Truly, Madly, Briefly. Delores Fossen

      “There’s a whole case of triple-X Bold-as-Brass Sheikh Yerbootees missing,” Rudy repeated. “I’ve double-checked the inventory, Bobbie, and they just aren’t there. I don’t think I’m jumping the gun here if I say that someone’s taken them.”

      She wrinkled up her nose. “You looked in the overflow stock room, I suppose?”

      “Absolutely. But I only found some glow-in-the-dark Boogie Boxers, some fantasy briefs and a couple of cases of those seatless Casanovas—the ones with the padded red silk lips on the fly-front. But I tell you, there’s not a Sheikh Yerbootee in sight.”

      Thank goodness Aidan couldn’t actually hear the bizarre phone conversation. It was a definite silver lining to an otherwise silverless moment.

      Obviously, the thief had struck again, and he or she delighted in stealing underwear with weird, kinky names. Why couldn’t this sticky-fingered person steal Gladiator boxers or Happily-Ever-After briefs? At least those were items that she could comfortably discuss in public.

      She’d have to make a report to Aidan, of course, but at least she wouldn’t have to give him a running commentary of their most bizarre inventory in the overflow stock room.

      “A problem?” Aidan asked when she hung up and dropped her phone into her purse.

      He stopped the car in front of her house. What he didn’t do was look at her. In fact, he hadn’t looked at her since they’d left the park. He sat soldier-stiff on the seat and kept his attention focused straight ahead. And he’d cleared his throat at least a dozen times. Maybe that massage oil had caused some kind of strange allergic reaction.

      “That was Rudy Tate. He says there’s more vanishing underwear.” Bobbie glanced up at the sky and huffed. The rain was still coming down in buckets. “Why don’t you come in for a while, and I’ll give you the details? There’s too much water on the road for you to be driving back into town anyway.”

      He hesitated but finally nodded. And he cleared his throat again. That time, Bobbie had a pretty good idea what caused that throat clearing and the hesitation. It probably wasn’t a good idea for them to be under the same roof alone, but the sudden storm hadn’t given them a lot of options. She didn’t want him getting into an accident after rescuing them both from Sugarfoot the ferret and her navel-lint ex-fiancé.

      She covered her head with the travel magazine, and they made a mad dash into her house.

      “This time there’s a case of briefs missing,” she explained as she tried to shake off some of the rain. Still, Aidan didn’t look at her, and he had his hands clenched by his sides. Definitely weird. What was going on? “Hold on and I’ll get you a towel.”

      “Uh, were the briefs size triple-X?” he asked.

      Bobbie opened the linen closet and yanked out several thick towels. “Yes, how’d you know?”

      “Lucky guess.” He took one of the towels she offered and scrubbed it over his water-beaded face. Actually, he covered his entire face with it. “But it might be an important clue. Maybe size matters.”

      Bobbie fought to stop herself from laughing, but she didn’t quite succeed. She playfully nudged his arm with her elbow. “I’ll bet that’s the only time a man’s ever admitted that to a woman.”

      Aidan slowly lowered the towel. His mouth twitched, but he too lost the battle and grinned.

      All that arm-nudging and grinning came to a grinding halt, however, when his gaze dropped. The moment might have been light, but they were right against each other. Arm touching arm. Their bodies only a couple of inches apart, and they were definitely sharing the same air space.

      Not good.

      Bobbie cleared her throat and stepped away from him. “Anyway, about those Sheikh Yerbootees. I mean, that’s the name of the underwear. Rudy checked around the factory, and the case is definitely missing.”

      “Uh, Bobbie?”

      There was a look almost of pain on his face. “What is it, Aidan?”

      He motioned in the general direction of her shirt. “You’re sort of…well, I mean the rain…”

      Bracing herself for the worst, Bobbie glanced down.

      Yikes!

      Her flowered print top was practically invisible. Ditto for her lacy push-up bra. In fact, the only things that were perfectly visible were her breasts.

      She jerked the towel from her face to cover up, swatting herself in the eye during the process. “I’m sorry. I had no idea.”

      “I know. That’s why I decided to tell you.”

      Bobbie motioned toward her bedroom. “I’d better go change.”

      She managed to keep her voice calm enough, but on the inside, that was a different story. The intimate apparel gods were obviously having a good belly laugh at her expense. First, she had to discuss Sheikh Yerbootee underwear with Aidan. And then, there was that whole “size matters” thing.

      But those were mere appetizers in the whole humbling underwear scenario of life.

      Now, he’d seen her breasts in all their glory. Or rather their less-than-ample glory. She might never be able to look him straight in the eye again.

      The phone rang the moment that she shucked off her shirt. “Aidan, get that for me, please?” she called out.

      With her luck, it’d be Rudy with yet more news of missing underwear. This time, it would likely be a case of those seatless Casanovas with the attached padded lips. Or maybe some of the ultraclassy Cheek-a-boos.

      Bobbie hurriedly changed and rushed back into the living room to face her fate. She came to a halt the moment she saw Aidan.

      From the look on his bleached face, it was more than fate she’d have to face. Much more. It appeared he’d received some horrifying news. Maybe the entire factory inventory was missing, and she’d have to discuss each item in excruciatingly embarrassing detail.

      “That was your Uncle Quincy,” Aidan informed her. “He said the rain washed out the road leading back to the highway, and they’ll have to stay in town tonight.”

      Even though on the surface that didn’t seem as much of a calamity as missing Cheek-a-boos, Bobbie knew differently. If the road was gone, then that meant Aidan had to stay. At her house. With her.

      Alone.

      All night.

      The Cheek-a-boos would no doubt have proven a lot easier—and much less hot—to handle.