Read Online Cooking Most Deadly by Joanne Pence - Free Book Online Page B

her more than anything how much she had wanted to see him tonight. She’d put on a dynamite new black Isaac Mizrahi dress. Short, slinky, and shiny, with a flattering halter top, it fit like a layer of skin. Black silk hose and patent leather sandals with towering heels gave her the leggy look of models far taller than she. Big, bold gold earrings and a spritz of Flore completed the ensemble.
    The whole time she was dressing, she’d imagined Paavo opening his door, looking surprised, pleased, and unable to bear not taking her in his arms right then and there. Of course, she’d insist they go dancing first, but soon—maybe very soon—she’d consent to going home with him and then really celebrate her audition request.
    Now, the only man she had to show off for was Stan.
    Disappointed, she turned back to her car.
    Â 
    A green Honda Civic pulled out of the parking space and sped to the corner. Even on city streets, the driver was probably going to have to floor the accelerator to keep up with the Ferrari he was following.
    At almost the same moment, Paavo turned onto his street from the opposite end of the block. By the time he reached his house, the green Honda was no more than a distant set of taillights. He paid scant attention, though, his thoughts centered on a phone call to Angie and his hope that, after he’d had a quick shower and shave, she’d be willing to have him over. He had a lot to make up to her for.

CHAPTER ELEVEN
    As the last note sounded , Angie turned to the latest in her long line of dance partners, “Thank you,” she said, smiling sweetly. “Good-bye, now.”
    During her pre-Paavo dating days, she’d learned how to deliver a definitive “Get lost, Buster” message without hurting a guy’s feelings—or, at least, not too badly.
    Tonight she’d doled out “get lost” messages by the bushel. She was tired, her feet hurt, and she wasn’t having any fun. Each man who introduced himself and asked her to dance was measured against Paavo. Each came up lacking. She hadn’t met a single one who, if Paavo wasn’t in her life, she’d consider dating, let alone marrying. Dancing itself, while fun, didn’t hold as much allure for her as it once did. She wondered if it had really been the dancing that she’d found so entertaining, or the flirting that went along with it. So far, she’d spotted only one obviously married couple. A few others were there wearing wedding rings, but they didn’t appear to be married to each other.
    She was ready to go home.
    She tried to spot Stan from where she stood, a near-impossible task. Earlier, discussing marriage with him wasjust about as unrewarding as, in her heart, she should have known it would be.
    â€œWhat do you think of getting married, Stan?” she had blurted. She realized as soon as she said it how the question sounded.
    â€œAngie, this is so unexpected.”
    â€œBut you know I’m mad about you,” she said, then laughed. “Now, tell me what you really think.”
    â€œI accept.”
    â€œStan, forget it.” She walked away, wondering why she even bothered to try to be serious with him.
    The dimly lit dance hall, hazy with smoke, was packed tighter than a can of anchovies. From the time she’d wandered away from Stan, she’d seen him a couple of times wrapped in the arms of a big redhead.
    To find him now, she’d have to plow through the crowd, and even then, she’d need a considerable amount of luck. The heat and stuffiness of this room was getting to her, as was the loud, blaring music. She lifted her hair from the back of her neck and wandered toward an open window far back in the club, away from the dancers and the tables that circled them. Luckily, the building was old, with real windows that opened and shut, not those new, permanently sealed monstrosities that kept out any fresh air. She bent forward, her hands