Nerd Gone Wild (Nerds, #3)(10)
Author: Vicki Lewis Thompson

“Good choice.” She climbed up and sat cross-legged near the end of the bed. “It’ll be warmer than the floor.” She waited for him to sit down at the pillow end. “Now what shall we play?”

Oh, man, this was going to be hell. “Poker?” The suggestion came out as a croak. Immediately he thought about strip poker.

“I’m not very good.”

Even better. He could literally beat the pants off her.

“But I think it’s a fun game. We played at the sorority.”

“Okay, then poker it is.”

“Don’t we need something to count as chips?”

It was an indication of how rattled he was that he hadn’t thought of that. “I’ll bet Betsy has kitchen matches.” A little trip downstairs might give him a chance to get his libido under control. He slid off the bed. “Let’s go see.”

“Good idea.” She followed him to the door. “Wait. Get your glasses. We left it pretty dark, and I don’t want you falling down the stairs because you misjudged a step.”

“Right.” He had to pick up his orange parka to locate his glasses, but he managed to keep the recorder out of sight in the process.

They left his room and started down the darkened stairs, Ally going first.

“I haven’t heard Betsy come back, have you?” she asked.

“No.” But he’d been so busy listening in on Ally that he might have missed the sound of the front door.

“I don’t think she’s back. I wonder if that means she’s staying at Clyde’s for the night.”

“Could be. Let’s not think about that.”

Ally laughed. “I can’t help it.”

“Personally, I’m blocking those images.” Besides that, reminding himself that Betsy might not come home also reminded him that it could be just the two of them here tonight. Well, two people, but Mitch’s penis seemed to have a mind of its own, so he’d almost count it as a third party to the gathering.

“I feel like a kid sneaking downstairs to raid the refrigerator,” Ally said.

Mitch felt like a man ready to seduce a woman in a darkened kitchen. So he fumbled for the light switch and they both stood there blinking in the glare from overhead.

“Refrigerators are best raided in the dark,” Ally said.

“I know, but we’re not raiding the refrigerator.”

“Maybe we should. I’ve always wanted to.”

“So you’ve never done it?” Now that he thought about it, he had a tough time imagining how that would work in the Garrett mansion.

“I didn’t dare. We had security cameras, you know.”

He did know. He’d recommended an update. “Somebody would have busted you?”

“Not in the sense that I would have been punished, but I never could have completed a successful raid. And I would have been gently reminded to buzz the maid’s quarters so that someone could fix me whatever snack I wanted. Then I would be asked not to wander around the place in the middle of the night because it got the security staff’s undies in a twist.”

“That all makes sense.”

“But it tends to take the spontaneity out of life.”

“Yeah, I suppose it does.” He tried to sympathize, and wondered if he’d trade all his refrigerator raids for the chance to do whatever he wanted with his life and not have to worry about making a living at it… ever. Probably.

“I know that look,” Ally said.

“What look?” He quickly erased all envious thoughts.

“I’ve seen it a million times on the faces of my friends. You’re thinking that I have nothing to complain about, and you’d be right.” She gave him a lopsided smile. “But you can’t blame a girl for wanting to stage a refrigerator raid when she has the chance.”

Her wistful expression got him right where he lived. “Let me find the matches first. Then we’ll douse the lights and raid the refrigerator.”

Her smile widened. “Mitchell, you’re not half as stuffy as I thought you were.”

That meant his disguise was slipping. And now that he’d agreed to this midnight snack, he could see the card game evolving into a full-blown party. If she spent too much time in his room, she might find his recorder. She might even, given enough time, find his gun.

But she’d just handed him the perfect excuse to move the festivities to her room. “I’m at least as stuffy as you think I am,” he said. “We’re eating this late-night snack in your room because I can’t stand crumbs in my bed.”

* * *

Well, so he was persnickety about crumbs in his bed. Ally didn’t think that was so unusual. She didn’t know how she felt about that subject, having never slept in a crumb-filled bed. Eating in bed had been reserved for times when she was sick, and then the linens had been changed immediately after she finished.

