Her Secret Affair. Arlene James

      Brodie popped the last of his pita into his mouth and pushed back his chair. “If you’ve had enough to eat, why don’t we just go look? I have a measuring tape around here somewhere.”

      “Good idea.”

      He got up and pulled her chair out for her as she followed suit. Marcel appeared as they were moving away from the table. “You can remove the lunch plates,” Brodie said genially, “but leave the dessert. We’ll be back for it.”

      “That seafood salad was luscious,” Chey told the chef, and he beamed.

      “Now you’ve done it,” Brodie told her, pulling her arm through his.

      “What?”

      “He’ll meet you at the door with a plate of food the next time you arrive,” Brodie warned, only half joking. “Marcel lives to cook. Feeding people wonderful food is his primary mission in life. I sometimes worry that if I don’t get some empty bellies in here for him to fill he’ll leave and go back to restaurant work.”

      “No wonder you’re impatient to get the house into shape,” she said.

      “The satisfaction of my stomach depends upon it,” he quipped dryly.

      She shook her head, laughing, and only later, as he escorted her upstairs, did she reflect that this man’s charm was lethal. They went into his office, where he searched out a small, flimsy measuring tape that did not exceed ten feet in length. Just to complicate matters, the silly thing would retract without warning, snapping right out of her fingers, which meant they often had to start all over again. It took several tries to get two measurements in the outer chamber, and by the time they managed it, Chey was holding on to the end of that tape measure for dear life, reluctant to let go for any reason, so when it retracted again and it seemed she couldn’t stop it, she stupidly followed it—right into Brodie Todd.

      She bumped against his chest and, startled, looked up, the tape measure and their hands trapped between them. For an instant, he seemed as shocked as she was, but then he let go of the measuring tape case, and it hit the floor between her feet with a clunk, leaving her with the end of the tape still clamped between her fingertips and her wide gaze trapped by his own rapidly darkening one. He moved his hand, dropping it slightly and opening it to slide his palm across her ribs, just beneath her breast. The other hand he clamped around the nape of her neck. She couldn’t seem to look away or move.

      He bent his head, then brought her mouth to his with the gentle pressure of his hand at the back of her head. Sensation swamped her, radiating from his hands and mouth into her skin, muscles and bones, suffusing her with a trembling warmth that sent her good sense begging and pooled heavily in her breasts and belly. At first the kiss was light, tender, easy, just a simple meeting of lips. Then, entirely of their own accord, her eyelids fluttered shut, and everything changed.

      He wrapped his arms around her, tilted his head, and opened her mouth with his, sliding his tongue inside. She heard a hiss and was dimly aware that it must have been the tape sliding into the case, which meant, of course, that she had let go of the end, which would explain how her hands came to be sliding up his chest and around his neck. He made a sound of acute pleasure and tightened his arms, plastering her body to his as his tongue delved deeper.

      She forgot why this was a bad idea. She forgot everything but the desire for more. She wanted to be closer, to feel more, to do more. She needed more from his mouth, more from the hard, sculpted planes of his body, more from the hands now kneading her flesh with mounting urgency as she moved against him. As if he knew exactly what she needed most, he dropped a hand to her bottom, cupping and lifting her against him even as he wedged a knee between hers, shoving her skirt indecently high. She melted from the inside out, undulating instinctively against him.

      Suddenly they were two wild things, grabbing and grinding, trying to devour each other. She was so lost that she didn’t even hear the little voice that shattered it. All she knew was that one moment she wanted to tear his skin open and crawl beneath it, and the next instant he was shoving her away. She blinked up into his face, astonished to be doing so and then more astonished by all that had just happened. She didn’t have time to be embarrassed, thankfully, because Seth hurtled past her and threw himself at Brodie.

      “Daddy, I saw pishes!” He held out his arms. “Gweat big pishes!”

      Brodie finally looked away from her and smiled down at his son. “That’s great!” Chey became aware of another person entering the room then, and heat bloomed in her cheeks. She turned away, folding her arms, and pretended to be studying the far wall. “Did you go to the aquarium?” she heard Brodie ask.

      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.