expertise had far surpassed her expectations. He’d built
her office as if it were meant to last a thousand years. Then she’d
thanked him and signed off with “sincerely,” and somewhere between
the salutation and the closing she’d worked in a brief but
heartfelt apology for almost slapping him. She hadn’t mentioned
their two “misunderstandings,” and she certainly hadn’t referred to
them as kisses.
Kisses . . . The word slipped across
her mind like a silent whisper, and her fingers slowly curled into
a fist. Lord, the man knew how to kiss . . . remarkably.
The sound of a slamming truck door jerked
her out of her reverie, and Lila quickly disappeared back into the
main part of the house.
* * *
If the lady won’t go out on a date, bring
the date to her, Jack thought, juggling a floppy pizza box, a
six-pack of beer, a container of salad, and a smaller container of
Rudi’s Pizzeria’s famous thick and creamy gorgonzola dressing.
Being a connoisseur of pizza by necessity, he knew Rudi’s was
good.
The beer was imported and expensive. But the
salad was the piece de resistance: lettuce, tomatoes, cherry
peppers, salami, pepperoni, provolone, big chunky croutons, black
olives, and the gorgonzola dressing. No woman could resist Rudi’s
salad. It had the acceptable cachet of being a salad, but it was
richer than sin.
Dessert was richer than double sin, a Kahlua
truffle torte that was no torte at all, but a melt-in-your-mouth
concoction of bittersweet chocolate and mystery. Irresistible.
He let himself into the office and walked
across the cold plywood floor to set the pizza on the space heater.
Then he carried the heater closer to the door leading to the rest
of the house and knelt down to turn on the heat. If he’d had a fan,
he would have used it to waft the tantalizing aroma in her
direction. It was all part of his plan.
The lady did not want to be pushed. He’d had
all week to figure out and digest that particular piece of
information, so he’d decided to pull instead. He would be low key,
easygoing, and available. Very available. He’d be there if she
needed a friend or a shoulder to lean on. He wouldn’t make any more
passes that ended up with him becoming so aroused, he forgot to
think and nearly got his face slapped. Yet she’d been so hot and
sweet in his arms, even the memory of their kisses sparked a
physical reaction in him.
He stood abruptly, ran a hand through his
hair, and reminded himself that patience was a virtue. Pizza was
the bait that night, not the incredible fireworks they made when
their mouths and bodies rubbed up against each other.
Lord knew he was no saint, he’d never
claimed to be, but he’d always been discriminating when it came to
women, love, and making love. His response to Lila Singer made him
wonder if he’d lost the ability to distinguish between lust and
longing, love and desire, wanting and needing, between the woman
herself and what she did to him with each kiss.
He remembered loving and wanting Jessica
Daniels in the eleventh grade until he’d thought his manhood and
his heart would both break into a thousand pieces if he didn’t have
her. He’d been wrong. Jessica Daniels had never realized he was on
the planet. He’d followed her into and flunked out of chemistry for
nothing, and he’d remained intact for the next love down the
line.
Marriage had been different in every way. He
still missed a lot of things about marriage: having someone sharing
his home, someone special, an ally through good times and bad—until
things got really bad. And without admitting to being a chauvinist,
he missed a woman’s cooking. He missed it a lot. Women cooked
differently from men. They put more love and less ego into it, and
they actually followed recipes. It was a noticeable difference.
Lila Singer was a noticeable difference too.
Being in love with her was out of the question. Love took longer
than two kisses, three months of fantasies, and a week of
unanswered
her office as if it were meant to last a thousand years. Then she’d
thanked him and signed off with “sincerely,” and somewhere between
the salutation and the closing she’d worked in a brief but
heartfelt apology for almost slapping him. She hadn’t mentioned
their two “misunderstandings,” and she certainly hadn’t referred to
them as kisses.
Kisses . . . The word slipped across
her mind like a silent whisper, and her fingers slowly curled into
a fist. Lord, the man knew how to kiss . . . remarkably.
The sound of a slamming truck door jerked
her out of her reverie, and Lila quickly disappeared back into the
main part of the house.
* * *
If the lady won’t go out on a date, bring
the date to her, Jack thought, juggling a floppy pizza box, a
six-pack of beer, a container of salad, and a smaller container of
Rudi’s Pizzeria’s famous thick and creamy gorgonzola dressing.
Being a connoisseur of pizza by necessity, he knew Rudi’s was
good.
The beer was imported and expensive. But the
salad was the piece de resistance: lettuce, tomatoes, cherry
peppers, salami, pepperoni, provolone, big chunky croutons, black
olives, and the gorgonzola dressing. No woman could resist Rudi’s
salad. It had the acceptable cachet of being a salad, but it was
richer than sin.
Dessert was richer than double sin, a Kahlua
truffle torte that was no torte at all, but a melt-in-your-mouth
concoction of bittersweet chocolate and mystery. Irresistible.
He let himself into the office and walked
across the cold plywood floor to set the pizza on the space heater.
Then he carried the heater closer to the door leading to the rest
of the house and knelt down to turn on the heat. If he’d had a fan,
he would have used it to waft the tantalizing aroma in her
direction. It was all part of his plan.
The lady did not want to be pushed. He’d had
all week to figure out and digest that particular piece of
information, so he’d decided to pull instead. He would be low key,
easygoing, and available. Very available. He’d be there if she
needed a friend or a shoulder to lean on. He wouldn’t make any more
passes that ended up with him becoming so aroused, he forgot to
think and nearly got his face slapped. Yet she’d been so hot and
sweet in his arms, even the memory of their kisses sparked a
physical reaction in him.
He stood abruptly, ran a hand through his
hair, and reminded himself that patience was a virtue. Pizza was
the bait that night, not the incredible fireworks they made when
their mouths and bodies rubbed up against each other.
Lord knew he was no saint, he’d never
claimed to be, but he’d always been discriminating when it came to
women, love, and making love. His response to Lila Singer made him
wonder if he’d lost the ability to distinguish between lust and
longing, love and desire, wanting and needing, between the woman
herself and what she did to him with each kiss.
He remembered loving and wanting Jessica
Daniels in the eleventh grade until he’d thought his manhood and
his heart would both break into a thousand pieces if he didn’t have
her. He’d been wrong. Jessica Daniels had never realized he was on
the planet. He’d followed her into and flunked out of chemistry for
nothing, and he’d remained intact for the next love down the
line.
Marriage had been different in every way. He
still missed a lot of things about marriage: having someone sharing
his home, someone special, an ally through good times and bad—until
things got really bad. And without admitting to being a chauvinist,
he missed a woman’s cooking. He missed it a lot. Women cooked
differently from men. They put more love and less ego into it, and
they actually followed recipes. It was a noticeable difference.
Lila Singer was a noticeable difference too.
Being in love with her was out of the question. Love took longer
than two kisses, three months of fantasies, and a week of
unanswered
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