Tall, Dark And Temporary. Susan Connell

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СКАЧАТЬ into the brightly lit kitchen and smiled. Not Bailey’s by a mile.

      A long-legged blonde, leaning over the work surface, was sprinkling powdered sugar across a tray of pastries. Salsa music blared at top volume from a radio just inside the door. Each shake of the sugar can coincided with the beat of the music, while her hips kept time with the rhythm. Firm, curvy, shorts-covered hips. Short shorts. When the music suddenly broke into a conga, she reached to lift her sun-streaked blond hair off her neck. Flexing her knees, she managed an enticing series of bumps and grinds while shimmying her shoulders.

      Nick repositioned the pager attached to his belt, then leaned against the doorjamb as the woman continued to do amazing things to his libido. He pictured himself curving his hands around her hips to feel them moving. Or to hold them still. He cleared his throat noisily.

      “Can I cut in? Or don’t you need a partner for that?”

      The instant he spoke, the spirited show ended in an arcing cloud of powdered sugar as she whipped around to face him. She lost her grip on the can, sending it flying across the room. He momentarily lost her in the white swirl.

      When the air began to clear, Nick barely noticed the white powder on his shoes; he was too busy admiring the way it was settling on her. From those high cheekbones, all the way to her lightly tanned thighs, she looked as if she’d been hit with a miniature blizzard. Her grape-colored cropped top had moved upward with her jerky movements, revealing a sugar-filled belly button surrounded by flawless porcelain skin.

      She squinted under the bright lights, then turned to snatch a cream puff from the tray.

      “Who’s there?” she demanded, raising the pastry high as if it were a hand grenade. More powdered sugar drifted through the air, but she waved it away.

      “I’ll give you a hint,” he said, taking a step inside the kitchen. He turned down the volume on the radio, then raised his hands in mock surrender. “It’s not Elvis.”

      Her green eyes widened. And those full, soft and lusciously kissable lips parted. The last time he saw her, she had the same expression on her face. He smiled with purely masculine satisfaction, knowing that he could still elicit the same response. And this time, he hadn’t even stolen a kiss from her.

      “Remember me, Megan?”

      “Nick?” she whispered, lowering the cream puff. “Nick Buchanan?” Her disbelieving stare continued for several more enjoyable seconds. Then she laughed.

      He remembered her laugh. Flustered and hesitant, the breathy exhalation sounded the same as it had a decade ago when he’d held her in his arms and danced with her at her prom. And right or wrong, for better or worse, he knew why she was the first person he’d asked about on his return. He knew it from the way her laughter still echoed through him.

      She shifted her backside against the edge of the table, then nervously licked at the corner of her mouth. A rosy blush continued creeping over her cheeks.

      “You surprised me,” she said as she tried and failed to maintain eye contact with him. “I—I was just—”

      “You certainly were,” he said, referring to the sexy dance he’d caught her performing. “And doing a damn fine job of it, too.”

      When she brushed her fingers across her face and under her chin, he looked for a ring and saw none. Good, he thought, pleased beyond measure to know another man’s wife wasn’t having this stirring effect on him.

      In the shared and silent stares that followed, the only sounds came from the hum of the refrigerator, punctuated by the occasional crackle from the bug zapper outside in the alley. The moment shimmered with the almost painful pleasure of knowing he hadn’t been wrong all those years ago. Maybe it was revealed at night and only in her kitchen, but Megan’s budding sensuality had definitely blossomed.

      “You cut your hair.”

      “You let yours grow.”

      This time they laughed together and he knew he could easily spend the rest of the night in that kitchen exchanging banalities with her. What did he care about the paperwork waiting for him in his hotel room? Or the dozen or so calls he had to make before his meeting tomorrow night? He’d stumbled on his own welcome-home party and he wasn’t planning to leave anytime soon.

      “You look good, Megan.”

      “So do you.”

      Smiling at her whispered reply, he picked up the can of sugar, took it across the room and set it next to the tray. When he turned to face her, he realized he was close enough to brush the sugar from her forehead... or lick it from her cheek. The thought made his mouth go dry. He leaned his hip against the edge of the table and pointed at the cream puff.

      “You have a license to use that, lady?”

      “What?” She looked at the pastry in her right hand, then rolled her eyes as she replaced it on the tray.

      “So what are you doing here?” he asked, pretending Rebecca hadn’t already told him. “Besides making cream puffs to lob at your old friends.”

      “I bought out Bailey’s.” Tucking a lock of hair behind her ear, she looked up at him and smiled. “This is all mine,” she said, opening her arms, “as long as I pay the rent.”

      He nodded, noting she was finally beginning to relax a little. “From the looks of things when I walked in, I’d say you bring a lot of enthusiasm to your work. But I thought that Andy Sloan would have had you living in one of those big houses out on Red Oak Road by now,” he said, referring to the most exclusive area in Follett River.

      She looked away, rubbing her thumb against her lips as his gaze drifted over her. The signs of her sensual nature were still there, peeking through as surely as the white satin strap of her bra peeked out of her grape-colored top. Or in the curvy white-blond tempting-to-touch hair tickling at her collarbone. His gaze wandered to her eyes, then drifted downward again. “So whatever happened to Andy?”

      “Nick,” she said, folding her arms across her midriff, effectively cutting off his view of the taut belly softly punctuated by a sugar-filled navel. “Andy did marry me.”

      Nick blinked, then looked up, his lighthearted mood disappearing in her news flash. She was another man’s wife; she’d probably removed her wedding band when she’d started to make the pastries. Where was his head? A beautiful, sensual creature like Megan not married?

      “Whoa,” he said, taking a step back. “I have been away a long time, haven’t I?” He tubbed at the back of his neck, then gave her an apologetic wink. “How is Andy? Still shaking up everyone over at the country club with his tennis scores? Did he become district attorney, like you predicted?”

      Megan stared into the darkened dining room of the café. “Nick, Andy died.”

      If hearing she was married had surprised him, this news threatened to take his breath away. “Megan, I am really sorry. I had no idea.”

      “That’s okay,” she said, offering him a forgiving smile before her gaze shifted to the floor.

      “How did it happen?” he asked, then wished he hadn’t. The last thing he wanted to do was make her feel more uncomfortable by dragging up heavyhearted memories.

      “He’d СКАЧАТЬ