The Housewife and the Film Star Read Online Free PDF Page A

in Sven's features and drew Timmy in for a hug.
    "No, it's okay, but you may want to say sorry to Sven—and in future stop running!"
    Timmy kicked at the gravel under his sandals and looked from her to Sven, his little nose screwed up in worry.
    "Sorry, Sven … sorry, Mummy."
    "Okay, Timmy. Now go and take your football and play in the garden whilst I talk to Sven, will you?"
    "K."
    Sven had managed to sit up a bit straighter by the time she turned her attention back to him, and, this time, he was definitely glaring at her.
    "This is not funny, woman." His voice was beginning to return to its usual gravelly self.
    "That depends on where you're standing, doesn't it? What are you doing here anyway?"
    Sven shifted himself a bit more. The male groan he emitted made Sylvia clamp her hand on her mouth in an effort to stop herself from laughing. Timmy did have a hard head, so perhaps she ought to be a tad more sympathetic. On second thought, nah , this was divine justice. How the mighty have fallen and all that.
    "Once you've stopped laughing, woman, do you think you could give me a hand, please, being that it was your son who floored me, or are you intending to finish the job with that frying pan?"
    ****
    Sven wasn't sure he'd be able to use his cock for its intended purpose ever again. His balls still stung like crazy, and the icepack Sylvia had thrown at his head after she reluctantly helped him up and into the kitchen had done little to help.
    "Only because I don't need to give the neighbors any more ammunition to gossip over, and I warn you, you try anything, and your balls will be the last of your worries. You'll be wearing this frying pan, buster."
    Man, if that didn't turn him on even more. However, he valued what was left of his junk too much to voice that opinion out loud. He had no doubt whatsoever that the firecracker making him a cup of coffee right now would follow through on her threat.
    "What's so damn funny, Sven?"
    Sylvia studied him across her small kitchen, arms crossed, teeth worrying that bottom lip.
    "That icepack working yet?"
    "If you mean, do I have any feeling left in my balls, then the answer is no. Your son may have just broken me."
    Sylvia rolled her eyes and shook her head.
    "What a loss to womankind that would be."
    "You have no idea, älskling ."
    Her groan of disgust made his smile deepen.
    "I'm sure I don't want to know what that means, do I?" Sylvia said.
    "I've a far too healthy respect for your frying pan to tell you, that's for sure. So, tell me, why have you not returned any of my phone calls, or Vera's for that matter?"
    "I'd have thought that's obvious. I've absolutely no wish to be involved with the likes of you. Why the sudden turn about anyway? You decided I'm the good guy all of a sudden?"
    How to answer that one without risking further injury?
    "Let's just say I owe you an apology for some of the things I said. In my defense, I've a long history of the press raking me over hot coals, and, as you so beautifully pointed out at the time, there've been far too many kiss-and-tell stories about me as it is. Though in the words of a great man—'stories of my adventures have been greatly exaggerated.'"
    "Hah, next you'll be trying to convince me you aren't a playboy at all and are really a choirboy at heart."
    "I wouldn't insult your intelligence; though I was a Boy Scout. Does that give me some brownie points? Always prepared and all that?"
    To his relief Sylvia's lips twitched in amusement. Her eyes lost some of their coldness as she stepped toward him and, with a feather light caress, ran one slim finger over the graze under his eye.
    "I hadn't noticed that before. Timmy really did a number on you, didn't he? Let me go and get something to clean it with."
    He managed to grab her before she moved away again and, with a small tug, pulled her on his lap. The move dislodged the ice pack.
    "It doesn't need cleaning, but you can kiss it better if you like."
    "Dream on, buster." Sylvia's reply