Guilty Pleasures by Stella Cameron Page B

his forefingers, he followed the tendons down her wrists and over the tops of her hands. “I’m used to being alone, too. I do it real well. No challenge anymore. I shouldn’t have assumed you didn’t have a husband just because I haven’t seen him.”
    Her hands trembled. “I don’t have a husband.”
    “Somehow I didn’t think you did. What did you mean about numbers? And scrambling numbers? You’re talking about someone making crank calls, aren’t you? A man?”
    He was steadily lulling her into careless trust. “It doesn’t matter what I meant. Some things go with the territory. They aren’t nice, but they don’t worry me.” The occasional fib could be excused.
    “You could have fooled me. You were as jumpy as a cat. Come to that, you still are.”
    “I’m never jumpy. You catch me off guard is all. One minute you’re nowhere, then you’re right in front of me—or behind me.”
    “Sorry. In future I’ll whistle or something.”
    “Don’t!”
    “You don’t like whistling?”
    “It’s creepy.”
    “Yeah?” He seemed fascinate d by any revelation about her, no matter how insignificant. “Do you like to swim?”
    “Sure.” Polly couldn’t swim, but it embarrassed her to admit as much.
    “Ever done any diving?”
    “No.”
    “Would you like to learn?”
    “I don’t know.” Even if his eyes were cold—or remote, maybe—he looked at her as if she was important. “Here comes Belinda.”
    “If some crank’s making calls, I want to know about it, Polly.”
    Now he sounded possessive as well as obsessive. “There’s nothing you need to know.” He’d actually told her—a woman he was speaking to for only the second time—that he thought he could love her. “Belinda! You didn’t have to bring food, too.”
    “Of course I did, child.” If Belinda was a day over forty-five Polly would be amazed, but she often treated Polly as if she were her granddaughter. “Taste this.” She set down a tray, placed cups in front of Polly and Nasty, and poured pink tea from a black pot scattered with silver stars and moons.
    Polly drank some of the sweet, fruity-tasting brew and watched Nasty over the rim of her cup. At times like this it might be nice to have his gift for expressionless stares.
    “What do you think?” Belinda asked. She tossed her long, dark, single braid behind her back. “Be honest with me. I’ve been working on this a long time.”
    “Interesting,” Nasty commented.
    Polly pursed her lips to contain a giggle.
    “You’re the first to try it.”
    “We’re honored,” Nasty said, still deadpan.
    Belinda set a plate of small, dark red cookies on the table. “These are made of the same ingredients. Baking intensifies the color.”
    There was nothing for it but to try Belinda’s offerings. The taste was similar to the tea, but stronger.
    “Good,” Polly said. Not great, but not bad. Sometimes kindness became more important than comfort anyway. “What are they?”
    She held her breath and felt Nasty do the same.
    “Cherry,” Belinda said. “I dried them myself. And honey, lots of honey.”
    Polly stifled a giggle of relief.
    “And ginseng, and powdered deer antler,” Belinda continued. “The libido is bound to find a new wellspring of vitality. You will let me know if I’ve got the proportions right?”
    “Will do,” Nasty said promptly. “Won’t we, Polly?”
    Belinda raised her chin regally. “I’m going to call the tea, Ever Ready.”
    Polly’s laughter joined Nasty’s. She popped a whole cookie into her mouth.
    Umbrage expanded Belinda’s considerable bosom. “Why that should amuse you, I can’t imagine. No matter. I have a little gift for you, Nasty. What a very odd name that is.”
    “It suits him,” Polly said, smiling into her tea and feeling increasingly bold. She’d try to forget his ridiculous declaration. “He likes to do and say awful things to get people’s attention. Very nasty.”
    “Really? How unusual.”
    Nasty waited until