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“Don’t be absurd.” She rolled her eyes. “I don’t even like you very much, and I’m not the least little bit attracted to you.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“I don’t care what you believe.”

“You’re afraid that once we’re alone, you won’t be able to resist jumping in bed with me.”

Georgeanne laughed. John was rich and handsome.

He was a well-known athlete and had the powerful body of a warrior. She wasn’t concerned she’d jump in bed with him. Not even if he were that last man on earth and held a gun to her head. “You need to get over yourself.”

“I think I’m right.”

“No.” She shook her head and walked out of the kitchen. “You’re delusional.”

“But you don’t need to worry,” he continued, and followed close behind. “I’m immune to you.”

Georgeanne reached for her briefcase and set it on the couch.

“You’re beautiful and Christ knows you’ve got a body to make a priest weep, but I’m just not tempted.”

His announcement stung a little more than she liked to admit. Secretly she wanted him to eat his heart out every time he laid eyes on her. She wanted him to kick himself for dumping her the way he had. She raised an eyebrow as if she didn’t believe him and pointed to the coffee table. “Which pictures do you want?”

“Leave all of them.”

“Fine.” She had copies at home. “Give me the photo you stole from my office.”

“In a minute.” He grabbed her arm and stared into her eyes. “I’m trying to tell you that you’d be completely safe in my house. You could rip your clothes off and walk around bare-assed, and I wouldn’t even look.”

She felt her old self emerge to salvage her pride, the old Georgeanne who had been sure of nothing but her effect on men. “Honey, if I stripped my clothes off, you’d pop blood vessels in your eyeballs and your heart would palpitate. I’d have to give you mouth-to-mouth resuscitation.”

“You’re wrong about that, Georgie. Sorry to hurt your feelings, but I find you completely resistible,” he said, dropping his hand and stinging her pride a bit more. “You could put me in a headlock and stick your tongue in my mouth, and I wouldn’t respond.”

“Are you trying to convince me or yourself?” He looked her up and down. “Just stating facts.”

“Uh-huh. Well, here’s a fact for you.” She treated him to the same up-and-down body browse. Her gaze started at his taut calves and moved up his muscular thighs, waist, broad chest, and wide shoulders to his handsome face. He looked macho and kind of sweaty. “I’d rather kiss a dead fish.”

“Georgie, I’ve seen your boyfriend. You do kiss dead fish.”

“Better than a dumb jock like you.”

His eyes narrowed. “You sure about that?”

She smiled, satisfied that she’d provoked him. “Absolutely.”

Before she knew what happened, John wrapped an arm around her waist and jerked her forward. He shoved his fingers into the twisted bun on the back of her head. “Open up and say ahh,” he said as his mouth came down hard on hers. She gasped her surprise, and shock kept her arms limp at her sides. His blue eyes stared into hers, then he softened the kiss, and she felt the tip of his tongue lightly touch her top lip. He licked the corner of her mouth and applied a little suction. His eyes drifted closed and he pulled her tighter against his chest. A warm shiver ran up her spine and her scalp tingled. His mouth was hot and wet, and before she had a chance to think about it, she kissed him back. She touched her tongue to his and turned up the heat a little more. Then just as suddenly as it began, he pushed her away.

“See?” he said, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly. “Nothing.”

Georgeanne blinked and looked up at him standing there as cool as a day in December. She could still feel the pressure of his mouth against hers. He’d kissed her and she’d let him.

“There isn’t any reason why the two of us can’t share a house for a week.” He wiped his thumb across his bottom lip, removing a red smear. “Unless, of course, you felt something from that kiss.”

“No. Not a thing,” she tried to assure him, and pushed the corners of her mouth upward, but she had felt something. She still did. Something warm and weightless in the pit of her stomach. She’d let him kiss her and she didn’t know why. She grabbed her briefcase and headed for the door before she screamed or cried and made a fool of herself. Perhaps it was too late. Responding to John’s kiss had certainly been foolish.

As she walked toward her car, she realized she’d hurried out of his house so fast, she’d forgot the picture he’d stolen from her. Well, she wasn’t going back to get it. Not now. And she wasn’t going to Oregon with him either. No way. Nada. Not going to happen.

John stood on the deck attached to the back of his house and looked out at Lake Union. He’d kissed her. Touched her. And now he regretted it. He’d told her he hadn’t felt anything. If she’d bothered to check, she would have known he lied.

He didn’t know why he’d kissed her, except that maybe he’d wanted to assure her she’d be safe at his house in Oregon. Or maybe because she’d told him she’d rather kiss a dead fish. But mostly likely because she was gorgeous and sexy and wore blue lace garters, and he’d wanted a quick taste of her lips. Just one quick kiss. Just for science. That’s all he’d wanted. He got more. He got a swift kick of lust and a throb in his groin. He got a hell of an ache and no real pleasurable way to take care of it.

John kicked off his shoes and dove into the cold water, letting it cool his body. He wouldn’t make the same mistake again. No kissing. No touching. No thinking about Georgeanne naked.

Chapter Twelve

Georgeanne hadn’t meant to agree to John’s vacation plans. She’d meant to remain firm in her opposition to Cannon beach. She would have, too, if it weren’t for Lexie and her interest in her fictional daddy, Anthony.

The day after they’d gone sailing near the San Juan Islands, Lexie’s questions started. Perhaps watching Charles with Amber had triggered her curiosity. Perhaps it was her age. Periodically Lexie had always asked about Anthony, but for the first time, Georgeanne tried to answer without prevarication. Then she’d called John and told him they’d meet him in Oregon. If Lexie was going to have a relationship with John, then she needed to spend time with him before she was told that he was her daddy. Now as Georgeanne drove toward the city of Cannon Beach, she hoped she wasn’t making a colossal mistake. John had promised her that he wouldn’t try to provoke her, but she didn’t really believe him.

“I’ll be on my best behavior,” he’d promised.

Yeah. Right. And elephants roosted in trees.

She looked over at her daughter belted in the seat next to her. While Lexie meticulously colored a picture of a Muppet Baby, her black smiley-face ball cap shaded her forehead and her kiddie blue sunglasses covered her eyes. It was Saturday, so her lips were painted a vivid red. And at last, those little red lips were stilled, and quiet filled the inside of the Hyundai.

The trip had started out pleasant enough, but then somewhere around Tacoma, Lexie had started to sing… and sing… and sing. She’d sung the only verse she knew of “Puff the Magic Dragon” and all verses of “Where Is Thumbkin?” She’d belted out the words to “Deep in the Heart of Texas” and had clapped as enthusiastically as any proud Texan. Unfortunately she sang it clear to Astoria.

Just when Georgeanne had finished calculating the number of years before she could ship Lexie safely off to college, the singing had stopped and Georgeanne had felt like a horrible mother for visually kicking Lexie from the nest.

But then the questions began. “Are we there yet?”

“How much longer?”

“Where are we?”

“Did you remember to pack blankie?” From Astoria to Seaside, she’d become worried about where she was going to sleep and the number of bathrooms in John’s house. She couldn’t remember if she’d packed her press-on fingernails, and she fretted over whether she’d brought enough Barbies to play with for five whole days. She did remember her beach toys, but what if it rained the whole time? And she wondered if there were kids in his neighborhood, how many and how old?