Arlene James - Her Secret Affair

Viola answered him. “No. We were walking along the street and…”

Chey barely listened to the story, something about a truck delivering fish to a local restaurant and a broken crate, ice going everywhere. Chey became aware, belatedly, that everyone was laughing, but she couldn’t manage more than a smile as the full realization of what she’d done finally settled over her.

Kiss seemed too small a word for what they’d shared. A mere kiss didn’t make your insides tremble and clench long after the fact. It didn’t make you curl your hands into fists just to keep from reaching out for more. Even her throat was trembling so badly that she could barely swallow. Suddenly she had to get out of there.

“I think I have everything I need for now,” she announced abruptly, turning and heading toward the door. “I’ll show myself out.” He said something to Viola, then Chey heard him coming after her and picked up the pace.

He caught her at the top of the stairs, hauled her around easily, his big, exquisite hands with those long, tapered fingers and wide palms encircling her upper arms. His blue gaze plumbed hers. “Chey, we haven’t even had dessert.”

She managed to look away. “None for me, thank you. I really have to go.”

“When will you be back?”

“Soon.”

“Very soon, I hope.” His voice was rough, husky. “As soon as possible.”

“As soon as possible,” she agreed, which wouldn’t be soon at all. He slid his hands up and down her arms, and then he finally let her go.

She was in the car before she remembered that she’d left her designs and briefcase in the garden room. She didn’t go back for them. She didn’t dare.

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