A Sheriff in Tennessee by Lori Handeland

Author:Lori Handeland
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Harlequin
Published: 2002-10-07T04:00:00+00:00

SERAFINA GLANCED PAST Klein and muttered something in Italian that didn’t sound like “honey.” Then she sniffed, pointedly gave him a glare and flounced into the kitchen.

Klein leaned against the counter. He’d bet money that the mayor was fondling Isabelle beneath the table. Klein had to breathe deeply and focus on staying right where he was, because what he wanted to do was stalk over there, drag the mayor out of the booth and break any part of him that had touched any part of her.

But when he’d asked if anything was the matter, she’d shaken her head. Klein wasn’t going to embarrass himself by stepping in when he wasn’t needed. He’d been there and done that.

Still, he continued to watch them both, wondering what she was up to. She’d said the mayor was a molting vulture. From where he stood right now, Isabelle seemed to have developed a deep fondness for molting vultures.

Her face was animated, and one hand emphasized her words while the other hid beneath the table, no doubt holding hands with this new friend, too.

Klein was gritting his teeth again, so he forced himself to stop. He knew better than to get emotionally involved with a beautiful woman. Heck, with any woman. He’d done so well for so long. Then Isabelle had come to town, and in the space of one day all his carefully laid plans, all his meticulously thought-out rules had gone into the trash.

He was lonely, but he would live. If a person could die of loneliness, Klein never would have made it past the age of eight.

Despite his good intentions, he found himself fascinated with the movements of her fingers and the shape of her mouth. Klein shifted against the countertop as an image of those clever fingers doing something else entirely sprang to life in his brain. If he didn’t put a stop to this sudden obsession, he was going to get hurt, or at the very least be embarrassed. And he’d have no one to blame but himself.

Klein forced his thoughts from flashes of Isabelle in a towel, wet and warm from her shower, staring at him with what he’d sworn was invitation in her eyes, until he’d come to his senses…to the way she’d been only a little while ago.

Her tale of the afternoon accident had been different from Virgil’s. From her point of view, the afternoon had been an adventure, though she had not styled herself a heroine. Instead, she’d added humor in just the right amount to make the tale bittersweet. She’d had everyone laughing if not smiling, including him. Isabelle had a wonderful imagination, a gift for words and an incredible sense of timing. Why hadn’t she become a writer instead of an actress if she could concoct stories out of the air and keep people entertained with such ease?

One look at her face and he knew why. That face didn’t belong in front of a computer; it belonged on the screen.

Because Klein was looking at her so closely, he saw her gaze lower to the nearly empty plate of lasagna.

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