Yes. He did have all those assets. Along with solid, muscular shoulders and great abs. Bobbie knew a little about his abs since she’d been plastered against them during that navel-ring debacle. Just thinking of him and his abs made her mouth water, so she helped herself to a dollop of the cheesecake as well.
“And those eyes,” Crystal went on. “Mmm. Make-me-sigh green.”
They could do that, yes. Too bad he was male, the very species that she needed to avoid.
“Mmm. Mmm. Mmm. Mmmm,” Crystal concluded as she licked the cheesecake off her finger. “And I just bet Aidan looks darn good when he’s stripped down to his Naughty Guy briefs, too.”
Bobbie reached for more cheesecake. “He wears boxers,” she mumbled.
The realization that she’d just blown it came at the exact second that Crystal flashed a victorious grin.
“Gotta go,” Crystal insisted. She barreled out the door.
“Wait—”
“Don’t worry. I won’t tell a soul.”
No, but she’d tell people. Lots and lots of people. Liffey didn’t need standard communication devices with Crystal around. Her mouth could travel faster than the speed of light.
“What have I done?” Bobbie asked herself.
Talk about the ultimate crash-and-burn faux pas.
Within an hour, maybe less, everyone in town would know that she had intimate knowledge of Aidan O’Shea’s underpants.
5
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AIDAN CHECKED the phone again. It was working just fine. Ditto for his pager, the fax machine, his e-mail account and the bell on the door. They were all silent. Completely, utterly silent.
It was nothing short of a blessed miracle.
Here it was ten o’clock on a Wednesday morning, and there’d been only one kitty rescue request and only one plea for a flat-tire repair. The only other call had come from the mayor, who merely wanted to invite him to the town picnic, wranglers’ barbecue and watermelon thump.
Whatever the heck that was.
But even with the picnic invitation, claims on his time were down by more than ninety percent.
Aidan nearly shuddered at the thought, but was it possible that the Twango-Drifter Plan was a success after only forty-eight hours?
He sank down into his chair to contemplate that and read over the background reports he’d requested on his main suspects for the underwear theft. The fact that he was actually able to contemplate it in silence said loads about his situation. It was working, and that was both a blessing and a curse.
The plan had worked. Thank heaven—as, in halleluiah.
The plan had worked. Oh, mercy—as in, he was in deep trouble. The kind of trouble that could only create more trouble.
That near-kiss a couple of nights ago in Bobbie’s kitchen had clanged bells the size of boulders in his head. Bells that warned him to put some serious miles between him and her. Still, there was immense pleasure in finally having some peace and quiet.
If he stuck with the plan, however, it’d no doubt call for even more kitchen encounters. Even more navel-ring sightings. And yep, even more near French kisses. Which couldn’t happen if he hoped to keep his life uncomplicated. But maybe, just maybe, he could have his cake and eat it too if he could stay away from Bobbie’s mouth.
And take a lot of cold showers.
The door flew open, and Aidan braced himself for a kitty-rescue request. But this was no kitty owner. He got to his feet and came face-to-face with jilting Jasper Kershaw. From the surly expression on the man’s face, it was pretty obvious that he wasn’t pleased about something. Aidan didn’t have to guess about that displeasure either. After all, Jasper had seen him at Bobbie’s house.
Jasper aimed an indignant, wagging finger in Aidan’s direction. “It’s all over town about your boxer shorts,” he accused.
Okay, of all the things that Aidan thought Jasper might say, that wasn’t one of them. Not even close. “Is there some sort of weird city ordinance that prevents me from wearing boxers?”
Jasper’s Adam’s apple began to bob at the same zealous speed as that wagging finger. “Quit playing Mr. Innocent with me. You know what I mean.”
“Uh, not really.” And even more, Aidan wasn’t sure he wanted to know.
“I heard it from Maxine who heard it from Henrietta who heard it straight from Crystal that Bobbie knew you wore boxers. I don’t want to know how Bobbie came about that little tidbit, but I’m here to tell you that she’s hands off to you and anybody else.”
Contemplating that chain of communication, Aidan scratched his chin. He didn’t have to contemplate long. “I’m not exactly comfortable with you mentioning my boxers in the same breath that you mention ‘little tidbit.’ And I doubt Bobbie’s comfortable with you declaring her to be hands off.”
“Bobbie doesn’t know what she wants, and I won’t have you and your boxers confusing the situation, you got that? That means you back off so I can mend some fences with my future wife.”
That idiotic-sounding ultimatum didn’t set well with Aidan, and he’d already geared up to send this dense chowderhead on his finger-wagging way when he spotted Bobbie crossing Main Street. Her eyes widened, then narrowed to slits when she looked in the window of the office.
“Jasper,” she snarled, throwing open the door. She stepped inside and propped her hands on her hips.
Man, she looked good.
Aidan wanted to concentrate just on the riled expression on her face, but that was hard to do with her wearing that well-above-the-knee pink-lemonade-colored jacket and skirt. It gloved and hugged her trim body and made her legs seem to go on forever. To his suddenly parched mouth, she truly looked like a long, tall drink…of something.
Whoa.
Not good.
Aidan gave his head a hard shake and threatened it with a good wall-pounding if it kept up thoughts like those. It wasn’t a smart idea to think of Bobbie and satisfaction of thirst, any kind of thirst, in the same sentence.
“What’s going on here, Jasper?” Bobbie demanded.
He hitched a thumb in Aidan’s direction. “I’m here to tell Mr. Paddy Wrangler boxers that you’re off limits, hands off and otherwise engaged—to me!”
Aidan almost intervened. Almost. But that fiery look that shot through Bobbie’s eyes made him realize she wanted to fight this battle herself.
“Aidan has no need for the Paddy Wrangler,” she said, her voice low and edgy. Bobbie took a slow, calculated step toward Jasper. “His posterior is fine without enhancements. More than fine. It’s so fine that he could be a poster model for the Full Monty.”
Jasper gasped.
“Say what?” Aidan questioned. He wasn’t sure this particular comparison was one he wanted to have applied to his gluteus maximus.
“The Full Monty,” Bobbie repeated without moving her venomous