Wedding Willies. Victoria Pade
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seem to help himself.
But then it wasn’t every day that he met someone he hit it off with the way he’d hit it off with Kit. Someone he felt so comfortable with. Someone who—unless he was mistaken—had been pretty relaxed with him, too.
Conversation hadn’t been a struggle. They’d fallen easily into teasing each other. Into joking around. Their whole time together had been… Well, fun. It was as simple as that.
But simple or not, that hadn’t happened for him in a long while.
Oh, sure, it was easy enough to talk to other women he knew. To tease them and joke around with them. But last night, with Kit, there had been an added element to it. A different dynamic.
Attraction.
Okay, he admitted it. He’d felt an attraction to Kit.
Much as he didn’t want to. And he didn’t want to.
What had he sworn to himself after Lynda?
No out-of-towners.
It wasn’t a difficult concept. He didn’t want to get involved with any woman who had a life and ties outside Northbridge. Certainly no one who had a whole business somewhere else.
So what the hell was he doing? he asked himself as he began to scramble eggs.
He took another peek out the window in the direction of the studio apartment. That simple gesture was enough to put the picture of Kit into his head even though there was no sign of her.
It was a phenomena that had been happening since she’d left him in the restaurant the night before. Every detail of the way Kit looked would pop into his head even when he was trying not to think about her or trying to talk himself out of the things she’d roused in him. Out of the blue the image of her would invade in bright, living color. And it certainly wasn’t helping anything.
How could it when he liked the way she looked so damn much?
That was somewhat of a puzzler all on its own.
He usually went for the surfer-girl types—sleek, sun-streaked blond hair; healthy tans that spoke of athletic, outdoorsy interests; long legs that went on forever.
And that wasn’t Kit.
Kit had crazy-wild espresso-colored hair that made her look a little untamed. And it framed pale, flawless, alabaster skin that didn’t seem to have ever seen the unblocked sun. Plus she wasn’t particularly leggy. How could she be when she was barely more than three or four inches over five feet tall?
But still it all worked for her.
He didn’t think he’d ever seen anyone with features that fine and delicate. With cheekbones that high. With a nose that thin and impeccably shaped. With lips that were a perfect mix of full and pink and perfect. With dark, purplish blue eyes.
Violet—that’s what they were. The color of the flowers on that bush his mother loved so much. Blue-violet eyes. Big, round, sparkling blue-violet eyes with the longest, thickest black lashes….
Ad sighed a long sigh.
She also had a terrific little body. Tight and compact with breasts that had drawn his attention and thoughts more than once, and a rear end that would just fit in his hands….
Yeah. He definitely liked the way she looked.
But she lives in Denver, he reminded himself. She has a business in Denver. She’s only here until after the wedding.
That reminder was supposed to be the antidote.
But all it had accomplished was to leave him thinking about how he had the whole week with Kit right next door.
“You’re just asking for misery,” he muttered in warning. The kind of misery he’d suffered before. The kind of misery he was determined not to ever suffer again.
So he knew that what he should do was eat this breakfast by himself, not see Kit any more than necessary while she was here, and squelch the hell out of that mental picture of her that kept raising things he didn’t want raised.
No doubt about it, that’s what he should do.
Except that just then he heard the door on the studio apartment open and close.
And did he do what he should do? Did he ignore it and count himself lucky not to have to see her first thing this morning?
No, he didn’t.
He dropped everything to charge to his own door and fling it open before any better judgment had a chance to take hold.
“Oh, you scared me,” Kit said, pressing a hand to her chest.
“I’m sorry,” he apologized.
She had on a pair of white short-shorts that made him think twice about the notion that she didn’t have long legs, and a red cap-sleeved T-shirt that fit tight enough to give him pause. And her hair was a loose cascade of curls and waves, and she looked all fresh-scrubbed and…
And wow!
It took him a moment to remember what he was doing and get back on track.
“I wanted to catch you before you hit the restaurant for breakfast,” he explained. “I thought maybe you’d like to share mine.”
“That’s nice,” she said, making him realize just then that he even liked the sound of her voice—a soft, sexy voice that went on to say, “Kira called a little while ago and said she’d be here to pick me up earlier than we planned last night. I’m going down to meet her now. Thanks, though.”
“Sure. Anytime,” Ad answered as if it didn’t matter to him one way or another. Which was how it was supposed to be. But wasn’t.
“Does the restaurant close early tonight since it’s Sunday?” she asked then.
“Yeah, at eight.”
“I was thinking that if that was the case maybe tonight would be a good night for me to bake the cakes. I always do them ahead anyway and freeze them, and if the kitchen will be free—”
“Tonight would be good,” Ad assured her. “I hadn’t thought about it, but you’re right, with the place closed you can have free rein.”
She seemed to hesitate slightly before she said, “I was also thinking that—if it wouldn’t be a huge hassle for you and you don’t have other plans—it might help if you’re there.”
“You want me to play assistant pastry chef?”
“No, but you could point out where the bowls and utensils are, how to work your mixer, how long your oven takes to preheat, if there are any hot spots—things like that. I just don’t know the workings of your kitchen.”
“Sure. No problem,” he said as if he wasn’t already looking forward to being alone with her.
“You don’t have other plans?” she asked.
“Tallying up weekend receipts—but I think they can wait.”
“You don’t mind?”
“Nope.”
“Great. I’ll see you tonight, after eight, then.”
“I’ll be here.”
Horn dog. You’re just a damn horn dog, Walker, he chastised himself.
Kit headed down the stairs then and Ad’s eyes went with her, riding the small swell of the pockets of her shorts and sliding along the backs of smooth thighs and trim calves all the way to thin ankles and bare feet cushioned by a pair of sandals that exposed painted toenails.
“Have a nice day in the meantime,” she called to him.
“You, too,” he responded in a voice that was huskier than it should have been.
Denver. She lives in Denver. Remember Lynda