Calamity Gene

Chapter 6

Laughter was not exactly the reaction Gene had envisaged last night when she'd dreamed of Trace ripping off her clothes.

But who could blame the poor man when he was staring at three—count 'em, three—bras! And they weren't even color-coded today because she hadn't been expecting to get seduction-close to Trace until dinner-time, when she'd planned to be wearing only one bra (an irresistible black lace confection with pink ribbon bows).

Instead, she was treating Trace to a clash of color and style: purple, red, and white, layered from the flimsiest with the tiniest straps (skin-side), to the sturdiest with straps that would have covered a crack in the earth's crust (shirt-side).

Defensively, Gene stepped back, managing this time to pull the two halves of her shirt together. "As it happens, I didn't pack a sports bra. And I haven't really managed to work out how to sit to the trot, or the jog, or whatever it's called. And even though I'm not especially well-endowed, you know, in the chest department, it kind of...of..." Ugh. Babbling. Stop! Just get it out. "Well it hurts, that's all. For a couple of days I've been wearing two bras and that seemed to help a little. So today, I thought if...if I wore—"

"You thought that today, if you wore three, it would help a little more?" Trace finished for her, and was off, laughing again.

She narrowed her eyes at him. "So three bras is funny?" she asked.

No answer—he was laughing too hard to get a word out. And if she wasn't mistaken, there was a snort in there.

Yeaaaah...no! After all her efforts to get a reaction out of Trace that didn't involve him bolting in the opposite direction, hilarity was not the reaction she was going to accept.

She unknotted the kerchief from around her neck and threw it at his feet.

That got his attention...but he was still laughing.

Right, then!

All business, Gene unsnapped her cuffs and stripped off her shirt. And if she had to bite down on a grimace as the sudden move stung her injured shoulder...? Well, her injured shoulder was just going to have to take one for the team! She extended her arm, swinging the shirt Gypsy Rose Lee style—and dropped it.

She was rewarded with the abrupt cessation of Trace's laughter.

Yeaaaah...not good enough. Not anymore.

Gene reached for the back clasp of her outermost bra—the sturdy white one. "If three bras are so funny, how about we make it two?" she asked, and with a deft movement of her fingers, the bra was unclipped. "What do you think, cowboy?"

She saw him swallow as she dropped the bra on the ground.

The red bra—not quite as sturdy as the white—was on display. On its own, it was a sexy number. But Gene didn't need to look down at her chest to know it was more ridiculous than sexy when overlaying its purple friend.

Trace, however, wasn't finding it ridiculous—not if the intense focus of his eyes on that red bra was anything to go by.

She waited, hoping for a little movement, but the only physical response he was offering was the clenching and unclenching of his hands by his sides.

Still not good enough. Not by a long shot.

"Not impressed?" she asked, and her voice came out husky and suggestive, and not at all like that of a woman standing in a barn wearing two bras.

His eyes widened as she reached around for the clasp at the back of the next bra. Flick, and a moment later it was off and dangling from her fingertips.