colors a sultry hot pink and black, the
title Naughty-Rotica drawn in a pale-pink shade of lipstick. She had
just opened the book and skimmed the first entry, a very visual
portrayal of a heated kiss drawn out with simple yet eloquent words,
when someone cleared their throat behind her.
She turned, her jaw dropping open when she saw Thomas Emerson’s
intensely dark eyes fixed on her. His gaze lowered to the book in her
hand, and something hot and seductive rippled through her. It was almost
as if he had read the words on the page she’d been looking at and
whispered them in her ear.
Ridiculous.
Men like Thomas didn’t whisper naughty words or any kind of romanticisms
to bookish girls like her.
Maybe she should reconsider her neighbor Jerry Ruthers.
His big belly flashed into her mind, though, and she winced.
“I saw you this morning when I drove past.”
The sentence lingered in the strained silence between them. She could
have just died.
Finally he saved her from her embarrassment. “I waved but I guess you
didn’t see me.”
She could not even reply to that. “You…uh, received my message about
the insurance?”
“Yes, I spoke with my agent, also. We’ll work out the details.”
She pushed her glasses up her nose. “Thanks for being so understanding.”
He shrugged. “It was an accident. It’s not like you did it on purpose.”
“No, of course not.”
Another strained silence fell between them. She didn’t even try to fill
the dead air for fear of stuttering. His gaze shifted to the book again,
and she realized she had a death grip on it, so she shoved it back on
the shelf. What in heaven’s name was she doing?
“S-someone called in and as-sked about that book.” She swung into motion
and walked toward the phone at the front register. “I’ll have to call
them and let them know we have it in.” Dear lord, please let him believe
that.
The corner of his sexy mouth twitched into a lopsided smile. She cursed
herself for noticing. “Did you n-need something? A book maybe?”
He shook his head. “Not a book. I need you, Rebecca.”
She nearly tripped over a dump of paperbacks, a recent novelty called
Dating Disasters that had climbed all the lists. They could have used
her picture on the cover.
She took refuge behind the front desk, holding on to the laminated
counter lest she completely lose her ability to stand. For pity’s sake,
that was what Thomas Emerson did to her.
“What did you say?”
Broad shoulders stretched against his crisp white shirt as he leaned on
the counter to face her. “I said I need you.”
I need you, too. At least your little swimmers…. “Wh-why?”
The corner of his mouth twitched again. If she hadn’t known better,
she’d have thought he was flirting with her. How silly could she be?
“Hannah and I discussed fixing up the clinic. The exam rooms need
painting, and I have it on good authority that you’re a damn fine artist.”
“Oh.” Of course he hadn’t meant he needed her. He had his choice of
women. “Who told you I was an artist?”
“I’m a doctor, I treat half the town. They talk.”
Rebecca swallowed. “But I don’t make it a habit of sh-showing my work. I
really just paint for m-me.”
His big hand reached over and slid on top of hers. The contact felt
warm, comforting, yet it didn’t comfort her at all. It aroused images of
Thomas touching her. In places that she’d never allowed a man to touch
her. In ways she’d seen sketched in that erotic book her Grammy had
given her but had never experienced herself.
Except in her fantasies in the dark of night when she was alone.
“I can’t.” She shook off the disturbing images and pulled away, then
began stacking new books that had arrived and needed shelving. Anything
to keep her hands and mind occupied so they wouldn’t stray into the
danger zone.
“Why not? We’ll pay you well.”
“I…” She
title Naughty-Rotica drawn in a pale-pink shade of lipstick. She had
just opened the book and skimmed the first entry, a very visual
portrayal of a heated kiss drawn out with simple yet eloquent words,
when someone cleared their throat behind her.
She turned, her jaw dropping open when she saw Thomas Emerson’s
intensely dark eyes fixed on her. His gaze lowered to the book in her
hand, and something hot and seductive rippled through her. It was almost
as if he had read the words on the page she’d been looking at and
whispered them in her ear.
Ridiculous.
Men like Thomas didn’t whisper naughty words or any kind of romanticisms
to bookish girls like her.
Maybe she should reconsider her neighbor Jerry Ruthers.
His big belly flashed into her mind, though, and she winced.
“I saw you this morning when I drove past.”
The sentence lingered in the strained silence between them. She could
have just died.
Finally he saved her from her embarrassment. “I waved but I guess you
didn’t see me.”
She could not even reply to that. “You…uh, received my message about
the insurance?”
“Yes, I spoke with my agent, also. We’ll work out the details.”
She pushed her glasses up her nose. “Thanks for being so understanding.”
He shrugged. “It was an accident. It’s not like you did it on purpose.”
“No, of course not.”
Another strained silence fell between them. She didn’t even try to fill
the dead air for fear of stuttering. His gaze shifted to the book again,
and she realized she had a death grip on it, so she shoved it back on
the shelf. What in heaven’s name was she doing?
“S-someone called in and as-sked about that book.” She swung into motion
and walked toward the phone at the front register. “I’ll have to call
them and let them know we have it in.” Dear lord, please let him believe
that.
The corner of his sexy mouth twitched into a lopsided smile. She cursed
herself for noticing. “Did you n-need something? A book maybe?”
He shook his head. “Not a book. I need you, Rebecca.”
She nearly tripped over a dump of paperbacks, a recent novelty called
Dating Disasters that had climbed all the lists. They could have used
her picture on the cover.
She took refuge behind the front desk, holding on to the laminated
counter lest she completely lose her ability to stand. For pity’s sake,
that was what Thomas Emerson did to her.
“What did you say?”
Broad shoulders stretched against his crisp white shirt as he leaned on
the counter to face her. “I said I need you.”
I need you, too. At least your little swimmers…. “Wh-why?”
The corner of his mouth twitched again. If she hadn’t known better,
she’d have thought he was flirting with her. How silly could she be?
“Hannah and I discussed fixing up the clinic. The exam rooms need
painting, and I have it on good authority that you’re a damn fine artist.”
“Oh.” Of course he hadn’t meant he needed her. He had his choice of
women. “Who told you I was an artist?”
“I’m a doctor, I treat half the town. They talk.”
Rebecca swallowed. “But I don’t make it a habit of sh-showing my work. I
really just paint for m-me.”
His big hand reached over and slid on top of hers. The contact felt
warm, comforting, yet it didn’t comfort her at all. It aroused images of
Thomas touching her. In places that she’d never allowed a man to touch
her. In ways she’d seen sketched in that erotic book her Grammy had
given her but had never experienced herself.
Except in her fantasies in the dark of night when she was alone.
“I can’t.” She shook off the disturbing images and pulled away, then
began stacking new books that had arrived and needed shelving. Anything
to keep her hands and mind occupied so they wouldn’t stray into the
danger zone.
“Why not? We’ll pay you well.”
“I…” She
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