Before Dawn by Terry Lawrence

Author:Terry Lawrence [Lawrence, Terry]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2013-06-05T22:00:00+00:00

“Morning, teach.” Cliff smiled and slid the beachside door open.

She had come over feeling decidedly snappish. One look at Cliff and her heart lurched. He wore a cutoff T-shirt that emphasized the ripples of his abdomen, cutoff jeans and those ratty Topsiders. She wanted to ask him if that was all he ever wore but decided it’d be safer not to call attention to it. He smelled like soap and looked like he had gotten out of the shower not long before. His hair was getting so long that Annie suspected it would still be damp. Of course, the only way to test that theory would be to run her hands through it.

She buried her fists in the pockets of her peasant skirt and stepped through the door, using her knees to prevent Kane from squeezing out. “Hi, beast.”

The door closed with an airtight whoosh. Annie smelled after-shave. The man didn’t shave. That meant he had dabbed on cologne. For her sake. Under the anger, something began to tingle.

Vigorously she cleared her throat. “Where’s Dave?”

“You’re not going to ask what that wonderful aroma is?”

She had already speculated on the wonderful aroma.

“I’ve got sausage in the skillet and omelet-makings ready to go. We were just waiting for you.”

“Smells great.” If that was sausage, it was the only kind in existence that smelled like musky male cologne.

She followed him into the kitchen, plastering a smile on her face as they rounded the doorway. The table was empty.

Two place settings.

No Dave.

“I thought you said we were waiting?”

Kane trotted into the room on cue. “Sure,” Cliff said, scratching the dog’s ears.

Annie scraped out the nearest chair and plopped down. “How about if I watch my star pupil make breakfast?” The sensation of being out-maneuvered finally hit home. No doubt he would be as competent in his own kitchen as he was in hers. So why the invitation? Her nerve endings went on red alert.

“Anything you say, teach.” Cliff patted the counter for the tub of butter, wondering how he knew through sense alone that she was sitting there with her lips pursed, arms folded and legs crossed. Maybe tension communicated itself in waves of some kind.

A pat of melting butter hissed in the pan. Cliff poured in the eggs. “Aren’t you curious about the makings of a legendary Sullivan Omelet?”

Annie squared her shoulders and decided she was being silly. She was a grown woman, free to call the shots here, free to say no to anything she felt was getting out of hand. Although, judging from the way her nerves sizzled, if he touched her she might melt like that pat of butter.

She got up and clutched the countertop, a good three feet from him. “Secret ingredients?”

“Old family recipe.” He pulled a short knife out of the silverware drawer and proceeded to dice a green pepper. Watching the deftness with which he handled the knife, Annie held her breath.

“Voilà!” He scooped a handful off the cutting board.

Annie’s breath came out in a rush.

“Wait’ll you see me flip these omelets.

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