Love Potions by Michelle M. Pillows
“It’s called a sporran,” Erik said.
“Huh?” Lydia pried her eyes away from his waist, horrified to discover that she’d been staring at the man’s crotch again.
Almost defensively, she said, “I wasn’t wondering what you wore under your kilt.”
“Ah, well that would be nothing at all, lassie,” Erik said, again winking at her, “but I was telling ya that the black bag you’re looking at is called a sporran.”
“Oh,” Lydia turned to the window, rolling her eyes as she mocked herself.
Great going, Lydia! Way to make him think you’re not a s*x crazed w***e. Wait. Did he just say he was n***d under the kilt? She peeked at him, trying to determine if he was teasing her or not. Oh, great. It’s bad enough I can’t think straight around him, now he has to tell me he’s not wearing any underwear.