An Appetite for Passion by Cynthia MacGregor Page A

“Thanks,” she said. Jeff had made her feel better...and he was the one who really needed—and deserved—cheering up.
    “Don’t forget...call me if you need to talk.”
    “And vice-versa! You’ve got my number, too. Do you want my work number?”
    “I’ll be fine.” He gritted his teeth, determination overtaking his smile. He thrust his chin out resolutely. “When are you in next?”
    “Nobody told me anything. And I have plans this weekend.”
    “Good. Something fun, I hope?”
    “Most definitely! Max is coming over—my boyfriend.” Max—my boyfriend —the first time she’d said that. She liked the sound.
    “Well, give us a call Sunday or Monday, whenever you get a chance, and I’ll let you know when we’re going to have a project going. Or just drop in. There’s always something to do.”
    “Okay. Bye.”
    “Bye.” He waved as she closed the car door, started the car, and eased out of the parking space.
    It was late, and she was tired, but nothing was going to stop her from checking email before she went to bed. There was only one piece of mail waiting for her, but it was from Max.
     
    My dear,
     
    Only one more day...I’ll see you in roughly twenty-four hours...and it will be a rough twenty-four hours indeed, waiting to touch your sweet face with my hands, to blend my lips with yours, to hold your body tight to mine and feel the excitement surging through it.
    I want to get to know your body, and I want to get to know all of you. Decisions, decisions—do we make love first, talk first, cuddle first—or have you some other plan for us? I’m all ears.
    Did you have a good day, sweet Kari? Mine was plagued with problems, but nothing permanent or critical, and certainly nothing that being with you tomorrow won’t erase from my consciousness.
    I long to hold you in my arms, to whisper tender sweetnesses in your ears, to hear your voice say my name and hear it as beautiful music.
    And speaking of music, I’m not a half bad singer; I may serenade you while I’m there. What is your favorite kind of music? That’s a topic we’ve never discussed before. And please don’t tell me you like rap—that’s not music! Say you love rap and you’ll ruin all my illusions.
    Well, my dear, it’s dinner time and I haven’t eaten yet. I was eager to “talk” to you, first. But now that I’ve done that, I’ll go fix a bite.
    And so, that’s it until tomorrow morning, and then tomorrow night when you should be watching your driveway for a red Porsche pulling in.
     
    Till then,
    Max
     
    Kari’s reply was briefer than usual. Partly this was due to her tiredness, partly to the constraints on what she would say to him. She wouldn’t cry on his shoulder over the bad day; she didn’t want to tell him about the negligee she’d bought for him, preferring to surprise him with it. In the end, she told him how eager she was to see him, briefly described the incident at the campaign HQ with the missing data, and let it go at that.
    Showering quickly, she got in bed, but as tired as she was, she couldn’t sleep. Lots of what-ifs ran through her head. What if Max was unable to come tomorrow for some reason? What if he just didn’t like her when he met her? And then, what if Jeff really had destroyed the data and was responsible for the mailers’ disappearing act?
    On a night when she needed to be wide awake the next evening, and really needed a good night’s sleep, Kari tossed and turned till well past 1:30.

 
     
     
     
     
    Chapter 10
     
    Jeff trudged back to the storefront reluctantly. No fool, he surmised what Russ was saying about him. What many of his co-workers were no doubt thinking and saying.
    Kari seemed to believe in him. Sweet Kari. She was the only one there who he felt truly trusted him one hundred percent.
    Kari. She was fun, she was funny, she was quick-witted, clever, and intelligent. She reminded him of Jennifer. Jennifer had been his best friend in college. That and more. They’d