An Excerpt From: Slippery When Wet
Copyright © Allie Standifer, 2011
All Rights Reserved
Note: Allie Standifer’s books are intended for those readers 18 years old or older.

Shoving down every naughty thought, desire and impulse, Petra pasted a polite smile on her face and allowed the sex god in blue jeans to guide her to the front door. For the first time since building her home, she wished the damn sidewalk was a whole lot longer. Maybe if she could keep the flesh on flesh contact going and play a few of her naughtier fantasies all staring Roman, of course, she could build herself up to a nice quiet orgasm. How cool would that be? If it worked she’d make sure to see him once a week for a quick little cha cha pick me up.
“Is the alarm turned on?”
“Huh?” Damn she had to stop doing this. No one able to read her thoughts would ever believe her IQ hit three digits, not with the one track sex parade she had running through there.
“Alarm? Is it on?” He asked in a patient tone people generally used for the slow-witted and window lickers of the world. “You know the loud beeping thing, summons the men with guns and bright flashing lights on their cars?”
“Um yeah, I always turn it on especially if I’m going out of town.” When did it get so hot outside? The Texas sun, already dipping low in the sky, felt centered on her and her alone.
A dark brow drew up at her statement. “You were out of town?”
“Yep, the big birthday bash.” She didn’t have to explain more. Roman would remember from those times before.
“Oh yeah Petrapoolza, how could I have forgotten? What city was lucky enough to deal with the invasion of you and your friends?”
“Hey we’re not that bad and this year we actually stayed in Texas and descended on Alix’s house in the Hill Country.”
“She still living out there by herself?” He reached in the pocket of his faded jeans and pulled out a key ring with a large pink diamond.
Her heart leapt at the sight of it. Years ago she’d given him the key and keychain during the construction. Bright and totally girly Petra expected him to laugh and ditch the bright pink fake jewel as soon as humanly possible. Instead he’d kept it.
Tears fought to spill from her eyes. “That’s so sweet,” she admitted.
“It has nothing to do with being sweet and everything to do with being efficient. No way would this testosterone draining girly monstrosity ever get lost or thrown out.”
Petra bit back her laughter, enjoying the teasing banter even as he used the key to open her thick oak door. “Punch in the code before we both get arrested for the use of bad puns.”
Doing as he said, Petra hit the six-digit code, immediately the loud warning beeping noise stopped. Silence hung between them as did the open front door.
“Come in, the least I owe you is a beer for rescuing my damsel in distress self. And you, my friend,” she pulled him in making sure the door closed tightly behind his tall form, “owe me a story. It’d better be good too since I’ve almost convinced myself to allow you at the barbeque pit.”
He snorted out a laugh. “You’re too kind and gracious.” But he didn’t make a run for it. Instead he followed her lead through the dark cool house into the wide-open kitchen.
Flipping on the lights she said over her shoulder, “Check out the fridge and freezer while I grab my bags from the car.”
Sunglasses pushed to the top of his head, Roman gave her another dumb ass look. “Why don’t you explore the empty arctic tundra you call a fridge while I grab the bags?”
Enjoying the hell out of herself Petra put her hands on her hips and tried to look intimidating, knowing she failed utterly when Roman burst out laughing. “There’s stuff in there.” She pointed to the large silver sub-zero machine keeping her cotton candy vodka at the perfect temperature.
“What about stuff not of the liquid variety?”
“Oh, go get my bags,” she huffed out and went to yank open the door. “I’ll deal with your fridge prejudice later.”
“Sure thing, Petra.” Looking completely at home Roman crossed the bright jewel toned marble floor, opened the door leading to the garage and walked out. “Crap, Petra, have you moved any boxes out of here since my guys left them?”
“Keep moving, nosy man. The bags and barbeque wait for no man, ” she cheerfully chirped out ignoring the heavy sarcasm in his voice.
“Keep it up and I’ll leave you with the garage door on strike.”
“You’re one of the good guys, Roman. You’d never be able to do it. The possibility of guilt alone would keep you up at night and torment you throughout the day. Not worth it, friend.”
He didn’t reply, but she hadn’t really expected him to. A man on a mission Roman wouldn’t stop or be deterred until her garage door worked liked new and he fed her. Too bad the sexy, but infuriating, man was right on one point. She really didn’t have anything in her fridge but liquids and ice cream.
“And that’s why the good Lord gave us delivery people.” Reaching for her ever-present phone Petra opened the app for her favorite pizza restaurant and placed the order before Roman even made it back from the car.
“Hey, what’s taking forever, long, tall and sexy? It’s not like I packed for a cruise or anything.” Quickly she ran over the contents of the cargo area in the back of her SUV. Two bright orange suitcases, computer case, make-up case and her pink satin bag.
“Oh shit! Wait, Roman!” Petra slammed the thick refrigerator door shut and raced across the kitchen, hoping like hell she could stop him.
The heavy sinking sensation in her stomach warned her she was too late. Roman had used the side door off the garage and as she raced to follow him Petra stopped short right as the garage ended.
Roman stood at the back of her green SUV, cargo door wide open, two suitcases at his feet, her vintage looking laptop case slung over his shoulder and something in his hands she couldn’t see, but he couldn’t seem to take his eyes off.
“Shit,” she whispered shifting from foot to foot all the while wondering what to do next. The mature thing to do would be to walk up and laugh it off, but too bad Petra wasn’t feeling very mature at the moment.
Nope, her only option would be to play stupid and ignore the bright pink elephant sitting on her chest. Slowly and desperate to draw no attention to her cowardly self Petra backed up and retraced her steps back into the kitchen.
“Shit, shit, shit, shitty, shit!” Desperate to smack some sense back into her brain, but not wanting to draw Roman’s attention to a bright swollen red knot on her head, she dismissed the idea of introducing her forehead to the marble counter.
“Petra?” Low and husky his voice still managed to reach all her naughty parts even in the midst of a full blow panic/freak attack.
“Is there something you want to tell me?”
Even knowing he wanted her to turn around Petra refused keeping her gaze glued to the pretty swirled countertop. “Not that I’m aware of. So you want a beer?”
“No, darlin’, I want to know about this. And why you won’t look at me?” The man must be part cat because he moved as quickly and quietly as one. Before she could laugh at him and brush the accusations away his hot broad chest brushed against her back.
“Nothing…to..ah…tell.” Was she panting? Did drool really drip down her chin? Why oh why didn’t she live somewhere with at least the chance of an earthquake? She’d love nothing better than to have the ground open up and swallow her whole. A little death would take away the horrible embarrassment heating her cheeks.
Before she could offer a prayer to Hades a shiny pink satin bag appeared in front of her innocently dangling from a long tanned finger.
“Sure you have nothing to say?”