she always seemed to klutz up when it got to the really fine detail work. Probably, Carly decided, gingerly going after the lower lashes now, she should get rich enough to hire a makeup artist to follow her around all the time. A nice Lotto win would probably do it. Or a super-rich husband. But then…
“Ow! Shit!” She yelped, dropping the wand on the floor and clapping her hand over her eye, the one into which she’d just smooshed a nice glob of viscous black goo. She fumbled for a washcloth, wet it, and scrubbed at her watering eye. Years of exposure to her foulmouthed brothers came pouring out all at once. “Piece of shit god damn son of a bitch!”
Well, that was nice, Carly thought, still muttering every obscenity she could think of as she glared at her reflection. Now she had a slightly swollen, non-mascaraed, violently red eye. And one pretty one. Very nice.
“Carly? Everything all right in there?” Gideon’s concerned voice was right outside the door. Even better.
“I’m fine. It’s nothing.” Go away, she silently added as she gave in to temptation and rubbed the itchy eye again before dropping to her knees to pick up the mascara wand where it had rolled beneath the sink. So much for alluring beauty, she decided. She hoped to God some Visine would at least tone down the red.
“Are you sure?” Carly closed her eyes as she grabbed the wand and started to rise. Would it hurt him, just once, to do what she wanted and shut up about it?
“If I wasn’t sure,” she snapped, “I wouldn’t have said … ow shitshitshitshitshit!”
She dropped the wand again to clutch the top of her head, which she’d just slammed against the underside of the sink. It hurt, enough to bring tears to her eyes, and she dropped back to sit on the floor and cradle her head, completely defeated. “Ow. And don’t you dare open that door.”
Naturally, he opened the door. She didn’t even want to know what he thought when he got his first look at her sprawled on the floor with a bump on her head and a puffy eye, and to his credit, she only saw his lips twitch once as he took it all in. It was more than she could say for herself, unfortunately. At that moment, it was suddenly too much for her, too much seriousness, too much everything. Carly felt the giggles bubbling up her throat, felt her shoulders start to shake with them even before they were out. Some seduction. It would have taken all three stooges, but she … she had talent. Gideon raised his eyebrows at her, and for some reason, that just finished her. She hid her head and burst out laughing.
“Dare I ask what all this is about?”
“I was attacked by beauty products,” she managed between giggles. “I lost.”
“Never would have guessed. Did you stab yourself in the eye?” Gideon crouched, angling his head to try and get a better look. “You can still see out of it, can’t you? Come on, now let me see.” He reached for her chin, but she scooted back, still gasping for air.
“No, just leave it. I’ll recover.” She waved him off, but he was determined.
“If you’ve managed to poke your eye out, you’d better let me see.”
She smacked his hand away again and rolled her eyes. “I didn’t poke my eye out. I just got makeup in it. And I bumped my head. Now stop, I’m fine.” She swept her hair out of her face and wiped at her eyes again, the laughter subsiding but leaving her with a smile and a kind of amused humiliation. If Gideon still wanted her, she guessed he might as well know what he was getting. Super Spaz. She was certainly in all her glory tonight.
Gideon moved his hand but didn’t rise, just sat looking at her as though she’d grown an extra head. “Why were you fiddling with your eyes? They were fine before.”
“I … well, I wanted to look pretty. Damn it.” The defiance was totally ruined by the fact that she couldn’t get the grin off her face, but she tried.
The corner of his mouth twisted just slightly. “And this would be achieved by murdering yourself in the bathroom?”
Carly could only laugh as a fresh wave of amusement hit her and shake her head. Men were so clueless sometimes, and Gideon, a testament to his sex, did indeed look confused.
“You didn’t need to do anything to yourself. You looked fine before you did … whatever it was you were trying to do in here.”
Carly just gave him the most beleaguered look she could manage and sighed, loudly. Obviously, this was going to require spelling out. “No, genius. I wanted you to think I looked pretty. Not ‘fine.’ I was shooting for several degrees above fine.”
“Ah.” Carly swore she actually saw the light go on then, right before those suddenly less confused eyes dropped to take in her clothes and the cleavage that was, at least, as well displayed as she’d intended. “Why should it matter what I think?”
If only she had an uncomplicated answer to that one, her life would be a hell of a lot simpler. She wished. “Because. I … like you.” She winced as soon as the words were out of her mouth. She liked him? Yes, this was why she kept making out with him at every available opportunity. Could she be any more high school cheesy? She probably should have just passed him one of those old “do you like me check yes or no” notes and been done with it. It would have at least saved her an eye injury and a big lump on the top of her head.