Free Nothing to Hide by Isabel Sharpe

for you.” She strolled toward him, oh so casually, knowing full well what she was doing and how his male pea-brain would react to her. She knew how to play the game as well as he did.
    Probably better.
    “What do you mean?”
    She sank into a chair opposite him, leaning forward, elbows on the island counter, chin in her hands, pushing her breasts forward and together. Go on, take a look at that.
    He did. What a surprise. One nervous glance, then another, less nervous.
    “I mean let’s cut the bull, Erik.” She lowered her voice to a soft purr and slowed her speech for maximum effect. “I’m a sexual person. I love sex, I love everything about it, every position and every mood.”
    He shifted in his chair and made an inarticulate noise.
    “One thing sexual people can do without fail is spot other sexual people.” She held up her fist and extended her index finger toward him. “You.”
    Erik stopped fidgeting. “Yes.”
    “In the long term, we can’t be happy except with people like ourselves. You know what I mean? You and I, we want it all the time. Any time of day, any time of night. You say the word and―” she snapped her fingers, making him blink out of his heavy-lidded daze “—we’re ready.”
    “I know what you mean.”
    “So while Allie is... I mean I can tell that she is really fabulous. The kind of person I’d like to be friends with, too.” She slid her elbows farther toward him, beckoning him closer. He obliged until their faces were about four inches apart, Sandra gazing rapturously at his boyishly handsome face, Erik gazing rapturously at her cleavage. “But don’t you think that you, forever after, night after night, with a woman who isn’t dying for it every hour of every day...? I’m just saying.”
    Erik’s eyes jumped up into hers with a fierce, animalistic expression sexy enough to scatter electricity through her.
    Sweet mercy.
    So that was how he landed his prey. Start with the boy-next-door charm, and get ’em when they’re hot.
    He edged closer. Two inches apart. Perfect. “I think I’m starting to see your—”
    The back door from the porch into the kitchen burst open. Jonas and Allie stood in the doorway, right on glorious cue.
    A brief and deliciously awkward silence. Yet again.
    “Good morning, Jonas,” Sandra said cheerfully.
    “Hi, Sandra.” He sounded dumbstruck.
    “Allie!” Erik, not sure whether to attack or defend.
    “Erik...” Allie, looking adorably bemused.
    Ta-daaa! What fun.
    This weekend was going to turn out even better than she’d hoped.
    * * *
    Julie: So? How is Mr. Hottie this morning?

    Allie: We went kayaking. Frolicking happened.

    Julie: Frolicking! This is starting to sound serious. How is Erik?

    Allie: Sullen. Tell me I have nothing to feel guilty about.

    Julie: Guilty? GUILTY? OMG, do not even start with guilty. The guy is a putz. You owe him nada.
    Allie: Gotta go, Erik’s taking me up to the attic!

    Julie: Tie those legs together, girlfriend.
    * * *
    T HE CLOTHES WERE better than Allie had hoped. Much better. She was in heaven, surrounded by four steamer wardrobes. Inside each were stacked sliding drawers on one side and hanging space on the other. Erik had hung around hopefully for a while, but after it became obvious that Allie was completely absorbed in the silks, velvets, satins and sequins of fashion history and paying him only grudging attention, he gave up and went back downstairs, complaining that the attic was getting too hot.
    Hot? There was a fan siphoning air out the top of the house, and with a breeze blowing in through the open windows at either end of the room, Allie found the spot perfectly comfortable if a bit noisy.
    But then, with a treasure trove like this around her, she could have been sitting on spikes in a lake of boiling oil and been fine.
    In the one trunk she’d gone through that morning, one of Grandmother Bridget’s from the 1940s, she’d found a fabulous array of suits in stunning colors—emerald,