The Fantasy Factor. Kimberly Raye

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СКАЧАТЬ going to thank you. I was going to tell you that I really can’t—”

      “Why, there’s Margie Weston!” Miss Marshalyn blurted. “I haven’t seen her in ages. I must go say hello. We’ll chat later, dear.” Before Houston could blink his eyes, he found himself standing alone. But not for long.

      It seemed that the old woman wasn’t just pointing out prospects to him. She seemed to be pointing him out to all of her prospects. In a matter of minutes, he found himself surrounded by a handful of women talking about everything from muddy diapers to various species of tomatoes.

      “I like the cherry ones, myself, but they do require extra care to grow. What about you, Houston? What’s your favorite tomato?”

      “I don’t eat tomatoes.”

      “How about cucumbers?”

      “Never liked them.”

      “What about squash? I’ve never met a man who didn’t like squash.”

      “Can’t stand the stuff. Wow, there’s Darcy Waters. I haven’t seen her in ages.” He tried Miss Marshalyn’s avoidance tactic. “I have to say hello.”

      He left the group staring after him, muttering about what a loosey goosey Darcy Waters used to be.

      They were right. She’d been loose back then, and she was still going strong, he quickly discovered after saying hello. Five husbands, an equal number of divorces and three kids later, she still found time to keep the dance floor hot over at Cherry Blossom Junction and every other honky-tonk in the surrounding counties. She liked astrology and Marlboro Lights and he quickly discovered that he didn’t like her half as much as he liked Sarah Buchanan.

      Even if Sarah was wearing a hideous orange bridesmaid’s dress and doing her best to avoid him.

      He shifted his gaze to the woman currently straightening the bride’s lengthy train. She busied herself behind the scenes rather than out front the way he remembered.

      She’s different now, a voice whispered. Last night proved what everyone said about her—namely, that she kept a low profile, walked the straight and narrow and conducted herself like a bona fide lady. At the same time, he couldn’t forget the wild light in her eyes when she’d stared up at him for those few moments on the dance floor, as if she’d wanted more from him than just a dance.

      Maybe. And maybe it was just wishful thinking because he wanted more from her than just one dance.

      He couldn’t help but wonder if she tasted as good as he remembered, if she felt as soft, if she sounded just as breathless when he nibbled at her neck and stroked her nipples.

      And Houston had never been a man just to sit around and wonder about anything. He went after what he wanted and found out for himself.

      He started toward her.

      “I DON’T BITE.” The smooth, silky voice came from behind, followed by a firm, familiar touch on her shoulder. “Except for that one time, but it was only because you wanted me to.”

      Sarah’s hand faltered on the cup of punch she’d just poured. Raspberry sherbet mixed with ginger ale sloshed over the side and trickled over her fingers. She set the cup aside, next to the dozen or so others she’d poured in the past few minutes and did her best to calm her pounding heart.

      Pounding, when she’d promised herself just last night that she wasn’t going to get nervous. Or excited. Or turned on.

      Especially turned on. She had a reputation to protect and salivating at the first sign of the town’s hottest bad boy was not in keeping with her goody-goody image.

      “Hello to you, too.”

      “I didn’t walk clear across this room to say hello. I tried to do that more than two hours ago when I first arrived. But the minute I started toward you, you turned and bolted for the kitchen.”

      “I didn’t bolt. I simply moved very swiftly. I had to help arrange the vegetable trays before everyone arrived from the church.”

      “That’s what I told myself, so I waited a little while, until I saw you over by the cake table. I started toward you again, but you took off for the kitchen again.”

      “I forgot the fresh flower bouquets to decorate the groom’s cake table.”

      “That’s what I told myself, so I waited again until you finished setting up the flowers and I started over. I even called out and waved that time, too.”

      “Really? I didn’t see you.”

      “I could have sworn you did, but then you headed off to the kitchen again.”

      “I had to get the bag of fresh rose petals to sprinkle on the bride’s cake table.”

      “That’s what I told myself, so I waited until you finished and then I started over again. I even called out that time.”

      “Really? I didn’t hear a thing.”

      “I didn’t think so. Otherwise you wouldn’t have headed for the kitchen again.”

      “I had to help with the punch. The lady who was supposed to man the table came down with a bad stomach virus a half hour ago so here I am.”

      “And here I thought this was just another reason to avoid me.”

      “I’m not avoiding you. I’m simply busy.” To illustrate her point, she reached for the ladle and served up another cup of punch. “Thirsty?”

      “Actually, I’m hungry.”

      “There’s everything from pigs-in-a-blanket to mini pizza rolls.” But she knew by the look in his eyes that he wasn’t talking about food. She tamped down on her own growling stomach and reached for another empty cup.

      “The wedding is over.” His hand closed over hers. He took the cup from her hand and set it to the side. “It’s time to have some fun.”

      “I promised I would serve the punch.”

      “No one wants any punch. They’re too busy dancing.” He indicated the dance floor overflowing with couples two-stepping to an old George Strait tune. The only person who wasn’t dancing was Wes Early, the town’s only videographer. Cheryl Louise had hired him to record her wedding memories and he was currently walking from couple to couple, zooming in for close-ups and capturing good wishes and advice with his camcorder. “Let’s dance.”

      “I can’t. I mean, I don’t want to. I promised my grandma Willie that I would keep her company.”

      His gaze followed hers to the old woman who sat at one of the large round tables. A half dozen other white-haired ladies surrounded her. A maze of dominoes covered the table.

      “I don’t think she needs you.”

      She stared at her grandmother. The old woman lifted her head, caught her granddaughter’s gaze and smiled before turning her attention back to the game and her last domino—a double six—which she slid into the center of the table before letting loose СКАЧАТЬ