Snow Bound

By: Dani Wade



Damon drew in a deep breath, gathering his professionalism instead of working off the lust sizzling beneath his skin. “We need to get you out of that wet robe. Where’s your bedroom?”

Her head jerked up so quickly he was surprised she didn’t get whiplash. “My bedroom? Why?”

“You need some clothes.”

“I can do it,” she said, pushing up from her seat in an attempt to gain her feet. But he wasn’t letting her get that far.

“No stairs until I’ve checked you out, okay?” He urged her back down with light pressure on her shoulders. One touch divulged just how bad her trembling was. “Just let me do it.”

He followed her directions up the stairs and to the left through the open door of a large bedroom, his recovered flashlight leading the way. More candles dotted the surfaces in the room, and the king-size sleigh bed angled from the corner had several layers of covers whipped back, as if she’d raced from the bed after hearing the noise outside. Which she probably had, considering her attire.

He bypassed the larger dresser closest to him for the chest of drawers on the opposite side of the room where she’d said her sleep shirts were located. As he neared, he caught a glimpse of a dress hanging on the inside of the closet door. His booted feet stopped of their own accord, staring at the puffy pink dress with a generous dusting of silver sparkles. The fitted top exploded into layers of filmy material to make up the skirt that would fall right below her calves.

He knew. He’d seen her in this particular concoction one day when he’d dropped by the bookstore for coffee. She’d been hostessing one of the tea parties she offered for the little girls in the area. With the pink dress and her hair swept up under the crown on her head, she’d been the princess in charge and Damon had immediately dubbed her Miss Priss. He’d thought of her that way ever since. He wasn’t into princesses; he’d rather screw the downstairs maid.

With a quiet chuckle he continued to the chest of drawers and pulled open the top one, intent on finding something, anything, he could cover Tori up with. The less skin, the better. Holding the flashlight up with now gloveless fingers, Damon shone the bright light over the darkened interior of the drawer, only to choke on his own tongue. Spread out before him was an array of, well, flimsy panties. Not folded neatly in little piles, as he’d have expected from the woman who never had a hair out of place, but jumbled together in a smorgasbord of colors, mostly pastels. That part, at least, he’d guessed right. With a stiff finger he dug in and lifted, revealing a handful of thong panties. Apparently Miss Priss preferred butt floss. My God, is that what she was wearing now? His cock throbbed as he contemplated the options.

He flicked the flashlight beam to the princess dress, then back to the naughty bits in his hand, then back again, his gaze cataloging the differences. Dear Lord in heaven, if he had only known she was wearing these under that, he’d have been sporting a very inappropriate crotch display in front of a bunch of six and seven-year-old girls.

Dropping the panties like they were booby trapped, he slammed the drawer shut and moved quickly through the rest until he found a stack of cotton sleep shirts… right next to a teddy that had him biting back a roar of approval. How the hell was he going to face Tori again, keep his gaze trained on her face, and get her changed from that silky robe into something decent—without going to his knees and begging to see more?

* * *

Tori waited on the couch, tracking her visitor’s movement through the creaking of the oak floors upstairs. Those boards had been the bane of her existence as a teenager, broadcasting every move when she hadn’t wanted her parents to know she was sneaking down the stairs. Leaning on the arm of the couch, she panted through the pain throbbing outward from her thigh.

Adrenaline from hearing the noise outside and bursting through the door to find her outrageously gorgeous neighbor fighting a tall figure in the dark, then shooting over their heads to scare the other guy off must have masked the burning ache from her fall. She hadn’t really noticed the pain until she’d shifted around, trying to cover herself as best she could. Then her thigh had pounded like she’d been punched on the bruised flesh once more.

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