Janet Evanovich - Naughty Neighbor

He sniffed, and she gave him some tissues from her purse. “Stay right here,” she said. “I’ll get you some toilet paper.”

“Don’t have any,” he said sadly. “Blew my nose in it all.”

“Okay, how about napkins.”

“None.”

“Paper towels?”

“All gone.” He flopped in a chair. “I’b a failure, Lou. I’b no gud ad being sick.”

“How much of that syrup have you had?”

“Nod enough. I ran oud, so I switched to brandy.”

“Oh boy.”

“And I’be been lonely, Lou. I’b missed you.”

“I’ve missed you too.”

“Did you come to marry me?”

“I’m thinking about it.”

“I’b glad,” he said. “I’b waited a long time for you. Years and years.” His eyes dropped closed, and he sighed. “I lub you.”

Two weeks later she was still thinking about marriage. She was thinking that it might not be so bad. Tom Hanks hadn’t called with a barbecue invitation, and she hadn’t met any women named Bambi. Not that it mattered, she told herself, because she was the new Lou, and she could handle whatever.

She was sitting on the front porch with Spike, and she was waiting for Pete to come home from the day’s shoot.

“No different from working at AT &T or General Dynamics,” Louisa said to Spike. “He goes out in the morning, and he comes home in the evening, just like any other man.”

A limo cruised by the gate house and began the climb to the top of the hill. It stopped in front of Louisa, and Pete got out, holding his laptop and the latest version of the script. He closed the door, and the limo took off down the hill. “Well, another day at the salt mines,” Pete said.

Okay, so maybe he wasn’t exactly like any other man, Louisa conceded.

He set the computer on the porch and pulled Louisa to her feet, kissing her fiercely, needing to make up for the time away from her. Immediately, he was hard and hungry, almost out of control. He stripped her shirt over her head, tugged at the closure on her bra.

Louisa gasped. “Good Lord, not on the front lawn!”

He hooked his thumb into the elastic waistband of her shorts and peeled them over her hips.

She reached for the shorts, but he’d been too quick. They were on the ground. She turned for the privacy of the house and found he was blocking her way. He kissed her again, pulling her tight against him.

“This is crazy,” she said, barely able to form the words, barely able to think for the sensations his mouth was causing. “Suppose someone’s in the woods? Or walking along the hilltop?”

His smile was dark and feral. “Then they’re going to get one hell of a free show. Would you like to be watched?”

“Well, actually…no.”

“Suppose you were the person in the woods, and you happened upon two people in the throes of passion. Would you close your eyes? Or would you enjoy the show?”

She had to think longer about that, and while she was thinking Pete cleverly found the perfect spot. “Have you decided yet?” he asked her.

Her voice was thick when she answered. “What was the question?”

He laughed and kissed her…slowly. Everywhere. She begged for release, and he gave it to her. Then he stripped and took her on the front lawn.

It was almost dark when they were done, and the air was deliciously cool on Louisa’s flushed skin. “Pervert,” Louisa said.

He eased his weight from her. “A man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do.”

“Mmmm.”

“You seemed to like it.”

“I have to admit, doing it on the lawn held a certain allure, but I’m starting to feel a little weird.”

“Takes some getting used to,” he said.

“You’ve done this a lot?”

“No. But I’ve thought about it a lot. Mostly on the way home in the limo.” He raised his head and sniffed. “I smell meat loaf.”

“It’s dinner.”

“You made meat loaf for dinner?” He got to his feet and took her with him. “If I’d known there was meat loaf in the oven, I never would have bothered with sex.”

The cherry blossoms were blooming when Pete and Louisa returned to Washington. They stood on the front porch of the house on 27th Street, suitcases stacked at their feet, and they looked at the two front doors.

“We have sort of an odd problem here,” Pete said. “It looks to me like we’re at a crossroads in our relationship.”

Louisa steeled herself to a nervous flutter in her stomach. He hadn’t mentioned marriage for a month and a half, and she was scared to broach the subject. She opted for the safe, cowardly route. “I suppose we should move back into our own apartments.”

“Is that what you want?”

She could hear the wounded surprise in his voice and secretly rejoiced. The idea of living separately was just as abhorrent to him as it was to her.

In the past two months she’d come to appreciate Pete’s easygoing ways. His casual attitude about possessions and routine had made him a comfortable housemate. She thought it strange that those traits she’d originally hated in him were the very things she now found most appealing. And the little rituals of peace and solitude that had once been so important, now seemed sterile and distasteful. She enjoyed sharing her paper and her morning coffee. And she loved him. Lord, how she loved him.

“Well?” Pete asked.

“I’m thinking.”

He sighed and looked heavenward for patience. “Take your time.”

“You play your cards right, and I might consider marrying you.”

He flashed her a wide smile. “I knew you’d come around. What finally clinched it? Was it my charm? My superior intelligence? My studly butt?”

She shook her head. “It was your ventilation system.”

“You mean you’re marrying me because my apartment smells better than yours?”

“There’s more. Remember when you asked me what women wanted from a marriage and I said undying devotion and a warm place to put cold feet?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Can you guarantee me of both those things?”

“The undying devotion is easy. I don’t know about the cold feet. Which warm place did you have in mind?”

“You’ll never change,” she said. “Your mind is always in the gutter.”

“It’s my birthright.”

“It would have to be a church wedding,” Louisa said.

“Of course.”

“And Kurt couldn’t wear his watch cap and sweatshirt if he was best man.”

“Kurt wouldn’t be best man. My brother Chris would be best man.” Pete saw the look of relief on her face. Understandable, he thought. And because he didn’t want to ruin the moment for her, he didn’t have the heart to tell her about Chris. Besides, after Kurt, all those tattoos and the gold tooth might not seem so bad.

Bestselling author JANET EVANOVICH is the winner of the New Jersey Romance Writers Golden Leaf Award and multiple Romantic Times awards, including Lifetime Achievement. She is also a long-standing member of RWA.

“Romance novels are birthday cake and life is often peanut butter and jelly. I think everyone should have lots of delicious romance novels lying around for those times when the peanut butter of life gets stuck to the roof of your mouth.” Janet Evanovich, 1988

Visit Janet Evanovich’s website at www.evanovich.com, or write her at P.O. Box 5487, Hanover, NH 03755.