Tina Wainscott - Driven To Distraction

Her brown eyes were large as she watched him. Her breath was coming in short puffs, soft and barely audible. If he didn’t consult his logic here, he was going to be in big trouble.

Logic.

“Tree snails,” he said, and moved her toward the edge of the pool.

She grabbed onto the edge when he abruptly moved to retrieve the rest of the papers. “Pardon?”

He started reciting snail names with each piece of paper he snatched out of the water. “Delicatus. Elegans. Floridanus. Lucidovarius.” He had exactly four days, four hours and twenty-nine minutes to complete this project. All right, he was focused again, his mind firmly on deadlines and Stacy’s bottom as she pulled herself out of the pool…“Septentrionalis.” He took a deep breath when he grabbed the last piece of paper and turned around. “Nipples.”

At first he wasn’t aware of what he’d said, only that she was sitting on the edge of the pool, and her white tank top was close to transparent. She glanced down and jerked her arms across her chest. Only then did he realize exactly what had come out of his mouth.

Not a snail name.

Not even close.

She jumped to her feet and set the wet papers on the edge of the table. “I’d better go before I die of embarrassment altogether,” she said, her arms still fastened to her chest.

“I’m sorry—”

“No, I’m sorry. I’m an idiot. I’m going now.”

Barrett had reached the side of the pool, where Elmo was waiting for him. They both watched her stalk around the hedge and heard her door slam shut.

He was completely baffled. First that she’d affected him in such a profound way. And second that she’d blamed herself for his faux pas. It made no sense.

It made even less sense than his having gone in the pool fully clothed, shoes and all.

STACY LOOKED at herself in the bathroom mirror. Yep, there they were, showing right through the white material like brown beacons. No wonder the word had slipped out of his mouth! Gawd, could she be more embarrassed? Probably not. First sending his notes afloat and then this. He must think she was something else. He probably had some technical word for her, some fifty-cent word she wouldn’t understand.

The only redeeming factor in the whole pool incident was when he was reciting those snail names. She had to be the only person in the world to be turned on by snail names. That probably made her a disturbed woman, but she could handle that. Of course, it more than likely had something to do with the fact that Barrett was reciting them, though why he’d been doing it just then was a mystery.

She peeled off the tank top and tossed it in the hamper. Okay, the other redeeming factor was when he’d held her against him in the pool. The water sure wasn’t cold anymore after that. No, sirree. And if she’d been in her right mind, she wouldn’t have thought for a minute that he was going to kiss her. She wouldn’t have imagined the hunger she saw in his eyes. He was only holding her up in deep water, being nice. What he was probably thinking was that he’d like to throttle her for distracting him from his project yet again, and worse, for waterlogging his notes.

That’s what she’d really seen, annoyance, not hunger. He’d probably been reciting those snail names to keep his temper at bay like other people counted to ten.

She stripped out of her leggings and left them in a wet pile on the bathroom floor. A glimpse of her boyish figure reinforced her misunderstanding. No way could this body entice that man.

She threw on shorts and a T-shirt and wandered into the living room. If Gene and Judy’s home was regurgitated Florida, her home was granny style. The sturdy furniture was made to last more than a lifetime. Granny had had it since her early days of marriage. The colonial style would never be outdated. Brown sculptured carpet hid the stains and wear. Beiges and browns were neutral. For some reason Stacy had never quite understood, Granny liked mushrooms for a decor accent. The kitchen clock was shaped like a mushroom, and if that weren’t bad enough, there were tiny mushrooms at the ends of the minute and hour hands. A mushroom statue sat on the coffee table. Though she wasn’t enamored of the fungus, she couldn’t bear to part with anything Granny loved.

When the doorbell rang, she found Nita standing on the front step.

“Hey, Nita. Nice shirt.”

Nita wore one of Granny’s classics: Coffee, Chocolate, Men—Some Things Are Just Better Rich. “I want a word with you, young lady.”

“Uh-oh. Maybe you’d better come in.”

Nita made herself comfortable on the afghan-covered couch while Stacy searched her mind for whatever favor or task she’d forgotten to do. Nothing came to mind as she sank into the brown chair Granny thought looked like an upside-down mushroom. “Okay, what’s up?”

“I know you’re lying. Out with it.”

“Lying? About what?” At first she wondered if Ricky had spilled about the donor insemination. But technically she hadn’t lied about that, just omitted information. Then it must be about—

“You know exactly what I’m talking about—your so-called romance with Barrett. I think you’re pretending to be in love with him to throw us off his trail.”

Well, that had been the idea. Unfortunately, it was becoming truer every time she saw him. And as hard as it was to lie to someone who was like family to her, she had to think about the mess she’d made of Barrett’s notes. She owed him. “We’re not pretending.”

“Then how come he was jogging all by himself this morning? If you were really keeping company with that man, you’d be jogging with him. I know you. You wouldn’t let him go out there alone with all these women just waiting to send their daughters and granddaughters out jogging with him, if you know what I mean. That’s how I know you’re lying.”

Stacy swallowed hard. She hated jogging. It made her breasts feel like overused tennis balls.

“I was going to jog with him this morning, as a matter of fact. But he went earlier than we’d planned, and he was nice enough not to wake me up. Who’s planning on ambushing him?”

Nita just lifted her shoulder. “Couldn’t say for sure. But I’ve heard talk. Plans,” she added in a low voice. “I’d be keeping a close eye on him, that’s all I’m saying.”

Oh, boy.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.