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Signed, Sealed, Delivered (SYTYCW winner)

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CHAPTER SEVEN

Lane's next scheduled date with Adam wasn't until Saturday, when they were to shop for what Lane had privately labelled her 'desperate-for-sex wardrobe'.

So when she answered a knock on her door on Thursday night, she was stunned to find him outside, holding a bottle of red wine and a DVD.

"I like the jeans," he commented.

Lane looked down at her only pair of jeans - washed to within an inch of life - at the too-big sweater, at her be-socked feet. She looked a wreck, basically.

"Sweater's good, too," he added.

Was he serious?

Adam grinned, reading her mind. "Women in men's clothing. Mmmmm. Almost irresistible. Lesson Seven - and I didn't even have to teach you. Ex-boyfriend's?"

"I don't have one of those," she said, pondering the significance of the DVD. "I bought it for my brother, but he didn't like it."

"Aren't you going to ask me in?" Adam asked, and Lane realised she'd been barring entry to the house.

"That depends."

"On ...?"

"What your plans are."

"Just a movie," he said, and pushed past her. He flashed the DVD cover on his way, and Lane grimaced. The Notebook? Seriously? A man knew about this movie?

"Then no, I'm not letting you in," she said. Kind of dumb, because he already was in. She crossed her arms over her chest and tried another tack. "I'm not interested in seeing that movie. I've seen it before. And what are you doing here, anyway? We weren't scheduled until Saturday."

"Lesson One, remember? Anywhere, any time," Adam said cheerfully, and booted the door closed.

"I don't want to watch it."

"Why not?"

"It's got nothing to do with sex."

"Nothing to do with sex? It's one of the sexiest movies ever."

She ucrossed her arms and whacked her hands on her hips. "If I wanted to learn from movies, I could have got Deep Throat."

Adam took a step toward her, wine bottle in one hand, video in the other. They were almost nose-to-nose, and neither backed away an inch. "You're not ready for Deep Throat, Lane."

"And whose fault is that?"

"What, I'm to blame for years of repression, am I? I only met you a week and a half ago."

The air seemed to crackle between them. He leaned fractionally closer. She could see the most amazing chocolate flecks among the dark depths of his eyes. She could smell him. So clean and delicious. "If you wanted the kind of guy who'd bring over Deep Throat a week into a relationship, you backed the wrong horse," he said. "But I'm who you've got. So it's The Notebook."

Lane couldn't seem to drag her gaze away from his eyes. They were mesmerizing. "And Lesson Eight is ...?"

"That watching the right kind of romantic movie together can be very ... well, you'll see." He smiled - a sexy, secretive sort of smile.

Lane nodded. It sounded feasible. It sounded - or more correctly, he sounded - persuasive. His voice was husky, his dark eyes were practically smouldering, the way he stood, the stillness of his body seeming almost anticipatory, was unbelievably erotic.

Her hands dropped from her hips. "I'm not sure that a movie about enduring love is in keeping with your take on commitment, Adam, but all right, I'm willing to see what it does for your libido. Take a seat, and I'll get the corkscrew and glasses."

*****

Considering all he knew about The Notebook was that Sarah had cried herself into a state over it, he had no idea if it would do anything for his libido. But his libido was in very good form tonight regardless, thank you very much!

Just seeing Lane in jeans and a sweater had got him well on the way. And the thought of having her gooey and weepy and sniffling into his chest was making him feel very clever, and definitely up for a little base stealing.

Maybe it was novelty value, because he didn't normally go for the gangly, awkward, half-shy, half-bolshie, repressed, virginal Lane types. He was generally up for the confident, knowing, sexy, dolled up types.

Well, it was what it was.

He slotted in the DVD, grabbed the remote, kicked off his shoes, and settled as best he could on the uncomfortable couch.

She came in, completely poised. "Pass the bottle," she said.

"Let me open it," he said. She was about to argue, but then she smiled sheepishly, offering the corkscrew.

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