Prompt courtesy of BeKindRewrite‘s Inspiration Monday. Lots of other great stuff through the link.
An ashtray, made from glass heavy, flew past Dzinski’s ear and crashed against the kitchen cupboard. It landed on the linoleum with a dull thud. He nudged it with his bare toe and noticed a small crack in its side.
The catapult it flew from belonged to a dame, a woman standing just outside the kitchen doorway. Half-dressed and screaming and somehow more attractive than she was when all buttoned up and composed forty-five minutes ago.
Her thin robe hung from her shoulder. Bare, raw lips moved quickly and severely. Dzinski couldn’t help but let his eyes travel down from her mouth to her jutted chin. Then past the straining tendons in her neck, as they grew from her slender collarbone. He let his eyes continue their journey, down to the full breast, barely held behind black lace.
Something she said snapped him back to attention.
“You dirty so-and-so,” she said, still too much a lady to lower herself with vulgarities. “You think yourself some type of knight-errant, a modern-day Galahad, off to save the helpless, fair-haired maiden from some ogre or dragon or band of highwaymen. Far too occupied with the hint of the Holy Grail on the horizon to see what he tramples beneath his heavy, clumsy hooves.”
Dzinski thought about her words and was working on an answer. Nothing came fast enough. She threw the hand not holding the gown in the air and left him standing there.
He picked the ashtray up and set it on the table, then exited the kitchen and leaned against the wall. He watched her mutter and stalk across the living room. She yanked her skirt and blouse from between the sofa cushions
Her clothes bundled up and held tight her chest; she stopped for a moment and looked at him. Her eyes as dark and sharp as the tip of the Black Knight’s lance.
“I believe your nylons are hanging on the bedroom lamp, milady,” he said.