The Last Breath. Kimberly Belle

Dean watched from the doorway. It was an all-consuming, toe-curling scrutiny that made something deep inside her belly buzz and hum.

      When Shelley answered on the third ring, Ella Mae gave her friend a brief rundown of Dean’s request.

      “Shelley says she has two female puppies available,” Ella Mae told Dean, dropping the mouthpiece to her shoulder, “one black and one cream colored. Both are weaned and ready to go.”

      Dean’s smile was white-hot, and her knees caved a little. He took three long strides across the checkered linoleum. “Tell her we’re on our way.”

      “We?”

      He gestured to her tennis outfit. “Unless you have something else you need to do.”

      Other than a tennis lesson she could just as well skip, Ella Mae didn’t have anything else she needed to do. She didn’t even have anything else she wanted to do, other than spend the rest of her day playing with Dean Sullivan’s fire.

      She should say no. Say no and show him the door and avoid any more contact with Dean. Did they make blinders for wives with wandering eyes and handsome neighbors? Then again, blinders only help if you were willing to turn your head, and Ella Mae was not.

      Nor was she willing to turn him down.

      Ella Mae pressed the phone back to her ear. “We’ll be there in about thirty minutes.”

      If Shelley answered, Ella Mae didn’t hear. By now Dean was close, so close. Close enough for her to feel his heat. Close enough for him to touch her. He slid a palm to her waist, and she let him. He pulled her up against his body, hard and lean and ready, and she practically fainted with relief.

      Finally.

      He lowered his mouth to hers, and at the very last second, she somehow came to her senses.

      “Shell, it may take us a teeny bit longer.” The words tripped and tumbled in a hurry off her tongue, right before Dean took the phone from her hand and dropped it onto the cradle.