At least Mitchell had enough experience to know he didn’t like crumbs in his bed. She wondered if he’d discovered that on his own or when he was sharing a bed with a woman. Until very recently she hadn’t imagined Mitchell with a love life.

Now she could sort of see it. He obviously had the capacity to be spontaneous, possibly even wild. A totally controlled person wouldn’t break down a door.

His appearance had been greatly improved by those gray sweatpants and sweatshirt, too. When she’d first seen him sitting on his bed playing cards, with no glasses and his hair sort of messed up and that cute cleft in his chin, he’d looked almost studly. Thinking of Mitchell as studly made her laugh, but he had looked that way.

Yes, he was still the guy who’d bought himself an orange parka and a matching knit cap with a yellow pompom on top, but he wasn’t wearing either of those things right now as he rummaged through Betsy’s kitchen drawers looking for a box of matches.

“Got ‘em!” He held aloft the box of kitchen matches.

“So lights out?”

“Lights out.”

She hit the switch, and the kitchen went black. The light from the Tiffany lamp in the lobby was too faint to reach the kitchen and the storm had blocked the window with snow and ice. “Tactical error,” she said. “I should have opened the refrigerator door first.” She groped her way toward what she thought was the refrigerator.

“Here, let me get it.” He reached out and got a really tight hold on her breast. With a gasp he backed up and bumped noisily into something, probably the kitchen table.

Once she got over the shock, Ally started to laugh.

But Mitchell wasn’t laughing. “Ally, I’m sorry. I sure didn’t mean to—”

“Cop a feel?” She swallowed another fit of laughter and cleared her throat. “I’m sure you didn’t, Mitchell. You’re not the type. Besides, in the dark, boobs and refrigerator door handles look pretty much the same. At least you recognized the difference when you felt it.”

He groaned.

“Oh, Mitchell, forget it. Let’s get this raid started.” She pulled open the refrigerator. “I know there’s blackberry pie. Ah, here it is.” She pulled the pie tin from a shelf. “And here are some kind of cold cuts. Don’t know what, though.”

Mitchell had recovered himself, apparently, because he came to stand behind her. “If you can’t identify it, don’t take it.”

“Relax. The moose meat turned out to be okay. Here, take the blackberry pie.” She handed it to him.

“I vote we don’t take the meat. It could belong to something that was scraped off the road.”

“We’re taking it.” Ally pulled out the package of sliced meat. “You can’t have a decent refrigerator raid without making sandwiches. We need bread.”

“Bread sounds safe. I think there was a breadbox on the counter.”

“Do you have enough light to find it, or are you likely to grab my ass while you’re searching?”

“Ally, I really didn’t mean to grab you. It was a total accident.”

“I know.” She grinned at him. “I just couldn’t resist.” He was really quite adorable in his obvious discomfort. Another kind of guy might have grabbed her boob by accident and then held on, thrilled by the unintentional contact and willing to use it as an excuse to start something. Not Mitchell. He was mortified.

Locating a wedge of cheese and a jar of mustard, she pulled both out and held them with one arm while she snagged a couple of beer bottles from the refrigerator door. “Did you find the bread?”

“Yep. And a knife to slice it.”

“Then I think we’re set. We can—” She stopped speaking when she heard the front door open. The wind blasted in with a roar, and then the door closed with a loud slam.

“Betsy’s home,” Mitchell said under his breath.

“I refuse to be caught red-handed on my very first raid,” Ally muttered. She closed the refrigerator door gently so that they were once more in the dark.

Mitchell leaned toward her. “We’ll stay right here until she goes into her parlor,” he whispered.

Betsy’s voice drifted from the entryway into the kitchen. “Clyde, you animal, you. Hold your horses.”

A man’s voice followed, but his words were muffled, as if he might have his mouth up against something soft. Ally could easily imagine what that something might be.

