of fat, Marylou could eat anything she fancied. Her brown hair shone with natural highlights, and her blue eyes were always smiling. Jenna had no doubt the girl could have her pick of beaus. “That’s because you’re young and shapely, but I’m old and—”
“Very shapely.”
Ohmigod. At the sound of that rough male voice, Jenna stiffened. Eyes wide, heart hammering madly, she swiveled around to see Stan stepping past Marylou. Without an invitation, he joined her at the booth, placing his perfect body on the opposite bench, directly in front of her.
Sexual tension, thick as soup, suddenly hung in the air. Marylou just stood there, her mouth gaping, her eyes going back and forth with a ping-pong effect.
Unconcerned, Stan glanced up at her and said, “I’ll have whatever Jenna ordered—but make my cola nondiet.”
“Oh.” Marylou shook herself. “Right.” Then with a big fat smile, “I’ll get right on the order.” And whistling, she took herself off with telling haste, no doubt on her way to the kitchen to relay a whole lot more than a simple order.
Confused, excited, giddy with expectation, Jenna soaked in the sight of Stan. She savored the wild beating of her heart, the dryness in her mouth, and the curl of excitement deep inside her. It had been so long since she’d felt such wonderful things.
Stan smiled with shrewd calculation. “The interview finished early.”
Jenna wondered if he’d rushed through it. She cleared her throat. “After that unexpected compliment . . .” She hesitated. What if he hadn’t meant it as such? What if instead, he’d been remarking on her weight? She could stand to lose a few pounds—
“A compliment you deserve,” Stan interjected, his gaze intent on her face. “Your figure is spectacular.”
“Oh.” A blush of happiness warmed her from the inside out. “Well, thank you. But you realize Marylou is going to start some ripe gossip.”
Reaching across the booth, Stan took her trembling hand, holding her firm. “Gossip implies rumor or hearsay.” His rough fingers moved over her palm. “But if what she says is true, how can it be gossip?”
Two
Damn, he liked the way Jenna’s cheeks warmed and how her fast breathing shimmied her breasts. And that tiny pulse fluttering in her throat gave everything away, even if he didn’t have access to her every emotion and sensation.
Stan brushed his fingertips over her palm again, felt the undulating wave of growing response that rolled through her, and he pushed up from his seat.
At the same time, Jenna pressed her shoulders back in the booth, not out of disinterest, but from utter surprise. That didn’t deter Stan at all, not when he knew she wanted him, that her longing was so strong it scared her a little.
Holding her hand so she couldn’t completely retreat, he leaned over her, hesitated with his mouth a breath away from hers, building the anticipation, then gave in to the urge.
Jenna made a small sound as his mouth covered hers, and this time he made damn sure she wouldn’t mistake his claim as some forward form of friendship. As he deepened the kiss, her mouth softened, her lips parting, and Stan used just the tip of his tongue to taste her, just inside her lips, over her teeth, touching against her own tongue—and retreating.
Jesus. Heart thumping hard, thighs tense, Stan pulled back. He’d meant to tease her, to make her understand what he wanted from her. But while Jenna did look more heated than ever, Stan felt ready to self-combust. Hell, at his age he’d done his fair share of necking. It shouldn’t have been any big deal.
But not once could he remember enjoying the feel and taste of a woman’s mouth quite so much. He wasn’t a sweaty-palmed, hair-triggered kid anymore, not by a long shot, but damn if he didn’t want to drag Jenna out of the booth and rush her to the nearest form of privacy they could find.
A simple kiss had him primed, and he knew it was the woman responsible, not the kiss itself.
As he settled back in his seat, a little disconcerted by her effect on him, Jenna touched her lips. Voice faint, gaze searching, she whispered, “What was that?”
Stan made a sound of disgust. Her confusion mirrored his but probably for different reasons. “I thought it was a kiss.”
Her gaze dropped, and she looked around the tabletop, at her hands, at his. “Yes.” Her green eyes lifted. “A kiss, but . . .”
Stan flattened his mouth. “I know. A punch in the gut, huh? Kissing is nice, but kissing you flattens me. It makes me think of a hell of a lot more than mouth on mouth, that’s for damn sure.”
Her hand went to her stomach, and she nodded. “I don’t understand, Stan. What are we doing?”
Marylou reappeared, her expression filled with titillated nosiness. “Got your sandwiches and stuff.” Wide-eyed, she looked between the two of them, plopping down the plates and glasses without the attention necessary to the task.
Stan scooted his plate back a little so it didn’t end up in his lap. “Thanks.”
Jenna wouldn’t look at Marylou, and that bothered him.
Marylou lingered, and that bothered him even more.
“That’s all we need for now, Marylou. But save me a piece of pie, okay?”
“Oh.”
At least the girl knew a dismissal when she heard one.
Wearing a smile, she nodded. “Yeah, ’kay, sure. No problem, Stan.” With a lot of reluctance, she eased herself out of hearing range.
Jenna moaned and put her face in her hands. “It’s starting already.”
It had started the moment he stepped into her shop and knew she pictured him naked. Over her. With her naked, under him, anxious and ready to come.
It was Stan’s turn to groan. “When do you get off today?”
Her head shot up. “Why?”
Rolling his eyes, Stan said, “Honey, something’s happening between us. You know that as much as I do. I want to see you. I damn sure intend to kiss you again.” He shifted his booted feet under the table until they caged her smaller feet in. “So tell me, when do you get off ?”
Her regret bombarded him before she answered. “At five, but I have to get home to Ryan because Rachelle has a date.”
Her son Ryan was a rambunctious ten-year-old, and her daughter Rachelle was a beautiful eighteen-year-old young lady. Stan had met them both several times now. Jenna sometimes kept Ryan at the bookstore with her, and with the town so small, you eventually ran into everyone at one time or another. He’d seen them in the grocery, at the fountain in front of the town square, and at the diner.
She had nice kids, polite and happy and healthy.
A family get-together wasn’t quite what Stan had in mind, but he knew he’d go nuts wondering about things if he went home alone. “Why
