Match me if you can by Susan Elizabeth Phillips

Author:Susan Elizabeth Phillips [Phillips, Susan Elizabeth]
Format: epub
Tags: Contemporary
Publisher: Avon
Published: 2010-05-31T22:00:00+00:00

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Chapter Fourteen

When Annabelle returned to the cottage shortly after midnight, her cheeks were still flushed from watching the film, and her sundress clung to hot, damp… very damp flesh. Seeing the light shining through the front window filled her with dismay. Maybe he'd left it on as a courtesy. Please don't still be waiting up. She absolutely could not face him tonight. Even without watching a dirty movie, she could barely keep her hands off him, but after what she'd just seen…

She tiptoed up to the porch, slipped off her sandals, and let herself in as silently as the squeaky screen door and wobbly doorknob would allow.

"Hey."

She gasped and dropped her sandals. "Don't scare me like that!"

"Sorry." He lay sprawled on the couch, a sheaf of papers in one hand. He wasn't wearing a shirt, just a pair of faded black athletic shorts. His feet were bare, his ankles crossed on the arm of the couch, where light from the floor lamp turned the hair on his calves golden. Her eyes returned to the gym shorts. After what she'd seen on the screen, he was criminally overdressed.

As she tried to get her breath back, he lifted his head and shoulders, which, of course, contracted his abs into the gold standard of six-packs. "Why's your face so red?" he said.

"S-sunburn." She knew how vulnerable she was, and she should have thrown herself in the lake to cool off before she came back here.

"That's not sunburn." He swung his feet to the floor, and she noticed his hair was damp. "What's wrong with you?"

"Nothing!" She began inching away. It meant taking the long route around, but she wasn't turning her back on him. "You took another shower."

"So?"

"You showered after you swam. What are you, some kind of clean freak?"

"Ron and I went for a run after dinner. Why do you care?"

Oh, God, that chest, that mouth… those green eyes that saw everything. Except her naked. They'd never seen that. "I'm… going to bed now."

"Was it something I said?"

"Don't be cute. Please."

"I'll do my best." He gave her a crooked smile. "But me being me…"

"Stop it!" She didn't intend to quit moving, but her feet went on some kind of labor strike.

"You need warm milk or something?"

"No, I definitely don't need anything hot."

"I said warm. I didn't say anything about hot." He set down his papers.

"I—I know that."

She might be standing still, but he wasn't, and he took in her damp, rumpled dress as he approached. "What's going on?"

She couldn't take her eyes off his mouth. It brought to mind all the mouths she'd seen on that small television screen so recently and exactly what they'd been doing. Damn Krystal and her movie. "I'm just tired," she managed.

"You don't look tired. Your lips are sort of puffy, like you've been chewing on them, and you're breathing hard. Frankly, you look turned on. Or is that my one-track mind taking over again?"

"Let it go, okay?" He had a small scar on one rib, probably a knife wound from a spurned girlfriend.

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