Cindy Kirk - The Husband List

Mitzi slid a hand along the recently sanded doorjamb and his mouth went dry.

Okay, maybe he’d consider begging.

“Interested?” She lifted a brow. “In what?”

In pushing up that sweater and letting me fill my hands with your breasts.

In tugging that scrap of skirt down and exploring with my mouth and tongue what lies beneath.

Heck, yes, he was interested.

Keenan took a moment to collect himself. “Pizza, of course.”

“I’m not sure us having dinner is a good idea.”

Keenan understood. Right now his own gut roiled. But standing back and letting life happen had never been his style. He gave a little chuckle. “You’re afraid.”

“Don’t be silly.” She huffed. “I’m not afraid of anything. Or anyone.”

He clucked like a chicken, a noise straight from childhood. It had infuriated Betsy when he’d used it on her as a kid. From the flash of temper in Mitzi’s eyes, it had the same effect on her.

“Have you considered,” she said between gritted teeth, “that I simply may not want to share a pizza with you but am too polite to say so?”

“Nope. Absolutely not.” He shook his head. “Chicken.”

Her lips twitched upward. Just once.

“If I did come,” she began, waving one hand loosely in the air, “it would be because I’m hungry. And because I haven’t had...pizza...in weeks.”

“Understood.” He hadn’t had...pizza...in years, either.

“It wouldn’t be a date,” she said quickly. “And I won’t allow you to pay my share.”

“Hmm.” Keenan rubbed his chin. “I don’t recall offering.”

Her eyes narrowed to slits. She didn’t even crack a smile. “I’ll be blunt. I’m not looking for a relationship with you.”

“Sheesh, Mitzi.” Keenan lifted his hands, palms out. “Way to blow a simple invite into the stratosphere.”

She blew out a breath. “As long as we understand each other.”

Though she did a good job of hiding it, he saw the desire lurking in her eyes. Ah, yes, they understood each other. Quite well, in fact.

He fixed his gaze on her, let it drop and linger on her breasts before returning to her lips. “I know exactly what I want.”

“Oh, yeah? Well, tonight what you’re going to get is pizza.”

He hid a grin, wondering if Mitzi realized that instead of slamming the door shut, she’d left it slightly ajar.

* * *

Mitzi told herself if she didn’t find a parking space on the first pass through downtown, she’d head to Hill of Beans, pick up a nice Cobb salad and take it home to eat.

As she sped down Main, an Escalade eased from the curb, leaving a space big enough for the entire state of Utah. Yet, even after she pulled into the spot, Mitzi made no move to get out.

When she’d left Keenan and Bill at her new home, it hadn’t even been five. Now it was nearly seven. She’d had plenty of time to consider Keenan’s dinner challenge. Even as she showered and changed her clothes, the red flags waving wildly in the air urged her to turn tail and run. It wouldn’t be wise to meet him.

Not for pizza. Certainly not for sex.

Though if she was being totally honest, she’d have to admit to one or two lascivious thoughts when she’d seen him with that tool belt slung low across his hips and a white T-shirt stretched broad across his muscular chest.

Perhaps that’s why she was here. To prove to herself she could still handle temptation. If she ever did hop into bed with him—and that was a mighty big if—it would be a rational decision, made after much thought.

It would be foolish and shortsighted to cast aside the option entirely. Her husband hunt could take time. Until she found someone who met her criteria, her choice was either to remain celibate or snatch a few moments of pleasure where she could find it.

It wasn’t as if either she or Keenan would be using each other. Not if they both hopped into bed knowing it was only a physical thing. But tonight, the only thing on the menu was pizza.

Reassured, Mitzi headed for the restaurant.

* * *

Keenan spotted Mitzi before she saw him. Like him she wore jeans and a simple cotton shirt. But with heeled sandals and designer bag, the pretty doctor looked anything but casual. In fact, with her hair tousled around her face, she looked like a stylish socialite who’d just tumbled out of bed after an afternoon of lovemaking.

In all his years as an adult male, Keenan couldn’t remember ever wanting a woman the way he wanted Mitzi. When she drew close, his body began to hum. It wasn’t just out-of-prison hormones but something deeper.

The tiny hairs at the base of his neck rose and electricity crackled in the air. Even knowing she didn’t find him suitable for a “relationship” wasn’t enough to quell the attraction.

That didn’t mean he planned to sleep with her. Despite the teasing offer he’d extended, his years in the penitentiary had given him plenty of time to think. More important, time to assess where he came from and where he wanted to be headed.

Most of his life had been spent reacting, batting cleanup for his mother’s wrong choices. Gloria’s wild mood shifts, fueled by alcohol, had made a stable home life impossible. Still, for Betsy’s sake, Keenan had tried.

He’d made dinner, even if it was only hot dogs or mac and cheese from a box. When a teacher had commented on the cleanliness of his clothes and he saw concern in her eyes, Keenan had figured out how to run the washer. He’d forced Betsy to take a shower every night and made her brush her hair before she left the house.

Keenan may not have had designer jeans or a closetful of clothes like most of his friends, but he and his sister were clean and stayed under the social service radar.

He knew some of the girls in his class considered him beneath them because he didn’t have the cool car or the right clothes. Others had wanted him because of his bad-boy image. In their own way, both were snubs. Both had scraped bone. He’d assuaged pent-up fury with explosive contact during football games and later by participating in extreme sports.

Though he’d started to turn his life around before he was charged with murder, it was his prison counselor who helped him get his head straight.

She’d taught him to value his strengths, to not settle for less than he deserved. Keenan knew that being with a woman who considered him less than her, no matter how great the sex, would be settling.

When his body began to vibrate as Mitzi drew near, Keenan reminded himself that tonight only one thing was on the menu...pizza.

Chapter Four

Other than a group of giggly preteens and their parents, Perfect Pizza, a popular eatery in downtown Jackson, was surprisingly quiet. After placing their order at the counter, Mitzi picked up the table flag and plastic utensils. Keenan carried the glasses of soda to a series of wooden booths with high backs that lined the back wall.

Once seated, conversation flowed surprisingly easily. By the time the pizza was delivered to their table by a teenager in the throes of a war on acne, Mitzi had begun to relax.

Mitzi hesitated, not certain if she should eat the pizza with a fork or just pick it up. If she was alone she usually just picked up the slice.

When Keenan lifted his piece in one hand and took a bite, she relaxed and did the same.

The blend of herbs and spices, not to mention a generous artery-clogging supply of cheese, came together in something that could only be called delicious.

“I’m glad you like anchovies. Most people can’t stand them,” Keenan murmured, gazing at the large pie covered with the tiny fish on the table between them.

“They don’t know what they’re missing.” Mitzi let the slice hover just beyond her lips then took another bite.