Tempted In Texas

“I didn’t know you were having a New Year’s Eve party.”

“Neither did I. I feel strangely compelled.”

“Give me that.” Gwen snatched the skirt away and put it back into her suitcase.

“I’m still having the party.”

“Everyone’s already got plans.”

“Do you have plans?” Laurie asked.

“Well, I usually go over to my parents’…stop looking at me like that!” Gwen dragged her suitcase out of Laurie’s car.

“How am I supposed to look at you? It sounds so pathetic!”

“It’s not! They have an open house—and an open bar, the good stuff. It’s not a jug wine-and-chips kind of thing. And they serve real champagne at midnight,” she added with a touch of desperation when Laurie continued to look at her with deepening pity. “And it can’t hurt my career to network with their friends.”

Laurie squinted into the distance. “Their friends could have sons.” She nodded. “Could be good. I’ll come, too.”

“You’re not invited!”

“Why not?”

“What about your party?”

She waved her hand. “Everyone will already have plans.”

“You aren’t going to find any men there—at least not men our age. They’re my parents’ friends.”

“I can’t be your parents’ friend?”

Her mother had breezily suggested Gwen bring “somebody.” Gwen knew she had meant somebody male, somebody to deflect the annual marital status grilling. She eyed Laurie. Bringing a female might be even better. Definitely better. There would never again be any of those “When are you…?” questions.

“Okay,” she said.

“Great! Can I bring anything?”

“No. It’s catered. Oh, and I always sleep over, so pack your jammies.”

“Ooo, not jammies. What if someone sees me?”

Laurie was blond, young and in good shape. Very good shape. She’d blow out the men’s pacemakers. “Bring a robe.”

“No, no, no, no, no. You misunderstood. I might want to be seen.”

“I understood all right. It’s flannel and opaque or you don’t go.”

Laurie threw out her lower lip in a pout. “That’s not very festive.”

“It’s a New Year’s Eve party at my parents’ place. You aren’t supposed to be festive!”

Laurie raised an eyebrow.

“Not festive in that way,” Gwen said.

“You mean in a prepared-for-serendipity way?”

“I mean in a going-after-middle-aged-married-men way.”

“You should talk. You’re the one who’s going to be wearing the skirt. You’ll see. And so will their wives. But don’t worry. I’ll be there to watch your back.”

Gwen shuddered at the thought. “We’ll talk about it tomorrow,” she said noncommittally and began wheeling her suitcase over to the covered parking. “Thanks for the ride.” She turned to wave at Laurie and nearly smacked her in the face because she was right behind her. “What are you doing?”

Laurie discreetly pointed to Gwen’s charcoal gray Japanese import. “Are those legs supposed to be under your car?”

Gwen had already seen the cutoff clad legs of her neighbor sticking out from beneath her car. He’d driven over the curb so that the front wheels were lifted off the ground. From the angle they now stood, she could see under the car to the slice of well-muscled midriff that was also exposed. She heaved a deep breath in irritation. “Yeah.”

Laurie audibly swallowed. “You don’t need the skirt. Give it to me right now.”

Clearly, Laurie wasn’t going anywhere without an introduction. Even though Gwen had given up men, she still didn’t want to see her neighbor’s reaction to Laurie in hunting mode. She had a nice little nonrelationship thing going with him and Laurie could really screw it up.

Honestly, Gwen didn’t know how she did it, yet right now, she could feel Laurie getting into the zone. It was more than just throwing back her shoulders and licking her lips. Something about her walk changed. And her expression. She made eye contact with a vengeance.

Just for the sake of experimentation, Gwen tried making eye contact with her neighbor’s legs. It didn’t work—and not only because he chose that moment to shove himself from beneath the car and stretch, providing them with a brief, yet highly memorable view of his supine body.

Gwen choked in the middle of swallowing.

“Hey, Gwen, you’re back!” Shoving himself off the stained pavement, he brushed at the back of his shorts, examined his hands, reached for a red rag and wiped them off.

“Hi, Alec. This is…”

But Laurie was ahead of her purring, “Hi. I’m Laurie.”

“Laurie, this is my neighbor, Alec Fleming,” Gwen said at the same moment Alec was reaching for Laurie’s hand and introducing himself.

Clearly her work here was done. Ordinarily, Gwen would discreetly move away, but she wanted to see the show. And there was the matter of knowing whether or not Alec was finished with her car.

Laurie immediately moved closer to him, getting into his personal space, Gwen noted, though she didn’t know why she bothered. She wasn’t planning on using any of Laurie’s stalking tips.

Alec had tucked his fingertips in his back pockets, a pose that displayed the width of his chest and showed off his arms, which were revealed by a sweatshirt that he’d cut the sleeves off. The ragged edges emphasized his shoulders.

Ah, mating rituals. Laurie looked dazzled and not as sure of herself as she usually did.

Gwen could see why. Even in his grease-monkey state—or maybe because of his grease-monkey state—Alec was looking mighty fine.

But then, he usually did. He was lucky enough to have a natural honey-on-whole-wheat-toast color of skin that meant he looked good without subjecting himself to the damaging effects of the sun.

Now that she’d given up men, Gwen would no longer be subjecting herself to multihour sessions involving exfoliation and painting her body with self-tanner, then standing with outstretched arms during most of a movie-of-the-week and hoping that no one was peeking through the space where her curtains didn’t quite meet.