Naughty Neighbor - By Janet Evanovich Page 0,16
sucking away the broiler smoke, no doubt sending it directly down to her kitchen.
He put a container of sour cream on the table and topped her wine. “How about Maislin’s staff? Do we have any information on them?”
Louisa pulled another folder from the cardboard box. She gave the folder to Pete and attacked her steak.
Pete read while he ate, but he didn’t find anything useful.
“That was great,” Louisa said. She looked at her wineglass and wondered how it had gotten empty.
Pete took a quart of chocolate ice cream from the freezer and set it in the middle of the table. He gave Louisa a sterling silver iced-tea spoon and kept one for himself.
“Let’s go over this again,” he said, digging into the ice cream. “Why is everyone so touchy about this pig?”
Louisa took a spoonful of ice cream and let it melt on her tongue. It was smooth and rich. It was the brand she couldn’t afford, the one that clogged arteries with butterfat. Already, she could feel her thighs expanding. She took another spoonful, closed her eyes, and murmured approval. “This is wonnnnderful ice cream,” she said, her eyes slightly glazed.
Pete stared at her. She was practically orgasmic. “Are you okay?” he asked.
“Couldn’t be better. I lovvvvve ice cream.” She had a large mound of ice cream on her spoon. She aimed it at her mouth, but it fell onto the table. “Oops,” she said. “I think it’s the wine. It sneaked up on me.”
Pete smiled. She was snockered. “You’re not much of a drinker, are you?”
“Am I acting silly?”
“Not yet.”
“I tend to get uninhibited when I drink,” she said.
“Oh boy.”
“And then I get tired. Wine always makes me tired.”
“How long would you say we’ve got between uninhibited and tired?”
“Not long. Minutes, actually.”
“Is there anything you’d especially like to do while you’re in the uninhibited stage?”
“Eat more ice cream.”
He spooned ice cream into her. “Anything else?”
“We could talk. There are some things I should say to you.”
“You really know how to bust loose when you’re uninhibited, don’t you?”
She smiled at him. “I have my moments.”
“Is this one of them?”
Louisa waved her iced-tea spoon. “I was a late bloomer.”
He crossed his arms on the table and leaned forward. He had a feeling this was going to be interesting.
“In fact, I didn’t bloom at all until I was in college. And even then…” She sighed and dabbled in the ice cream carton. “I had this silly idea that I should be in love before I…you know.”
“It’s not a silly idea.”
They both paused, each surprised he’d said such a thing.
“Do you make love to women you don’t love?” she asked.
“Only if it’s an emergency.”
She made an effort to focus her eyes on him. “That’s not a serious answer.”
He reached across the table and took her hand. He turned it palm up and kissed the soft center. “I don’t think either of us would like the serious answer.”
Heat radiated outward at the touch of his lips on her flesh. “Have you ever been in love?”
It was a complicated question. Certainly, there’d been women about whom he’d felt deeply. And there were a few voluptuous females early on who turned him inside out and left him flopping around like a beached flounder, struggling to survive. But he couldn’t honestly say he’d ever been in love. Lately, he’d begun to wonder if he was capable of loving someone.
“No,” he told her. “I’ve never been in love.”
“Me, either,” she said, yawning. “I thought I was once, but it was just wishful thinking.” She rested her head on the table and fell asleep.
Pete stared at her. He’d never seen anyone nod off on a glass and a half of wine before. He scooped her up and carried her to the couch. She was dressed in a soft pink suit and heels. He didn’t know what to do with her. He had a strong temptation to loosen her clothes in the interest of comfort, but he resisted. She’d probably get the wrong idea and think he’d done it just to fondle her. She’d probably be right.
He covered her with a quilt and went about the job of cleaning the kitchen. When he was done, he sat across from her on the coffee table and watched her sleep. She looked like a little girl, he thought. Her cheeks were flushed, her mouth soft and pouty, black lashes curved against her fine translucent skin. Her hair curled around her face in casual disarray. His throat felt tight and his heart