woman wandered into the diner looking for a good time, he’d flash his badge like a cross in front of a vampire and suggest she take her sexual appetites elsewhere.
Renee watched as John built a fire, and by the way he thunked the logs into the fireplace, she could tell he was still angry. Well, maybe not angry, but at least annoyed, with a healthy dose of exasperation thrown in. He clearly wanted her out of his life as quickly as possible, and she didn’t blame him. In her desperation to elude Leandro and stay here tonight, she’d jerked him around every bit as much as he said she had. Fortunately, he had no idea he was still being jerked around, and she prayed he never found out.
“Are you hungry?” he asked her, his voice brusque and impersonal.
Hungry wasn’t the word for it. Starving was more like it.
“Uh…yeah. A little.”
He went to the kitchen, peered into the fridge, then rummaged through the cabinets. He came back with a sack of pretzels and a can of Coke.
“I’ve been eating at the diner the past couple of days. I don’t have much around here.”
“That’s okay,” she said, so hungry she'd have eaten the stuffing out of the sofa if he’d turned his back long enough. He handed her the pretzels and Coke, then mumbled something about taking a shower. He disappeared into the bathroom.
Renee munched on the pretzels, visions of pasta fuma and veal scaloppini dancing in her head. Italian food. That made her think of the restaurant where she worked. Or used to work. She sighed wistfully, thinking that if someone hadn’t tossed the loot and the weapon from an armed robbery into the backseat of her car, her biggest worry right now would be double-booked reservations, or a substandard bottle of Chianti.
Stop it. Stop thinking about the life you left behind. It'll only make you crazy.
She finished off most of the pretzels, then folded the top of the bag down and returned it to the kitchen along with the empty Coke can, promising herself a real meal the first chance she got. She collapsed on the sofa again, blinking slowly, mesmerized by the hypnotizing red-gold brightness of the fire and the muffled sound of shower spray coming from the bathroom.
In her sleepy state, the memory of how John had kissed her swam around in her mind, then oozed into other thoughts, more erotic thoughts, thoughts she’d have quelled in an instant if she hadn’t been so incredibly tired and if they hadn’t been so incredibly enticing.
She imagined him standing beneath the shower, his naked body surrounded by a surreal haze of steam, his muscles wet and glistening. She followed the bar of soap as he slid it down one arm and back up again, then across a broad chest, bubbles gathering in the smattering of hair there, only to get washed away by a pulsing spray of water. She saw him turning to let the spray massage his shoulders, rolling them once, twice, to ease the tension there. Then she closed her eyes and delved into truly uncharted territory.
She imagined slipping into the bathroom, easing the shower curtain aside, and meeting his startled gaze. She saw him pulling her into the shower in one smooth move, trapping her against the tile wall and kissing her, first ignoring the fact that she was still fully clothed, then remedying that situation in short order. In this particular daydream the hot water never ran out. They stood beneath the shower all night long making love in that glorious way people do when they only have eyes for each other.
Or so she’d heard.
She heard the squeak of the shower knobs, silencing the spray, then the soft clicking of the shower curtain rings as he pushed the curtain aside. A few minutes later the bathroom door opened and John emerged, steam clouding up behind him as it hit the cool air of the main room. She stared at him dumbly, finding it hard to catch a good, solid breath. Where this man’s body was concerned, her daydream had been more like a premonition.
He wore a pair of
Renee watched as John built a fire, and by the way he thunked the logs into the fireplace, she could tell he was still angry. Well, maybe not angry, but at least annoyed, with a healthy dose of exasperation thrown in. He clearly wanted her out of his life as quickly as possible, and she didn’t blame him. In her desperation to elude Leandro and stay here tonight, she’d jerked him around every bit as much as he said she had. Fortunately, he had no idea he was still being jerked around, and she prayed he never found out.
“Are you hungry?” he asked her, his voice brusque and impersonal.
Hungry wasn’t the word for it. Starving was more like it.
“Uh…yeah. A little.”
He went to the kitchen, peered into the fridge, then rummaged through the cabinets. He came back with a sack of pretzels and a can of Coke.
“I’ve been eating at the diner the past couple of days. I don’t have much around here.”
“That’s okay,” she said, so hungry she'd have eaten the stuffing out of the sofa if he’d turned his back long enough. He handed her the pretzels and Coke, then mumbled something about taking a shower. He disappeared into the bathroom.
Renee munched on the pretzels, visions of pasta fuma and veal scaloppini dancing in her head. Italian food. That made her think of the restaurant where she worked. Or used to work. She sighed wistfully, thinking that if someone hadn’t tossed the loot and the weapon from an armed robbery into the backseat of her car, her biggest worry right now would be double-booked reservations, or a substandard bottle of Chianti.
Stop it. Stop thinking about the life you left behind. It'll only make you crazy.
She finished off most of the pretzels, then folded the top of the bag down and returned it to the kitchen along with the empty Coke can, promising herself a real meal the first chance she got. She collapsed on the sofa again, blinking slowly, mesmerized by the hypnotizing red-gold brightness of the fire and the muffled sound of shower spray coming from the bathroom.
In her sleepy state, the memory of how John had kissed her swam around in her mind, then oozed into other thoughts, more erotic thoughts, thoughts she’d have quelled in an instant if she hadn’t been so incredibly tired and if they hadn’t been so incredibly enticing.
She imagined him standing beneath the shower, his naked body surrounded by a surreal haze of steam, his muscles wet and glistening. She followed the bar of soap as he slid it down one arm and back up again, then across a broad chest, bubbles gathering in the smattering of hair there, only to get washed away by a pulsing spray of water. She saw him turning to let the spray massage his shoulders, rolling them once, twice, to ease the tension there. Then she closed her eyes and delved into truly uncharted territory.
She imagined slipping into the bathroom, easing the shower curtain aside, and meeting his startled gaze. She saw him pulling her into the shower in one smooth move, trapping her against the tile wall and kissing her, first ignoring the fact that she was still fully clothed, then remedying that situation in short order. In this particular daydream the hot water never ran out. They stood beneath the shower all night long making love in that glorious way people do when they only have eyes for each other.
Or so she’d heard.
She heard the squeak of the shower knobs, silencing the spray, then the soft clicking of the shower curtain rings as he pushed the curtain aside. A few minutes later the bathroom door opened and John emerged, steam clouding up behind him as it hit the cool air of the main room. She stared at him dumbly, finding it hard to catch a good, solid breath. Where this man’s body was concerned, her daydream had been more like a premonition.
He wore a pair of
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