Foul Play - By Janet Evanovich Page 0,21

her just a bit, fitting himself into her curves.

“You don’t seem like the torturing type,” she said, lacing her voice with false bravado.

“Oh? What type am I?”

The loving type, she thought. She didn’t mean it in the physical, sexual sense. She simply thought that he was a lovable person, and she understood why the checkout ladies had given him such an enthusiastic recommendation. His positive good humor inspired good feelings in others. She was sure his success as a veterinarian was partially due to this. With the possible exception of Mr. Billings’s cat, animals immediately responded to him.

She heard his breath hitch and realized she’d drawn a line across his lower lip with the tip of her finger.

“Criminy,” she said, pulling her hand away as if it had been burned. “I didn’t mean to do that! Gee, I’m really sorry. I mean, you don’t go around fondling your employer. It was just one of those unconscious nervous gestures … like cracking your knuckles or drumming your fingers.”

She was going to be struck down dead for lying. It had been seduction, plain and simple, and they both knew it. And if that weren’t bad enough, she’d panicked like some preteen dimwit.

Jake frowned. “Why do I still make you nervous? I thought you only got nervous on the first kiss.”

“Sometimes on the second kiss,” she said breathlessly, surprised at how badly she wanted that second kiss.

“I wouldn’t want to be responsible for any unnecessary stress,” Jake said, moving his lips lightly across hers, more of a caress than a kiss, more tantalizing than satisfying. “How about the third and fourth?”

Amy felt intoxicated by his nearness, by the prospect of more kisses. He ran his finger across her lip, just as she had done to him, and the gesture was almost unbearable in its tenderness. “Not many men get to the third or fourth,” she answered honestly, watching his mouth slowly descend to hers. It was a gentle kiss, velvety soft and languorous. The kiss deepened, almost enveloping her in its dreamy intimacy

He pulled away and watched her for a moment, enjoying the desire he found in her eyes. There was something special going on between them. They both knew it, though she was more reluctant to act on it. He suspected her personality was more cautious, tidier and more analytical than his.

He tentatively explored the curve of her spine and the angle of her hipbone with a gentle hand. The silk shirt was slick under his touch, the woman warm beneath it. He kissed her again, moving his hands along her rib cage until his thumbs rested on the underside of her breasts.

Now what? He wanted to go on. He wanted to sweep her off her feet and make passionate love to her, over and over again, until they were too exhausted to continue.

“Oh hell,” he muttered.

Amy blinked at him. “Pardon?”

“Don’t you have some steak to cook?”

Amy stiffened in his arms. One minute he was all lovey-dovey and then he was grumpy. “Boy, you sure are moody.”

“It’s my stomach. It’s hungry. And I’ve got this chicken thing on my mind.” And I’m in love, he thought. I’m trying to do the right thing, here, but it’s damn frustrating.

Amy took the steaks from the counter and carried them to the grill on the back deck.

“Yeah. I guess I can understand that. I’m upset about the rooster, too. Poor thing. I hope it’s okay.”

It was twilight when they finally rose from the picnic table and carried their dinner remains into the kitchen. Amy made coffee and handed Jake the cookie jar. “Did the police ever figure out how the thief got into the building?”

Jake nibbled on a chocolate chip cookie. “It looked like he just came in through the front door. The police said our locks aren’t especially secure. In fact, they showed me how to open them with a credit card. First thing Monday, I’m having a locksmith change all the locks. And I’ve hired a night attendant. This isn’t going to happen again.”

“Do you suppose it could have been an inside job? Someone with a key?”

Jake shook his head no. “Allen and I are the only ones with keys.”

“I don’t like Brian Turner, either,” Amy said, “but I can’t see him stealing a rooster. I can’t see him getting his hands dirty with something like that.”

“Maybe he didn’t actually do the taking. Maybe there was someone else involved.”

Amy served the coffee and took a cookie from the jar. “Who’d you have in