The Lance Temptation Part 23

Hmm. Interesting conversation. But I'd need to see his eyes before I let him anywhere near my else... or my others. "Look, buddy, I appreciate you opening that latch thing, but you don't go grabbing women in the dark." Actually, that's precisely when most men do grab women.

He didn't respond.

When my hand ran out of castle wall, I knew it was time to turn right and head toward the distant door. I focused on the incredibly dim exit lamp, slightly nearer with each tentative step.

My left foot struck something that my outstretched hands didn't detect. Must be low. Checked it out. "Uh, there's something like a big trash can here, right in front of me."

"Where? Ow!" He found it.

What a baby. I'm the one with no shoes. But I was ruining the feet of my patterned black hose - another seven bucks down the drain. Sheesh. We were probably within thirty feet of the door now, and I struggled to remember where the registration tables were. Slowed down and reached lower. There. "Table here. Just to the right of me. We'll scoot along the edge of this and ought to be right at the door."

"Well, hurry. If you know what I mean."

I knew. My eyeb.a.l.l.s were slos.h.i.+ng. Both leather pumps in my outstretched hands reached the cinderblock wall at about the same time with loud clacks. Don't know why I did this - reflexive, I suppose - but I clutched both shoes in one hand and tugged up my bustier with the other. Modesty? Vanity? Then I groped for the light switch.

He did too, around to my left. "Okay, I'm in the doorway. Where's the light?"

"Can't be far. One side or the other." I felt his hands on my left arm as we both groped blindly for the switch.

"Oh. Sorry."

"Okay. No sweat." I lied. His touch was electric. I wanted to think about it some more, but my kidneys had short-circuited my brain. "Switches are about chest high on me. It's got to be here somewhere."

I heard one of his hands whap against the wall as the fingers of his other hand grazed my bustier. Yep, that's chest high. "Hey, buddy!" As I spoke I found the switch and flipped it vigorously. It was just for the entryway. The rest of that huge s.p.a.ce would have a whole bank of switches, probably not far away. The bright light immediately overhead made both of us shut our eyes reflexively.

His must have opened first. "Uh, you're a witch!" He gasped as though that notion actually frightened him.

When I opened my eyes, he was staring at the goose-pimples among the decolletage created by my bustier. "Well, you're..." It took me a second to identify someone in a brightly striped s.h.i.+rt, breeches with a sash, a dagger - hopefully not real - tucked in his waistband, and a disheveled headscarf. Plus, a black eye patch dangled from his left ear by a strand of cheap elastic. "...you're a pirate!"

"Aarrgghh." He dashed away toward the nearest buccaneer's room.

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