Jonas and Catherine
…“Don’t worry about it. That’s my part.”
“Sure.”
He watched her for a time, Catherine squirming under his gaze. “I’ll be right back,” he said.
He walked across the floor toward his bedroom. She watched him move, feeling lust nudging at her again already. Then she noticed her panties laying there discarded and scooped them up, crumpling them into a ball.
He came back, handed her a t-shirt and a pair of boxers. “I’ve got nothing else that would even come close to fitting you.”
She took them, standing. “I do hate this dress,” she said, wishing she could not sound awkward around him. “I mean, it’s ugly is what I meant.”
“Did you want to borrow my neck again?” he asked simply.
To cry on. “No,” she said.
“My bathroom is yours for as long as you like.” One long arm stretched in the appropriate direction. She followed that arm across the room. The lights came on for her.
She turned back. “How did you do that?”
He shrugged. “Easy enough. It’s just an electric current. I’ve been playing with that since it was the newest invention.”
“Seems I need to find something more to say than good God,” she muttered.
She was graced with a smile and a bow she’d only seen in Jane Austen movies. Out of responses, even awkward ones, she closed the door, leaning back against it…
Darcy Branwyn 
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