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Hi-Jinxed
A Nether-Netherland Story
Two troublesome facts jerked anthropologist Trevor Masterson from his favorite erotic dream.
First, he'd fallen asleep facedown on the specimen tray next to his sleeping bag, and now miscellaneous debris dug into his skin, clinging to his chin like a dirt goatee.
Second, the female form struggling to free herself from the mosquito netting looked nothing like Katrina-the only female on Trevor's team-and more like a Victoria's Secret model.
How long had it been since he'd laid eyes on a woman who wasn't covered in dirt? Three weeks? Four?
A dusty tent on the edge of a Costa Rican rain forest was an unlikely place to encounter a moonlit silhouette like the one tangled in the mosquito net lining the tent flaps. Maybe he wasn't quite as awake as he'd thought.
"May I help you?" he ventured, the words scratchy against his dry throat.
"Shhh, Angus, niņito," came the soft reply. She broke free from the netting. "Duérmete."
Trevor frowned. Niņito
niņito
Little Angus? Who the hell was Little Angus? He rubbed the heel of one hand across his cheeks, dislodging the assorted dirt. Usually, the women in his dreams had much better names for him than Little Angus.
"I'm not little," he muttered, struggling to his feet. "Or Angus. Who the hell are you?"
"I'm a tooth fairy, of course." The canvas flaps fluttered closed, enshrouding them in darkness. The faint scent of vanilla musk spiced the air. "Go back to sleep or I won't leave any money under your pillow."
"I don't have a pillow." Trevor ducked when his head scraped the top of the tent. "And it'll cost you plenty if I have to replace my mosquito netting."
What the hell was happening here?
He groped for the fallen Mag-lite beneath the folding tray and aimed the mega-watt beam at the curvy intruder.
Chin-length silver-blonde hair fluttered above naked shoulders. A barely-there Tinkerbell-style dress shimmered from breasts to thighs. Thin black cat-eye glasses framed wide hazel eyes. But even more bizarre than the bare feet was the pair of oversize glitter wings protruding from her back.
Either Halloween started in May this close to the equator or something was seriously wrong here.
She lunged at him. "Turn off the light!"
Trevor ducked, and his foot tangled in his sleeping bag. He landed on his back with the woman sprawled on top of him, the tip of her nose rubbing against the side of his. She stared at him without moving. He stared back, hyper-conscious of every inch of her delectable body pressing against his.
If he moved even a millimeter, his mouth would be directly underneath hers. Matter of fact, their bodies were perfectly aligned for some hot, sweaty sleeping bag action.
As if he'd spoken the thought aloud, she snatched the flashlight out of his hand, leapt to her feet and pointed the beam at Trevor.
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