The Husband List. Cindy Kirk

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      “C’mon, Bill. Please call me Mitzi.” She slanted a sideways glance at Keenan. “Hello, again.”

      Keenan touched the brim of his ball cap. “Ma’am.”

      She frowned then turned from him in dismissal. Her imperious gaze swept the room.

      He tried to see the home through her eyes: the massive stone fireplace with hand-carved mantel against one wall, twelve-foot ceilings that pulled the eyes upward, creating a feeling of openness. Whoever had drawn up the plans had done a superb job of contrasting warmth and comfort with understated elegance.

      “I’m going to wander.” She waved a hand. “Don’t let me disturb you.”

      “I can show you—” Bill began then glanced down as the phone clipped to his belt buzzed. He lifted it, grimaced. “I’m afraid I need to take this. Keenan can point out what we’ve finished up today.”

      “I don’t need—”

      “I’m happy to do it,” Keenan said smoothly, catching Bill’s look.

      Mitzi must have noticed it too, because she didn’t protest further.

      “Bill set the countertop this morning.” He gestured with one hand as they entered the kitchen area. Keenan pointed out several other accomplishments Bill had mentioned when he’d first arrived.

      Though Mitzi listened intently, she didn’t say much. But as the tour continued, he understood by the way her gaze kept flitting to him and lingering that lust had punched her, too. Desire, hot as a fired-up grill, snapped and sizzled in the air.

      She might be determined to push him away—as he was with her—but he’d stake his life she was fighting a losing battle with the pull.

      No guts. No glory.

      His former mantra rose up and slapped him in the face.

      “Do you have plans for dinner?” Keenan heard himself ask when they paused at the door to the last of the three bedrooms.

      Her head swiveled.

      “I was thinking of stopping by Perfect Pizza tonight.” He gave a careless shrug. Just because he’d succumbed to the urge didn’t mean he’d beg. “Interested?”

      Mitzi slid a hand along the recently sanded doorjamb and his mouth went dry.

      Okay, maybe he’d consider begging.

      “Interested?” She lifted a brow. “In what?”

      In pushing up that sweater and letting me fill my hands with your breasts.

      In tugging that scrap of skirt down and exploring with my mouth and tongue what lies beneath.

      Heck, yes, he was interested.

      Keenan took a moment to collect himself. “Pizza, of course.”

      “I’m not sure us having dinner is a good idea.”

      Keenan understood. Right now his own gut roiled. But standing back and letting life happen had never been his style. He gave a little chuckle. “You’re afraid.”

      “Don’t be silly.” She huffed. “I’m not afraid of anything. Or anyone.”

      He clucked like a chicken, a noise straight from childhood. It had infuriated Betsy when he’d used it on her as a kid. From the flash of temper in Mitzi’s eyes, it had the same effect on her.

      “Have you considered,” she said between gritted teeth, “that I simply may not want to share a pizza with you but am too polite to say so?”

      “Nope. Absolutely not.” He shook his head. “Chicken.”

      Her lips twitched upward. Just once.

      “If I did come,” she began, waving one hand loosely in the air, “it would be because I’m hungry. And because I haven’t had...pizza...in weeks.”

      “Understood.” He hadn’t had...pizza...in years, either.

      “It wouldn’t be a date,” she said quickly. “And I won’t allow you to pay my share.”

      “Hmm.” Keenan rubbed his chin. “I don’t recall offering.”

      Her eyes narrowed to slits. She didn’t even crack a smile. “I’ll be blunt. I’m not looking for a relationship with you.”

      “Sheesh, Mitzi.” Keenan lifted his hands, palms out. “Way to blow a simple invite into the stratosphere.”

      She blew out a breath. “As long as we understand each other.”

      Though she did a good job of hiding it, he saw the desire lurking in her eyes. Ah, yes, they understood each other. Quite well, in fact.

      He fixed his gaze on her, let it drop and linger on her breasts before returning to her lips. “I know exactly what I want.”

      “Oh, yeah? Well, tonight what you’re going to get is pizza.”

      He hid a grin, wondering if Mitzi realized that instead of slamming the door shut, she’d left it slightly ajar.

      * * *

      Mitzi told herself if she didn’t find a parking space on the first pass through downtown, she’d head to Hill of Beans, pick up a nice Cobb salad and take it home to eat.

      As she sped down Main, an Escalade eased from the curb, leaving a space big enough for the entire state of Utah. Yet, even after she pulled into the spot, Mitzi made no move to get out.

      When she’d left Keenan and Bill at her new home, it hadn’t even been five. Now it was nearly seven. She’d had plenty of time to consider Keenan’s dinner challenge. Even as she showered and changed her clothes, the red flags waving wildly in the air urged her to turn tail and run. It wouldn’t be wise to meet him.

      Not for pizza. Certainly not for sex.

      Though if she was being totally honest, she’d have to admit to one or two lascivious thoughts when she’d seen him with that tool belt slung low across his hips and a white T-shirt stretched broad across his muscular chest.

      Perhaps that’s why she was here. To prove to herself she could still handle temptation. If she ever did hop into bed with him—and that was a mighty big if—it would be a rational decision, made after much thought.

      It would be foolish and shortsighted to cast aside the option entirely. Her husband hunt could take time. Until she found someone who met her criteria, her choice was either to remain celibate or snatch a few moments of pleasure where she could find it.

      It wasn’t as if either she or Keenan would be using each other. Not if they both hopped into bed knowing it was only a physical thing. But tonight, the only thing on the menu was pizza.

      Reassured, Mitzi headed for the restaurant.

      * * *

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