She knew Alice had been looking for the new Xtacy 3000, too—Hey, what woman wasn’t?—and thought it was exceedingly nice of Don to have found one for her. It took a special man to extend a vibrating olive branch. Maybe he really was into nude, plastic wrap performance art. Stranger things had happened. Don was obviously doing his best to make amends for the cashier thing.
Rosie was taking a step forward to get a better look at the vibrator and was about to ask Don where he’d found it, especially in the most sought-after color, but her words—and her step, for that matter—were cut short when, out of nowhere, she was blindsided by a huge, growling grizzly bear that wrestled her to the floor and rolled on top of her.
Oh, no, wait. It wasn’t a grizzly bear, she realized when she and the big predator came to a halt. It was Sam Maguire. Speak of the devilishly handsome. Maybe he was interested in her romantically. Though why he’d decided to make his intentions known so suddenly, in such a public venue was a little puzzling. And just where the hell had he come from, anyway? He wasn’t enrolled in Alice’s morning class.
“Uh, Chief?” she said by way of a greeting.
But she got lost after that, because she couldn’t seem to find her way out of those espresso eyes and back to…whatever she’d been doing before she found herself pinned beneath him. All she could remember was something about nudity and plastic wrap and performing, all of which sounded pretty good at the moment.
He was solid rock in all the places he came into contact with her, shoulder to shoulder, chest to calf, his rigid weight pinning her to the padded mat beneath her in a way that should probably have been painful, considering his size, but which was instead incredibly erotic—considering his size. She wasn’t positive, but Rosie was pretty sure that wasn’t a banana in his pocket. He was definitely happy to see her. Really happy, judging by the size of that banana. Colossally happy. In fact, it wasn’t so much a banana he had in his pocket as it was a loaf of French bread.
He smelled wonderful, an enticing mix of clean laundry and autumn wind. And something else, too, something intangible and implacable that was earthy and musky and dark. Something so intrinsically male that Rosie began to wonder how she could ever think an Xtacy 2000—or even an Xtacy 3000—could ever be enough.
And those dark, fathomless brown eyes of his…She’d always thought Sam’s eyes reflected intelligence and good humor, but up close this way, she saw that both were tempered by something less noble and more unpredictable…and held just barely at bay. The impression never quite had the chance to gel in her brain—not that much could gel in her brain with Sam Maguire lying atop her this way—because he rolled again, this time pulling Rosie on top of himself, a position she immediately decided she liked even better. Unfortunately, that impression, too, was quickly dispelled when Sam effortlessly picked her up and set her down on the mat beside him.
Truly. He picked her up as easily as if she had been a ladybug who landed on his shirt, then set her down with a gentleness she wouldn’t have thought he was capable of managing. And, just like that, he went from being sexy as hell to flat-out irresistible.
“Uh, sorry,” he said by way of an apology.
For one much-too-brief moment, their eyes met again, and he studied her face as if she were the answer to every frustrated question and desperate plea he’d ever shot at the cosmos. And in that much-too-brief moment, Rosie felt like a blessing indeed. Then he was scrambling up off the floor and straightening, and the feeling evaporated like, inescapably, ballooning steam. Where Rosie had expected him to extend a hand to help her up, however, he grabbed Don instead, circling one big hand around the man’s wrist to twist his arm behind his back before snaking the other out to grab the Xtacy 3000 from Don’s grip.
Wow. Sam must want one of those even more than Rosie did.
She shook the thought from her head as soon as it formed, since any man who carried around a loaf of French bread in his pocket certainly didn’t need a little thing like an Xtacy vibrator. Funny, though, how she’d never considered the Xtacy little before….
“Chief Maguire!” Alice shouted when she saw Sam manhandling her husband.
She dropped her hands to her pink-leotard-clad hips and blew a damp, silvery blond curl off her forehead, only to have it fall right back into place. Alice was really too petite and willowy to look menacing, Rosie thought, but damned if she didn’t come pretty close just then.
“What do you think you’re doing to Donnie?” Alice demanded.
Donnie? Rosie echoed to herself. Alice only called Don “Donnie” when she was speaking affectionately about him. In fact, she hadn’t even called him “Don” lately. Since the plastic-wrapped cashier episode a few weeks ago, she’d been referring to him as—
Well, something that wasn’t fit to share in any company, mixed or otherwise. Suffice it to say it had been a looooong time since Rosie had heard Alice refer to her husband in anything remotely resembling affectionate terms. In fact, what she’d called him had been pretty much anatomically impossible anyway, even if one had a loaf of French bread in one’s pocket to do it with. Now, however, it looked like Alice was reconsidering her animosity. Among other things. Because she walked right up to Sam and stomped on his toe. Hard.
“Ow,” Sam replied with much understatement. He lifted the injured foot from the floor, but didn’t loosen his hold on Don. “What was that for?”
“You leave my Donnie alone,” Alice told him, hands fisted indignantly on her hips again.
“Leave him alone?” Sam echoed. “You asked me to intervene if he tried anything funny. So I’m intervening.” He rubbed his foot on the back of his calf and put it—gingerly—on the floor again. “And you’re this close to assaulting an officer, Alice.”
Alice snorted derisively. “Oh, please. I barely touched you.”
Rosie would bet a fallen arch that Sam disagreed. To his credit, however, he said nothing.
“Now let Donnie go,” Alice repeated. “He’s brought me a present.”
With obvious reluctance, Sam did as Alice asked, but he didn’t fork over the vibrator, only looked at it curiously, as if he had no idea what it was. Then, “I have no idea what this is,” he said. “I came running in because when I first saw it, I thought it was a stick of dynamite.”
Rosie couldn’t quite help the smile that curled her lips. “Well, it can be,” she said. “In the right hands.”
The other women in the class chuckled knowingly, something that clearly only confused Sam more. Alice, however, saved Rosie from having to explain by snatching the vibrator out of Sam’s hand and turning it on. It immediately relaxed from its erect cylindrical shape and began to twist itself into a series of elaborate, contorted motions that Rosie knew could be set at a variety of speeds, intensities and temperatures. It was erotic poetry in motion.
“It’s the Xtacy 3000,” Alice said for Sam’s enlightenment. “A personal fulfillment device.”
“Personal fulfillment device,” Sam said without any enlightenment whatsoever.
Then again, he was obviously the kind of man who could personally fulfill a woman to the point where she wouldn’t need a device for that, so Rosie supposed it shouldn’t be surprising that he’d have no knowledge of such things.
Alice rolled her eyes and blew out an exasperated sigh. “A vibrator,” she clarified.
Sam’s dark brows shot up at that, and a faint stain of pink bloomed on his cheeks. Oh, for God’s sake, Rosie thought. He was blushing. Honestly blushing. She didn’t think she’d ever seen such a manly man do something so adorable. That Sam was doing it only made him so much sexier. And so much more irresistible.
“I had it on my Christmas list last year,” Alice continued as she watched the vibrator do its thing. “But the demand has been so high since it hit the market that it’s been impossible to find. Especially in