“I know what you want, tiger. And Betsy’s gonna give it to you. But first we need to take off our boots so we don’t track up my carpet.”

The man’s murmuring became more insistent. Ally bit her lip to keep from laughing. Betsy had found herself a live one.

“No! Clyde, you naughty man! You stop that! I haven’t even had a chance to get my other boot off… Oh, my goodness!” Her exclamation was followed by a solid thud. Clyde wasn’t big enough to make that much noise going down, so it had to be Betsy.

“Clyde!” Betsy started laughing. “You’re a crazy man. You can’t just go ripping a woman’s shirt off and… well, as long as it’s unbuttoned…” Moans and loud sucking noises came next.

“Good God,” Mitchell muttered.

Warmth spread through Ally as she realized that she and Mitchell were trapped into being voyeurs, whether they liked it or not.

“Clyde…” Betsy’s protests sounded weaker. “We should at least get into the bedroom before we… oh, well… as long as we’ve come this far…”

The labored breathing and rhythmic slap of flesh against flesh could only mean one thing. Ally closed her eyes as the groaning and moaning grew in intensity. She was bearing auditory witness to Betsy getting some.

Sure, she was embarrassed to be caught in this awkward situation, especially with Mitchell standing right behind her. But embarrassment wasn’t her only reaction. She was getting into it. She didn’t want that to happen, but she seemed to have no control over her wayward body.

Most of all, she didn’t want Mitchell to know that this incident was affecting her that way. That would be humiliating. She swallowed and tried to breathe normally.

Then she became aware that Mitchell’s breathing had changed, too. Oh, no. It was happening to him, too. And he, poor guy, had the hots for her. Talk about your cruel and unusual punishment.

Thank goodness she didn’t have a similar crush on him. Otherwise, once they finally made it back upstairs, their midnight snack would be forgotten. They’d have far more important things to take care of first.

For a nanosecond Ally let herself imagine how much fun that would be, even considering she’d be doing it with Mitchell instead of a guy she really craved. Then she dismissed the idea. Doing it with Mitchell, when he cared and she didn’t, would be unforgivable. He deserved better than that.

* * *

Chapter Eight

This is what he got for allowing himself to be sucked into unnecessary schemes like refrigerator raids. Mitch listened to the sounds of lust from the other room and tried to gain some control over his already susceptible package.

If he’d had any common sense, he would have nixed the refrigerator raid and he and Ally would be upstairs now, playing poker with matches. But no, he’d decided to go along with Ally’s wish for a middle-class experience—a midnight snack swiped secretly from the kitchen without the cook’s knowledge.

Now the cook was horizontal in the hall with the tap-dancing owner of the Top Hat, and Mitch had to carry on as if that sort of thing didn’t faze him.

“I can’t believe this is happening,” Ally murmured.

“Welcome to Alaska.” Mitch tried to say it in an off-hand way, as if he found this mildly amusing instead of downright stimulating.

“Not so loud,” she whispered back. “They might hear you.”

“Are you kidding? They wouldn’t hear a full orchestra playing the ‘Eighteen-twelve Overture’ complete with cannon fire. I’m sure we could parade right through the lobby and up the stairs and they’d never notice.”

“Tell me you’re not suggesting that.”

“I’m not suggesting that.” The mental image made him cringe. “We’d both be scarred for life.”

“Probably. I can’t say, never having been in this—” She stopped speaking as Betsy screamed, “Oh, God, I’m coming!”

Mitchell cleared his throat. “There’s a chance that could be the grand finale.”

“We can only hope.”

But Clyde’s tempo didn’t change and Betsy tuned up again.

“That’s two,” Mitch said as Betsy announced her second Big O. “Now it should be over.”

“Maybe not. I think she’s been saving up.”

And sure enough, Mitch caught the unmistakable signs of Betsy working up to another cli**x.

“That’s three,” Ally said when the moment arrived.