Sex Drive. Susan Lyons

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СКАЧАТЬ sure ‘hot’ is an important criterion for making one’s reading choices,” I said dryly.

      A male snort told me someone had overheard.

      The clerk glanced over my shoulder. Her eyes widened and color flooded her cheeks. “Oops! Sorry.” She ducked her head and concentrated on stickering books.

      I turned and saw a man who definitely qualified as hot. His clothes were as simple as you could get—worn jeans, a navy tee—but they showcased a tall, well-muscled frame. His face and arms were tanned dark, and he obviously didn’t believe in haircuts. Though I wasn’t a fan of long hair, the shiny black waves hanging almost to his shoulders did suit him. He had a strong-featured face with a hint of the exotic, and bright gray eyes that were currently regarding me with a sparkle of humor.

      I felt an odd kind of physical awareness. Of him as a man. And me as a woman. Which definitely wasn’t the usual way I reacted to a guy. There was something familiar about him, yet I was sure I’d never met him. I’d have remembered that bizarre sense of awareness.

      “Not buying a book then?” he asked teasingly, with an Aussie twang.

      Embarrassed by my reaction to him, I averted my eyes and muttered, “No.”

      As I turned to walk away, I heard him say, “Each to his—or her—own.”

      Why did I feel as if I was running away? I brushed the thought—and the man—out of my mind as I collected a bottle of water, then found the magazine section.

      How surreal to be browsing bridal magazines. “Let me count the reasons I hate this stuff.” Whoops, I was muttering out loud again. I continued my rant inside my head. It’s a giant industry that manipulates brides into thinking the most expensive wedding is going to make for the happiest marriage. Don’t people know that—

      “Excuse me? Are you buying that one?” A female voice broke into my thoughts and I realized a perky young redhead was gazing at me inquiringly.

      “What?” I glanced down at the magazine in my hand, featuring the ubiquitous bride clad in frothy white. “I haven’t decided.”

      “It’s the last copy. So, if you’re not getting it, I’d like to. It’s my favorite.”

      “Then take it.” I handed it over. “They’re all the same to me.”

      “Oh, no, they’re not!” Her tone suggested I’d said something sacrilegious. “This one’s for the Australian bride, and that’s me.”

      She pointed to another on the shelf, using her left hand and flashing a small diamond. “That’s for the modern bride, the one beside it is more traditional, and oh, that one has the dreamiest things, but they’re way too expensive, though some of their ideas can be replicated on a cheaper scale.” She grabbed a copy.

      As she gushed enthusiastically, I studied the covers, thinking they all looked the same. Merilee had always left bridal magazines scattered around the house, but which had she favored?

      The redhead had chosen three. “I’m getting married in April, so we’ve less than a year to get everything organized. It’s so much fun. How about you?”

      “Me? Oh, it’s not me who’s getting married, it’s my youngest sister.”

      “Oh.” She glanced at my ringless left hand. “That must be hard. But I’m sure it’ll happen for you too, quicker than you’d ever guess.”

      “God, I hope not.” The words burst out, and when her smooth brow creased, I said, “I like being single. Seems to me, we each find the path in life that’s right for us. I’ve found mine.”

      She was still frowning a little as she raised her left hand and wiggled her fingers, making the diamond dance. “And I’ve found mine. Maybe you’re right, but it’s hard to imagine someone choosing to live alone. For the rest of their life.”

      It did sound rather like a life-in-solitary-confinement sentence, the way she said it. For a moment I remembered the way I’d felt with Jeffrey. Life had been brighter, richer. Happier. At our simple registry ceremony, I’d been euphoric. I might not be a white-lace kind of woman, but the promises I’d made had meant a lot to me. A future, a partnership, a sharing of life, love, work…

      Sharing? Oh yes, Jeffrey had definitely wanted me to share, but he hadn’t returned the favor. No, he’d lied to me from the start, then betrayed me. The pitiful truth was, I wasn’t the kind of woman who inspired a man’s love and loyalty.

      “Some of us just do better on our own,” I said to the girl. “But I hope you’re very happy.”

      “Your sister, too.”

      After she’d gone, I chose the modern and traditional magazines she’d showed me. Might as well have both extremes—and see if I noticed the slightest bit of difference.

      After paying, I squeezed the magazines into my carry-on. In addition to my laptop and the wedding planning book, it held undergrad exams to grade. Thanks to Merilee’s late-breaking news, I was leaving the uni a week before the end of the semester.

      When I entered the departure gate, business class was loading. I joined the line, since, as a frequent flyer, I’d had the luck to have been upgraded. On the ten-hour flight to Honolulu—the first leg of my trip to Vancouver—the perks of business class would make a huge difference. Decent food, a couple of glasses of nice wine, space to work, a seat I could actually sleep in.

      Now, if only I got a seatmate who put on his or her headphones and left me alone.

      The plane had two business-class sections: one on the upper deck, which was more private, and one on the main deck. I was in the main one, assigned to a window seat in one of the side banks of two seats.

      The seats in business class were different than the basic ones in economy. Rather than being linked together with shiftable armrests between, these were independent chairs. Kind of like those recline-in-front-of-the-TV loungers, except lodged inside a hard-shelled cocoon frame.

      When I arrived at my row, a black-haired man was in the aisle seat, bending to stow a bag under the seat in front, and I couldn’t get past him. Behind me, people were making impatient sounds, so I said, “Excuse me? Could I slide by so I don’t hold others up?”

      “Sorry.” He straightened with a quick smile, a disarming one that crinkled gray eyes and flashed white teeth in a dark face framed with too-long hair. The man from the bookstore.

      “You!” Definitely not the seatmate I’d have chosen even if he was, as my secretary would have said, eye candy.

      His smile quirked into a grin I had trouble reading. “If it isn’t the discerning reader.” He rose and moved into the aisle to let me go past.

      I’m not clumsy by nature, yet I managed to trip over his feet. Big, brown, well-shaped feet in leather sandals.

      When I stumbled, his right hand caught my shoulder and held it. “Easy now.”

      Easy? With the heat of his hand burning through my cardigan? My breath caught and I couldn’t move. Something—a kind of energy—came off him. My body felt it like a tingly caress all over, though the only thing he gripped was my shoulder. There СКАЧАТЬ