“I was thinking we could do a little before that,” Ami told him. He’d actually let her paint his fingernails and play with lipsticks in the past.
“But I’ve been waiting forever,” he exclaimed. He grabbed his copy of the book off the end table and held it up. “Come on!”
“You don’t want to do some of this for while we read?” Ami turned her computer screen to face him.
His eyes got wide. “What's that?”
“Don’t you recognize those characters?”
“They look like Warriors of Easton.”
She grinned. “Exactly. I found some new makeup artists who are into Warriors! Look what they’re doing!”
“Those look like real horns!” He scrambled over Naomi to get closer to the computer.
“I know! It’s amazing! I want to learn how to do all of this,” Ami told him. Her cosplay for Comic-Con last year had been great, but she wanted to include makeup next time.
Andre looked up at her. “That's really cool.”
“Right?”
“You want to try some of it with me?”
She nodded. “You know you’re my favorite Warriors friend.”
He looked back at the screen, then at the makeup laid out on the table. “Do you have the stuff?”
“We might have to head to New Orleans, actually,” she said. “Which means…”
“Beignets!” Andre said.
“And pralines,” Ami added.
“Yes!”
“What do you say?” Ami asked. “Shopping trip? I also know a place that has the best capes and boots.”
His eyes were wide and sparkling and when he grinned, he looked so much like his dad that Ami’s breath caught in her chest.
“Okay! But we are going to read the book tonight?”
“Of course. I wanted to start three days ago, but I was waiting to do it with you,” Ami said.
“Do I need to be here for this?” Naomi asked, looking at them wide-eyed. “Or in New Orleans?”
Ami and Andre exchanged a glance, then looked back to Naomi.
“No,” they said together.
“Cool,” Naomi said with relief.
They all laughed.
They would have a lot more fun—and would end up with more pralines and cool boots—if Andre’s not-a-Warriors-fan aunt, who also monitored Andre’s sugar intake, stayed home.
Most men probably wouldn’t consider finding a past Miss Louisiana, wearing a tiny pair of shorts and a fitted tank top, asleep on his couch, a bad thing.
But Michael LeClaire did. Very much so. A very, very bad thing.
Because this was not just any past Miss Louisiana. Or just another blond, ex-beauty-queen-almost-Miss-America model in a white spaghetti-strapped tank top and very short black cotton shorts.
This was Amelia Landry.
Not only a woman he should not have lusty thoughts about, but the woman he actually had the lustiest thoughts about. And had since she'd turned twenty and spent the entire summer in Autre, Louisiana. And had come strutting down his friends’ boat dock in a neon green string bikini and he’d forgotten how to breathe.
Which had been—still was—crazy.
She was the younger sister of one of his very good friends. The granddaughter of a family who was so close to his own it was sometimes hard to remember who shared DNA with him and who simply knew everything about him, walked into his house without invitation, and had no sense of personal boundaries.
Incidentally, Amelia was in that latter group.
He'd known Ami since…well, as long as he could remember. She was not just some girl he'd met at a bar. She was not just another pretty face. She wasn't just some ex-beauty-queen-almost-Miss-America he found wildly attractive from a distance.
No, he knew Ami. And her family. All of her family.
She was also one of his son’s favorite people.
She was also five years younger than Michael, lived several hours away, traveled a lot, was the epitome of a city girl, lived a completely different lifestyle from his, and was, for all of those reasons and more, someone he could not get involved with.
She was off-limits. Period.
And now she was asleep on his couch in very skimpy clothes.
Michael allowed himself to look his fill. For one minute.
Sixty. Fifty-nine. Fifty-eight…
His gaze moved from the backs of her thighs to the curve of her ass, barely covered by black cotton, to the dip of her waist where a strip of skin peeked between the shorts and the tank, up to the curve of her right breast.
Where there was a streak of purple paint. Right up the center. If he traced it with a finger, he’d run right over her nipple.
He slammed his eyes shut.
Hey, we were only on thirty-one.
Yeah, he was not going to ogle this woman while she slept on his couch with his kid and dog.
Or any other time.
Fuck.
He took a breath, opened his eyes, and quickly took in the rest of the sight in front of him. She had bright green paint on her right cheek, a neon pink wig sat askew on her head, and what appeared to be orange and purple paint were smeared down one arm and thigh in addition to her breast.
He cleared his throat and forced his gaze to his dog who was curled up by her head, and his son who was stretched out next to her, all seemingly completely content. Damn, they looked adorable.
He didn't know what he’d expected when he walked in after a twelve-hour overnight shift. But this was definitely not it.
This was so much worse.
No one woke up either. Brownie had been trained early on as a pup not to bark when Michael came home at odd hours. He was a great protector when anyone else came around, but he recognized Michael and knew to be quiet and not wake the house. Michael ran a hand over the dog’s head and down its back.
And resisted the urge to do the same to Ami.
Michael ran a hand over the top of his own head and looked around the room. It looked like they'd had a hell of a good time, whatever they'd been doing. Various colorful pieces of clothing were scattered around, including the shirt he assumed Amelia had been wearing over the tiny top she now had on.
The coffee table was covered with jars and tubes and palettes that appeared to be face paint. That at least explained her green cheek and chin.
And Andre’s bright blue face, Michael noted as he moved around in front of the couch and got a better look at his son.
The explanation for it all became clear when Michael's gaze landed on the book next to the face paint collection.
Warriors of Easton.
Ah, the new book had arrived.
Andre had been talking about it for weeks. Of course, having met the author contributed to his excitement. Still, Andre would have loved Warriors even without personally knowing Oliver Caprinelli. The videogame was full of magic, adventure, friendships, and challenges, and Andre was obsessed.
It looked like he had introduced Amelia to the book.
For a moment, Michael wondered if Ami was aware of the adult edition of the Warriors of Easton book. It was an erotic romance, according to his sister and her friends, and apparently very hot.
You do not need to be thinking about Ami reading erotic romance. Knock that shit off.
And no, you’re not going to read that book if you find out she has read it and liked it.
Definitely not.