Flirting with Temptation - By Kelley St. John Page 0,43
conversation and when I’m not so tired that I can’t think straight.” Or read your hidden emotions.
“Talking won’t do you any good. I’m not interested in taking Kitty back.”
She cleared her throat. This was not the time to get into the reasons that he should give Kitty another chance, and besides that, her notes on the subject were in her room, and looking at Jeff out here in the moonlight, next to the cove—their cove—wasn’t the best situation for sparking her recollection of all the reasons he should be with the poodle. Er, Kitty. “I’m going back to my condo, and I’ll talk to you tomorrow.” She did her best to stomp away, but her feet had sunk into the sand, so she kind of slogged away.
His hand on her arm caused her feet to slip again, and she nearly fell. She would have if he hadn’t caught her, and damn if he didn’t catch her well.
“I don’t need your help,” she managed, but inside she screamed Help me, I’m melting, in a tone similar to the Wicked Witch of the West, but cuter. “I’m going back to the hotel. I mean, the condo.”
“You do need my help,” he said, his face close enough that she could feel his warm breath on her lips. “And if you know me at all, you know that I’d never let a woman, any woman, walk by herself at night.”
Babette had turned to mush the minute his words breathed across her face, but the “any woman” comment reminded her of Perky and brought her right slap out of that. She pulled her arm from his grasp. “Well, aren’t you the gentleman? Fine, walk with me. Do whatever you please.”
“I will.”
Again, she tried to stomp away, to at least put some distance between them as they walked, but again, her feet were lodged and made a disgusting sucking noise as she pulled them free.
He laughed at her. Again.
“Stop it,” she warned, moving away from the cove and trying to get to the main portion of the beach, where they wouldn’t be so alone.
“Or what?” he challenged.
Damn. She didn’t know. She shrugged, and kept walking ahead of him. Thankfully she was at the edge of the main beach strip, and she moved toward the water so she could let it rinse the thick sand from her feet. Within a few steps, she was walking fine, and feeling better too. And he’d stopped talking, which was good. She guessed. She knew he was right behind her even though he wasn’t saying anything, and she could hear the water splashing with his steps. Occasionally, she felt a tiny spray on her butt.
Then a bigger spray moved a little higher up, and hit her lower back. He was not kicking water at her.
The next one met her shoulders.
She kept walking. He was the same childish prankster he’d always been. He knew she was mad at him, and he was picking on her to see if she’d rise to the bait.
Wasn’t going to happen.
She took several more steps and thankfully the irritating splashes ceased. Well good, he’d finally decided to act his age. She took a deep breath of salty air, smiled at the way she was running the show . . . and was completely drenched by a flume of water that smacked her entire backside, all the way to her head.
She whirled around, saw the smartass smiling, and attacked.
“You’re such an immature, irritating, bothersome kid!” she screamed, running full blast and then launching into him.
They hit the water with a splashing thud, and she silently cheered when a wave washed over his face. He shook off the excess water and then that damn smile was right back, claiming his gorgeous face and reminding her how good-looking he was.
It infuriated her.
“You’re a little boy trapped in a thirty-eight-year-old body, and you really need to grow up!” She opened her mouth to continue her tirade, and at that precise moment, a big, salty wave slammed into the shore and covered them both completely.
She fell off her prey and swallowed enough saltwater to take care of an entire winter of sore throats. Granny Gert would be proud; Babette hated gargling with salt-water. Pushing heavy wet curls out of her eyes, she blinked a few times, and realized that her eyes were filled with saltwater too. They burned like hell.
As if things couldn’t get worse, Jeff, completely wet, was looking at her, all drop-dead and dripping six-foot-two inches of him.