Quotes:
Excerpt:
“Ants in your pants...or…skirt?” She eyed the kilt swaying about Emile’s muscular, bare legs, wondering if the rest of the world had gone crazy or if it was only her small portion.
“It’s a kilt. Not a skirt, woman.” Emile peered past her, into the house. His focus bounced around with distraction to the point Elaina couldn’t help herself. She knew it was a kilt. She also knew calling it a skirt would aggravate the piss out of him.
“What do you have on under that skirt?” she asked, hoping to get a solid reaction from him, or at least his full attention. Then maybe he’d remember why the hell he’d come to her house. Assuming he had not, in fact, come over only to show off his skirt.
“Why? You wanna see?” The grin he gave her was all male devilry and sex appeal. The wagging of his eyebrows was the last straw.
Elaina threw her hands up in exasperation and marched into the kitchen, not bothering to see if he followed. The cat raced across her path, nearly causing a pileup in the doorway of the kitchen. Two pixie toddlers, about the size of Elaina’s pinky finger, sat astride the fearsome furry beast, their fists clinging to her multi-colored scruff. The twins’ parents flew behind the mounted duo, swooping in to right them when one started to list to the side.
Forcefully rubbing her temples, she attempted to rewind her life to a point before it’d gotten so insane. Emile strode into the kitchen and propped a lean hip on the table. Unfortunately or strategically, he’d chosen to prop his hip on the square inch of table space closest to her face. When she’d finished massaging her temples and opened her eyes, her nose nearly touched whatever was or wasn’t under his fine kilt.
She sighed, leaning back to look up at his face.
“I need your help.”
