Temptation's Kiss by Janice Sims

She’d known it wasn’t going to be that easy.
    â€œThen I’ll have to plan some really nice things to do while you’re here,” Patrice told him.
    Nina, who must have been listening in, took the phone from Patrick. “You can introduce us to T.K.!”
    â€œI hardly know the man,” Patrice said, laughing.
    Patrick took the phone back. “We’re leaving early in the morning, sis. See you soon!”
    â€œAll right,” Patrice said. “Love you both.”
    â€œLove you, too,” Patrick said, his tone filled with laughter. Patrice imagined his wife was doing something to amuse him.
    The last thing she heard before Patrick hung up was Nina’s voice yelling, “Call him and invite him to dinner when we get there, Patty!”
    Patrice laughed a while after hanging up. Phone T. K. McKenna and invite him over for steaks? Not hardly.
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    â€œOh my gawd, Patty. You’ve redecorated since we were here last,” exclaimed Nina upon seeing the living room. Patrice had replaced the old, worn living room furniture with custom made furnishings, and she had had French doors put in that led out to the big patio.Otherwise the bungalow, built in the 1930s, and well-maintained over the years by its successive owners, was pretty much the same as it had been on their last visit.
    Patrice was pleased by her sister-in-law’s enthusiasm, though. She loved her home and was gratified when others liked it, too. Patrick picked her up in a bear hug while his wife made a circuit of the house. Patrick was six-three and a bit over two hundred pounds of muscle. He looked more like a cowboy than a college instructor, but when he opened his mouth to speak there was no denying he was a scholar.
    â€œIt’s a trifle hot and muggy in L.A.,” he said when he set her down.
    â€œOh, yeah,” Patrice said jokingly. “The heat in Albuquerque is a dry heat, not this sticky stuff we have here.” She had turned on the air, so it was nice and comfortable in the house.
    Patrick, in a short-sleeved blue T-shirt and Wrangler jeans with his favorite pair of boots, followed her back to the kitchen when she began walking in that direction, talking the whole while. “How was the trip? Any problems?”
    His boots made tapping noises on the kitchen’s tile floor as he walked over to the table and sat down. At the stove, Patrice took the lid off a huge skillet filled with fresh chicken strips simmering in a spicy Southwestern sauce and gently stirred the mixture.
    Patrick sniffed the air. “Smells good. What’re you making, Mom’s quesadillas?”
    â€œI’m making chicken enchiladas. I like to let the chicken simmer in the sauce before rolling the filling in the corn tortillas and putting everything in the oven.”
    Nina came into the kitchen. She was a trim, petite twenty-two-year-old with beautiful dark brown skin and eyes the color of tea. Her black hair was natural, and she wore it in a short Afro. She was dressed similarly to her husband in jeans and a short-sleeved shirt, but she wore sandals instead of boots. She peered at the amount of food Patrice was preparing. “Looks like a lot for three people,” she said, then wiggled her eyebrows at her sister-in-law in a suggestive manner. She sidled up to Patrice. “Don’t you have his number?”
    Patrice put the lid on the skillet and reached for the deep-dish glass baking dish she was going to put the enchiladas in. “Nina Sutton, you’re like a mosquito that just won’t quit buzzing around my head,” she said with a laugh. “Yes, I have his number, but I’m not going to use it. I can’t call him up and say, ‘T.K., I’m making chicken enchiladas. Some of my family is visiting and just dying to meet you. Come on over!’”
    â€œHe’d probably be thrilled,” Nina said. Her pretty face was animated. “How often do you think a woman