Mr. Perfect (Page 46)

Sam leaned down and scooped up the cat, settling him on his lap and stroking down the long, lean body. BooBoo closed his eyes and set up a buzz-saw purr. The cat purred, and Sam watched her, waiting until the gales of laughter had subsided to giggles and wheezing. She sat on the floor with her arms wrapped around her ribs and her eyes wet with tears. If she had any mascara left, it had to be running down her cheeks, she thought. "Need any help getting up?" he asked. "I should warn you that if I get my hands on you, I may have trouble taking them off again."

"I can manage, thanks." Carefully, and not without some difficulty because of her long skirt, she got to her feet and wiped her eyes with a napkin.

"Good. I’d hate to disturb… what’s his name? BooBoo? What the hell kind of name for a cat is BooBoo?"

"Don’t blame me; blame my mother."

‘A cat should have a name it can live up to. Naming him BooBoo is like naming your son Alice. BooBoo shoulda been named Tiger, or Romeo – "

Jaine shook her head. "Romeo’s out."

"You mean he’s –?"

She nodded.

"In that case, I guess BooBoo’s a pretty good name for him, though BooHoo would be more appropriate." She had to hold her ribs really, really tight to keep from bursting into more laughter. "You’re such a guy."

"What the hell did you want me to be, a ballerina?" No, she didn’t want him to be anything except what he was. No one else had ever made excitement fizz along her veins like champagne, and that was quite an achievement, considering that a week ago they hadn’t exchanged anything except insults. Only two days had passed since their first kiss, two days that had seemed like an eternity because there hadn’t been any more lasses until she grabbed his ears at the supermarket and pulled him down to her level.

"How’s your egg?" he asked, lids heavy over his dark eyes, and she knew his thoughts weren’t far from hers. "History," she replied.

"Then let’s go to bed."

"You think all you have to do is say, ‘Let’s go to bed,’ and I’ll fall over on my back?" she asked indignantly. "No, I hoped I’d have a chance to do a bit more than that before you fell over on your back."

"I’m not falling anywhere."

"Why not?"

"Because I’m having my period." Funny, she couldn’t remember ever saying that to a man before, especially without even a twinge of self-consciousness. His brows snapped down. "You’re what?" he asked in growing anger.

"Having my period. Menstruating. Maybe you’ve heard about it. It’s when – "

"I have two sisters; I think I know a little about periods. And one of the things I know is that the egg is fertile roughly in the middle of the cycle, not close to the end!" Busted. Jaine pursed her lips. "Okay, so I lied. There’s always a slight chance the timing is off, and I wasn’t willing to take that chance, all right?"

It evidently wasn’t all right. "You stopped me," he groaned, closing his eyes as if he were in acute pain. "I was damn near dying, and you stopped me."

"You make it sound on a level with treason." He opened his eyes, glaring at her. "What about now?" He was about as romantic as a rock, she thought, so why was she so turned on? "Your idea of foreplay is probably @

"You awake?’ " she grumbled.

He made an impatient gesture. "What about now?"

"No."

"Jeez!" He leaned back in the chair and closed his eyes again. "What’s wrong with now?"

"I told you, I’m having my period."

"So?"

"So… no."

"Why not?"

"Because I don’t want to!" she yelled. "Give me a break!" He sighed. "I get it. PMS."

"PMS is before, you idiot."

"That’s what you say. Ask any man and you’ll hear a different story."

"Like they’re experts," she scoffed.

"Honey, the only experts in PMS are men. That’s why men are so good at fighting wars; they learned Escape and Evade at home."

She thought about throwing a frying pan at him, but BooBoo was in the line of fire, and anyway, she would have to find a frying pan first.

He grinned at the expression on her face. "Know why PMS is called PMS?"

"Don’t you dare," she threatened. "Only women can tell PMS jokes."

"Because ‘mad cow disease’ was already taken." Forget the frying pan. She looked around for a knife. "Get out of my house."

He put BooBoo on the floor and stood up, evidently ready to Escape and Evade. "Settle down," he said, putting the chair between them.

"Settle down, my ass! Damn it, where’s my butcher knife?" She looked around in frustration. If she had only lived here longer, she would know where she had put everything! He came out from behind the chair, around the table, and had a firm grip on both her wrists before she could remember which drawer held her cutting knives. "You owe me fifty cents," he said, grinning down at her as he pulled her against him.

"Don’t hold your breath! I told you I wouldn’t pay when it’s your fault." She blew her bangs out of her eyes so she could glare at him more effectively.

He bent his head and kissed her.

Time stood still again. He must have released her wrists, because her arms slid around his neck. His mouth was hot and hungry, and he kissed the way no man should kiss and still be allowed to run free. His scent was as warm and musky as sex, filling her lungs, permeating her skin. He put one big hand on her bottom and lifted her off her feet, aligning their bodies more completely, groin to groin. The long skirt hampered her, preventing her from wrapping her legs around him. Jaine arched in frustration, almost ready to cry. "We can’t," she whispered when he raised his mouth a fraction of an inch.