NAKED TRUTH

Cindy poked her head around a corner—and froze.

Al was stark naked, combing his wet hair with one hand and eating with the other. Holding the blow-dryer was a little silver statue; an odd sort of prop, but if it worked—

Dear God, he’s a hunk. Al still hadn’t noticed her; the noise of the blow-dryer must have covered the sound of her entrance. She felt like a peeping Tom.

Caught between embarrassment and an undeniable attraction, she started to back out—and ran into the corner of the cabinet instead. “Excuse me!” she blurted, as Al suddenly looked up into the mirror and met her eyes.

She froze like a deer pinned in a car’s headlights. The little silver statue turned to look calmly at her, still holding the blow-dryer. The dryer cord dangled straight down, and though the dryer was running, it wasn’t plugged in.

Unlike the statue’s metal ones, the eyes that met hers in the mirror were emerald green and slitted like a cat's. The ears, standing up through the wet hair, were pointed.