Welcome to Temptation: A Romantic Comedy

Welcome to Temptation: A Romantic Comedy by Charlotte Hughes Page B

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Authors: Charlotte Hughes
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them up to her elbows. Gator tapped lightly on the bedroom door and she opened it.
    “You finished with the toothpaste?” he said.
    “Oh, sorry. I’ll get it for you.” Michelle retrieved it from the bathroom and carried it into the kitchen, where Gator was washing up at the sink. He’d stripped off his shirt and was in the process of soaping his chest, stomach, and underarms. Michelle was riveted to the spot, unable to pry her gaze from him. His jeans rode low on his hips in a way that made her eyes dilate. No matter what she thought of him personally, he was undoubtedly one of the finest-looking men she’d ever laid eyes on. She knew men, Jeffrey included, who spent hours at the gym but didn’t come close to looking so good. She wondered if Gator worked out, but she didn’t think so. She could imagine him chopping wood or swimming in the river to stay in shape, but she couldn’t envision him lifting weights or running an asphalt track in expensive sweats.
    “Would you pass me that towel?” Gator asked, leaning over the sink as he rinsed the soapy foam from his body with a washcloth. It was one of the most sensual acts she’d ever seen.
    Michelle reached for the towel on the counter and handed it to him. He dried himself briskly, then draped the towel around his neck. “Are you hungry?”
    Michelle shook her head. It was all she could do to keep her eyes off his chest, the way the blue-black curls glistened in the lamplight, the way his nipples beaded in the cool night air. “I’m too tired to eat,” she finally said. But mostly she was tense, all wound up, no doubt from all the coffee she’d drank that evening—and from spending so much time with him, she thought.
    “Which is a good thing since all I have is beer and pretzels. You don’t impress me as a beer drinker.” Gator had never been much of a beer drinker himself until he’d worked in the sugar cane fields. It had become a habit to share a cold beer with the rest of the men at the end of a long, hot day. He couldn’t drink like most men; it was his metabolism, he supposed. Three beers wouldn’t get him drunk but would certainly give him one hell of a headache the following day. The guys at the Night Life Lounge teased him unmercifully about it, and got a kick out of it when, after a couple of brews, he ordered diet soda.
    “Right now anything sounds good,” Michelle said. She hoped the beer would relax her. Although she was exhausted, she was not ready to climb into bed with her grandmother, whom she knew snored louder than a jumbo jetliner.
    Gator reached into the small refrigerator and pulled out two beers. “They’re still cool,” he said, putting one metal can to his forehead. He popped the metal top on one and handed it to her, then reached inside a cabinet for the pretzels.
    Michelle took a seat at the counter and sipped her beer slowly, gazing across at Gator in the dimly lit room. The flame from the lamp painted shadows across his dark face. He leaned on the counter, his elbows propped beneath him, his chin anchored on one fist.
    “After watching you tonight, I see why you decided to become a nurse,” he said. “You have a calming effect on people.” Except on him, he thought. Every nerve in his body came alive when she was near. “I suppose it’s a bit dull working in this place after the excitement of working in a big city hospital.”
    “Not dull, just different. I’m probably more sympathetic to these people, because they can’t help what happened to them. Many of the people I work with at my emergency room are responsible in some way for their own injuries or deaths.”
    “Oh, we have our share of problems here,” Gator said. “Domestic violence, drunk drivers, fights.”
    “Is that why you decided to become sheriff?” She knew it wasn’t, but for some reason she wanted to hear it from him.
    He straightened and folded his arms over his chest. “I became sheriff because I was elected. I’ve never had any grand

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