“Did I tell you I’m leading a bird walk at seven in the morning?”
She shook her head. Surely he didn’t want to talk about birds, not when they were at a crossroads of their relationship.
“Yep.” He backed away toward the staircase. “Bald eagles and snipe, wild turkeys and wood storks. I need to be well-rested to spot them.”
“Mitch,” she said, hearing the plea in her voice. He must have heard it, too, because he stopped retreating.
He waited, his mouth slightly parted, his eyes intense. “Yes?”
She was suddenly unsure about asking him to stay and make love to her. Days ago, she’d been so fed up with Mitch’s lack of responsibility that she’d been ready to break up with him. He seemed different now but could a person change that much in a matter of days?
Her heart was telling her to take a chance, but maybe that was because the moonlight was playing tricks on her. Maybe tomorrow, Mitch would revert to his old ways.
“I hope you see a lot of birds tomorrow,” she said finally.
He nodded once and disappeared down the stairs. For long minutes, Peyton stood outside on the veranda, listening to his retreating footsteps, the opening and closing of the car door and the engine firing up then fading in the distance.
She still felt the imprint of his mouth on hers and the sensation of being cherished as his arms enveloped her. Despite her misgivings about his character, she had never been more attracted to him than she was tonight.
She put both hands on her head, walked over to the railing overlooking the street and gazed up at the stars.
Peyton should be grateful Mitch was finally acting like a gentleman who respected her. Why then was she tempted to wish upon one of those twinkling stars that he’d resume his mission to make love to her?
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Lizabeth held tight to Grant’s hand, struggling to keep up with him as they dodged an open-air trolley cruising down Duval Street.
Her high-heeled sandals were so ridiculously impractical that a man with a lizard perched on his shoulders beat them across the street. The man took small, measured steps so the lizard wouldn’t tumble off.
Finally, Lizabeth and Mitch stepped onto the curb.
“I didn’t know cops jaywalked,” she said with a laugh.
The devil-may-care smile on Grant’s face faded faster than an ice cube in the tropical sun.
“I must have been wrong about the light being red.” A determined look crossed his handsome face. “I’ll see it doesn’t happen again. Jaywalking is against the law.”
Lizabeth hadn’t intended to sound disapproving. She’d meant that it had been fun to go with the Key West flow and cross the street against traffic, something she never would have done back home in Richmond.
The jaywalkers weren’t in any real danger, because the drivers on Duval Street expected anarchy. But Grant was a cop who did things by the book. She sighed. She couldn’t expect him to rebel.
“Sunset paintings. Get your sunset paintings here.” A man peddling his art from a sidewalk booth called out in the same musical tone as a hot-dog vendor at a ballpark.
Grant laughed in that unrestrained way he had, with the laugh starting in his stomach and rumbling upward. The jaywalking incident apparently forgotten, he tugged on her hand.
“Let’s explore.” He arched his dark eyebrows.
She nodded readily and spent the next fifteen minutes happily strolling with him through the zany street. It seemed surreal that she, boring Lizabeth Drinkmiller, was here in this vibrant tropical city with a hunk like Grant Mitchell.
“Hey, look, Leeza.” Grant gestured to a shop across the street called All The Rage . “Isn’t that the chain of stores you work for?”
She’d told him she worked for a fictional store with a similar name.
“I work for The Rage.” Lizabeth tried to think how to make the store sound more impressive. “We’re so big only major cities can contain us. Paris, London, New York, Los Angeles. . .
She shook her head. Surely he didn’t want to talk about birds, not when they were at a crossroads of their relationship.
“Yep.” He backed away toward the staircase. “Bald eagles and snipe, wild turkeys and wood storks. I need to be well-rested to spot them.”
“Mitch,” she said, hearing the plea in her voice. He must have heard it, too, because he stopped retreating.
He waited, his mouth slightly parted, his eyes intense. “Yes?”
She was suddenly unsure about asking him to stay and make love to her. Days ago, she’d been so fed up with Mitch’s lack of responsibility that she’d been ready to break up with him. He seemed different now but could a person change that much in a matter of days?
Her heart was telling her to take a chance, but maybe that was because the moonlight was playing tricks on her. Maybe tomorrow, Mitch would revert to his old ways.
“I hope you see a lot of birds tomorrow,” she said finally.
He nodded once and disappeared down the stairs. For long minutes, Peyton stood outside on the veranda, listening to his retreating footsteps, the opening and closing of the car door and the engine firing up then fading in the distance.
She still felt the imprint of his mouth on hers and the sensation of being cherished as his arms enveloped her. Despite her misgivings about his character, she had never been more attracted to him than she was tonight.
She put both hands on her head, walked over to the railing overlooking the street and gazed up at the stars.
Peyton should be grateful Mitch was finally acting like a gentleman who respected her. Why then was she tempted to wish upon one of those twinkling stars that he’d resume his mission to make love to her?
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Lizabeth held tight to Grant’s hand, struggling to keep up with him as they dodged an open-air trolley cruising down Duval Street.
Her high-heeled sandals were so ridiculously impractical that a man with a lizard perched on his shoulders beat them across the street. The man took small, measured steps so the lizard wouldn’t tumble off.
Finally, Lizabeth and Mitch stepped onto the curb.
“I didn’t know cops jaywalked,” she said with a laugh.
The devil-may-care smile on Grant’s face faded faster than an ice cube in the tropical sun.
“I must have been wrong about the light being red.” A determined look crossed his handsome face. “I’ll see it doesn’t happen again. Jaywalking is against the law.”
Lizabeth hadn’t intended to sound disapproving. She’d meant that it had been fun to go with the Key West flow and cross the street against traffic, something she never would have done back home in Richmond.
The jaywalkers weren’t in any real danger, because the drivers on Duval Street expected anarchy. But Grant was a cop who did things by the book. She sighed. She couldn’t expect him to rebel.
“Sunset paintings. Get your sunset paintings here.” A man peddling his art from a sidewalk booth called out in the same musical tone as a hot-dog vendor at a ballpark.
Grant laughed in that unrestrained way he had, with the laugh starting in his stomach and rumbling upward. The jaywalking incident apparently forgotten, he tugged on her hand.
“Let’s explore.” He arched his dark eyebrows.
She nodded readily and spent the next fifteen minutes happily strolling with him through the zany street. It seemed surreal that she, boring Lizabeth Drinkmiller, was here in this vibrant tropical city with a hunk like Grant Mitchell.
“Hey, look, Leeza.” Grant gestured to a shop across the street called All The Rage . “Isn’t that the chain of stores you work for?”
She’d told him she worked for a fictional store with a similar name.
“I work for The Rage.” Lizabeth tried to think how to make the store sound more impressive. “We’re so big only major cities can contain us. Paris, London, New York, Los Angeles. . .
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