Elenore hadn’t flipped out on me for invading her privacy. Nor had she asked me to leave. If she dropped her towel and started dressing right there in front of me, I’d likely cream the inside of my jeans. She was perfect. And not just because she was brainy, beautiful, and had her shit together, but because she was fucking weird. I’d been through her entire apartment, and nothing was out of place. Her closet was arranged by color with pictures of her goddamn outfits to keep them straight. Nobody was naturally this clean, organized, and meticulous.
Elenore had a screw loose.
Which meant I might actually have a chance with her.
“You left the door open,” I blurted out, sounding like a fucking idiot.
“To my apartment. Not my bedroom.”
“It wasn’t locked.”
She added pants to the pile of clothes in her arms and turned to face me. “I need to get dressed.”
I wanted to tell her to go right ahead but decided not to push my luck. Still clutching the sexy photos I’d filched, I said, “These are mine.”
“You know what they say; everything’s acceptable in moderation.”
“Oh really?” Elenore quirked a smile. “What about arsenic? Mercury? Polonium?”
I was familiar with the first two, but that last word had me stumped. “What’s polonium?”
“A highly radioactive metal with a median lethal dose of one millionth of a gram. It’s rumored to make a lovely poisonous tea. Too bad it’s only produced in Russia and has a terribly short halflife, making it almost impossible to transport.”
“I don’t know whether to be terrified or impressed by your odd fascination with murder methods.” Even I recognized that this was no ordinary, socially acceptable conversation. Anyone else probably would have run away screaming, but for the first time in recent memory, I wasn’t afraid. Elenore was fascinating as shit. She kept such white-knuckled control over herself and her surroundings. It made me curious what would happen if she let loose.
Eyes sparkling with mischief, she pushed away from the sofa, stepping toward me. “Do you want to see a magic trick?”
The only trick I wanted to see was my dick disappearing down her throat, but saying so would make me an asshole. Especially since she was drunk. I nodded. “Sure.”
She smacked a hand to her back, wincing as she overextended her elbow. “Wait. I have too many clothes on.”
She pulled off her borrowed tee and tossed it on the bed, sucker-punching me with a glimpse of creamy pale skin. Against all odds, I was trying to do the right fucking thing here and keep my filthy hands off her. Couldn’t she help me out just a little? Obviously not, because she reached up her shirt and unclasped her bra. Her breasts shifted into their natural position, hugged by her tightass shirt. Hard nipples tented the front of the fabric, making my hands itch and my mouth go dry.
She was just… perfection, and she was… fuck. She was removing her bra. Without lifting her shirt, she yanked one bra strap over an arm before struggling with the other. Then she pulled the entire black lace brassiere—it was too fancy to be called a bra—through an armhole and tossed it aside.
The real magic trick would be me not devolving into my primate brain and fucking the hell out of her tonight. Just when the situation couldn’t get any worse, she palmed her breasts, lifting and lowering them as she sang some song about milkshakes and atoms.
It was the hottest thing I’d ever seen.
Unable to help myself, I let my thumbs dip under her T-shirt and sample the softness of her skin.
She sobered. “That’s what I want for my last meal.”
“Milkshakes, atoms, and pizza?”
She nodded. Then she shook her head. “I don’t think I’m mentally cape. Cape. Capable of sharing this or any information right now. Besides, there are other things better suited to take up our time.”
Her hands dropped to my zipper, and my self-control snapped.
Then she puked all over me.