Free Can't Get Enough by Sarah Mayberry

up straight, bristling.
    "I'd prefer it if you didn't call me that, thank you," he found himself
saying stiffly. Can you hear yourself? Now who's uptight?
    "I beg your pardon?"
    Her incredulity was clear. But he'd drawn a line in the sand, and he had to stand by it.
    "Office stud. I find it offensive. How would you like it if I called
you the town bike?" She surprised him by laughing out loud. "Go ahead,
see if I object." For a moment he stared at her, taking in the
transformation in her face when she laughed. She looked…nice.
Approachable. Attractive.
    All just a sugarcoating for her inner shrew,he reminded himself. Don't forget that. Never forget that.

    CLAIRE PLUCKEDat the neck of her heavy silk shirt, trying to get some
air between it and her hot skin. Why hadn't she picked a cotton shirt
this morning? She pictured the litter of clothes all over her bedroom
and declined to comment on the grounds that she already knew why: she
was a pig, and she needed to do the laundry.
    She spared a glance for the office stud opposite. Now that she knew he hated being called that she'd Page 37

    make sure to slip it into as many conversations as possible. See how he
liked being pigeonholed. His face was closed, quiet, but she could feel
his vulnerability. She'd shocked him with her revelations about what
his exes and flings thought of him, there was no question. She felt a
vague guilt at having spilled so many beans on him. For the first time,
she questioned some of the stories she'd heard about him, and some of
her value judgments. So, he dated a lot. Was that so bad? And then she
remembered twenty-three-year-old Fiona from Legal, her heart-shaped
face blotched with tears as she explained how Jack had made an excuse
for not staying the night in her bed after they'd done it. He'd ended their short romance the next day at lunchtime.
    He didn't deserve sympathy. Fiona deserved sympathy—as well as a good
kick in the wazoo for letting herself be suckered in by Mr.
Silvertongue .
    Claire was considering trying to take a nap when movement caught her
eye and she looked up to see Jack shrugging out of his shirt.
    "What?" he asked defensively. "You want me to ask permission or something?" What a jerk.
    "You can take it all off for all I care," she told him stiffly. He
raised an eyebrow, obviously doubting her. "Feel free to take off
whatever you want, too," he said idly, the glint of his eyes giving
away the fact that he was mocking her. She could feel her lips
disappearing again and she forced them to behave before he noticed. He
was sooooo annoying. She'd truly never met anyone else who could get her so riled
so quickly. What was it about him that got up her nose so much? She
studied him through her eyelashes, trying to work it out, and found her
gaze drawn to the broad expanse of hairy chest he'd just exposed. All
that huntin'-shootin'-fishin ' obviously agreed with him because he was
in pretty good shape, his pecs nicely defined, his stomach flat, the
hint of strong abdominal muscles showing as he breathed. She knew from
experience how tough it was to get lean enough to see those ab muscles,
and she reassessed her notion of his sybaritic lifestyle. Okay, maybe
he wasn't out wining and dining every night. Every second night,
probably. He'd need to, just to fit in all his office romances.
    It was nice to see a bit of hair on a chest, she decided idly, feeling
drowsy in the stuffy atmosphere. Most male triathletes made a habit of
waxing their chests to gain a little less drag in the water, and it had
been a while since she'd seen a nicely haired male chest. He had a good
tan, too, and the hairs looked healthy and dark and springy against his
brown skin. Her eyes followed the trail of hair as it narrowed over
those taut abs of his until it was just a promise as it disappeared
altogether beneath the waistband of his pants. She found herself
staring at a point just below his waistband, wondering again about
exactly how gifted Jack was supposed