Read Online Twilight Fulfilled by MAGGIE SHAYNE - Free Book Online

a big fat plate of empty calories in front of her, right?
    Right.
    So she straightened away from the telephone pole she’d been leaning against and walked across the cracked blacktop to the greasy spoon.
    She laughed, because that really was the name of the place. The Greasy Spoon.
    The bell above the door jangled when she walked in, and a woman said, “Just sit wherever you want, hon. Coffee?”
    â€œYeah. A gallon or so,” Brigit answered without looking.
    Then she slid into a booth along the front, her eyes still on the motel across the street.
    A filled coffee mug clunked down in front of her. “Are you the wife, or the P.I. working for the wife?” the waitress asked.
    Brigit darted a glance the other woman’s way and got stuck. She’d expected the clichéd red or blond beehive with pencils sticking out. Instead, she saw a careworn face, silver-gray curls and a smoker’s wrinkled upper lip. “I’m sorry?”
    â€œYou’re watching that mo -tel like it’s gonna get up and run off if you turn your head. You got a husband having a fling behind your back?”
    â€œOh.” She got it now. “No, no husband.” She showed off a bare ring finger. “Just a friend I’m going to, uh…surprise.”
    â€œUh-huh. You want food?”
    â€œSomething fast. What’s ready?”
    â€œFrench toast can be on your plate in ten minutes.”
    â€œMake it five and I’ll double your tip.”
    â€œDeal.”
    Four minutes later Brigit was wolfing down a stack of syrup-drenched, piping hot, buttery French toast that was actually pretty damned good.
    She slugged down the coffee, getting up and digging in her pockets for cash.
    â€œThe breakfast is five bucks honey,” the woman called from behind the counter. “And here’s a coffee to go, on me.” She slid a capped, extra-large cup across the counter.
    â€œThanks. I’m grateful.” Tossing two fives onto the counter, Brigit grabbed the cup and turned. She needed the caffeine boost. She was blocking her presence from Utana as thoroughly as she could, mentally maintaining an invisible and impenetrable shield around her aura. It was exhausting, and yet vital.
    The men were still in the motel room. What the hell were they doing in there?
    She left the diner, cup in hand, and glanced up and down the winding road. The motel was covered in white clapboard siding, with brick-red trim, shutters and doors. Each door bore a metallic, gold-toned number. A sidewalk ran along the front, and the semicircular strip of blacktopped parking had room for one vehicle per door.
    A smaller, square detached structure bore a sign that said Office.
    Behind it, there was a big empty rolling field full of brambles, briars and weeds. And that, she supposed, was where she was going to have to go. Sighing in resignation, she headed up the road until she rounded a bend and was out of sight. Then she jumped the ditch and jogged far enough into the giant weed patch to be invisible, and from there she began making her way back toward the motel.
    She emerged from the weeds directly behind it and began counting the windows, trying to match them up with the doors in the front. When she got to the one she thought went with Room 6, she crept closer.
    The window was a little too high for her, but she located a loose cinder block beneath the oblong fuel tank in the back, dragged it closer and stood on it. She took a quick peek inside, then ducked down, blinking in shock.
    Her eyes had registered the following: Big. Male. Naked. Wet. And effin’ ripped. The makeshift togahad been hiding a chest that made her heart beat faster and a backside that made her knees go weak. Damn.
    Drawing a breath, she closed her eyes slowly, then opened them again and peered through the slightly fogged glass one more time.
    Utana was standing beside a shower stall, staring at it as if in wonder. He was buck naked, and she