phone calls. He was definitely fascinated, though,
definitely intrigued, and he definitely wanted her. He felt
possessive and protective. She touched him in places he hadn’t
expected and in ways he hadn’t experienced, and with only her kiss.
She’d shown magic for her husband. Without knowing what it was at
the time, Jack had felt the remnants of that magic under a harvest
moon, and he couldn’t help but want, or need, to bring it back to
full power.
He also needed to eat some pizza before the
smell drove him crazy. He turned around to drop his gloves on the
lumber he’d been using as a makeshift table, noticed the envelope,
and his enthusiasm for the evening did a steady nosedive. Letters
were not his favorite form of communication, especially when they
came from someone he’d been looking forward to seeing all week.
He picked up the envelope and studied the
letters looped and swirled across the front. It was his name all
right, Jack and Hudson, which was barely a step above Mr. and
Hudson. With a short sigh he shoved the envelope into his shirt
pocket.
“Dammit.” The word slipped out between his
teeth. What was he supposed to do now?
* * *
Pizza? Lila turned her face toward the door
of the sitting room and sniffed. Definitely pizza, pepperoni pizza,
probably with green peppers and black olives. She checked her watch
and wondered if she had any more of those microwave things in the
freezer. Of course, even if she did, it wouldn’t be hot, fresh
pizza dripping with melted mozzarella and with sizzling slices of
pepperoni scattered over the top. Her stomach growled, and she
mentally told it to shut up and get ready for one of those frozen
microwave things.
Why, tonight of all nights, did he have to
bring a pizza to work? Not only was the smell bound to linger and
make her own dinner even less appetizing, but as soon as he read
the letter he would leave. That great-smelling pizza would be cold
by the time he got home or wherever he went—which was no business
of hers. The man had an ex-wife and probably a little black book of
paramours, and why not? He had a lot of appeal. He was clean-cut,
and good-looking in a sexy, outdoorsy kind of way. He ran a
successful business with the free, independent streak of the
self-employed. He worked hard and maintained high standards. He
responded to ethical and moral obligations above and beyond the
call of the law. The man was a paragon. There were probably a
thousand other things he usually did on Friday nights, things he
would prefer to do besides work on her office.
Darn it. She should have ordered her
own pizza. Why didn’t she think of these things in advance? And
what in the world had she been working on before he’d disrupted her
concentration—as he always did. She flipped through her legal pads
and darned him again for being the cause of her computerless
status. She wished he’d hurry up and read the letter and leave, so
she could get on with her own boring dinner and boring evening.
The unmistakable sound of his hammer halted
her in mid-flip. Now what was he doing? she wondered, lifting her
head in irritation and letting the page fall back into place. She
swiveled her chair around to listen, and her irritation increased.
His hammer kept up a steady beat. He’d missed the letter.
After a minute the hammering stopped. Lila
held her breath, waiting for the sound of tool gathering and door
closing. She waited and waited for a span of eternity before her
patience broke.
She pushed out of her chair and headed for
the door. That was the worst thing about living alone, she thought.
You had to do everything yourself. Now, instead of the quiet
civility of a letter, she’d have to confront him with his
termination. She’d be darned if she apologize
in person for the near slap, though. He could
read that part later.
Her steps carried her resolutely to the
kitchen, where the intensifying aroma of hot pizza and a weakening
will made her falter. She was too hungry
definitely intrigued, and he definitely wanted her. He felt
possessive and protective. She touched him in places he hadn’t
expected and in ways he hadn’t experienced, and with only her kiss.
She’d shown magic for her husband. Without knowing what it was at
the time, Jack had felt the remnants of that magic under a harvest
moon, and he couldn’t help but want, or need, to bring it back to
full power.
He also needed to eat some pizza before the
smell drove him crazy. He turned around to drop his gloves on the
lumber he’d been using as a makeshift table, noticed the envelope,
and his enthusiasm for the evening did a steady nosedive. Letters
were not his favorite form of communication, especially when they
came from someone he’d been looking forward to seeing all week.
He picked up the envelope and studied the
letters looped and swirled across the front. It was his name all
right, Jack and Hudson, which was barely a step above Mr. and
Hudson. With a short sigh he shoved the envelope into his shirt
pocket.
“Dammit.” The word slipped out between his
teeth. What was he supposed to do now?
* * *
Pizza? Lila turned her face toward the door
of the sitting room and sniffed. Definitely pizza, pepperoni pizza,
probably with green peppers and black olives. She checked her watch
and wondered if she had any more of those microwave things in the
freezer. Of course, even if she did, it wouldn’t be hot, fresh
pizza dripping with melted mozzarella and with sizzling slices of
pepperoni scattered over the top. Her stomach growled, and she
mentally told it to shut up and get ready for one of those frozen
microwave things.
Why, tonight of all nights, did he have to
bring a pizza to work? Not only was the smell bound to linger and
make her own dinner even less appetizing, but as soon as he read
the letter he would leave. That great-smelling pizza would be cold
by the time he got home or wherever he went—which was no business
of hers. The man had an ex-wife and probably a little black book of
paramours, and why not? He had a lot of appeal. He was clean-cut,
and good-looking in a sexy, outdoorsy kind of way. He ran a
successful business with the free, independent streak of the
self-employed. He worked hard and maintained high standards. He
responded to ethical and moral obligations above and beyond the
call of the law. The man was a paragon. There were probably a
thousand other things he usually did on Friday nights, things he
would prefer to do besides work on her office.
Darn it. She should have ordered her
own pizza. Why didn’t she think of these things in advance? And
what in the world had she been working on before he’d disrupted her
concentration—as he always did. She flipped through her legal pads
and darned him again for being the cause of her computerless
status. She wished he’d hurry up and read the letter and leave, so
she could get on with her own boring dinner and boring evening.
The unmistakable sound of his hammer halted
her in mid-flip. Now what was he doing? she wondered, lifting her
head in irritation and letting the page fall back into place. She
swiveled her chair around to listen, and her irritation increased.
His hammer kept up a steady beat. He’d missed the letter.
After a minute the hammering stopped. Lila
held her breath, waiting for the sound of tool gathering and door
closing. She waited and waited for a span of eternity before her
patience broke.
She pushed out of her chair and headed for
the door. That was the worst thing about living alone, she thought.
You had to do everything yourself. Now, instead of the quiet
civility of a letter, she’d have to confront him with his
termination. She’d be darned if she apologize
in person for the near slap, though. He could
read that part later.
Her steps carried her resolutely to the
kitchen, where the intensifying aroma of hot pizza and a weakening
will made her falter. She was too hungry
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