Flirting With Temptation by Kelley St. John Page A

senses. It might have been pleasant if it wasn’t so solidly pressed against her airways. She moved away from the intrusive hand, then sputtered, “I have to breathe, Rose.”
    “Shh, he’ll hear you.” Rose, looking every bit the elderly spy woman now, jerked her head to indicate the resort next door, or more specifically, the man lounging on his balcony.
    “What”—Babette’s words stilled in her throat. It’d been a long time since she’d seen Jeff, and even seeing her brother-in-law on a fairly regular basis didn’t prepare her for his twin, sitting on the balcony, a laptop resting on his thighs as he worked with his feet propped up on the rail. The breeze from the Gulf teased his sandy waves, which had a few more sunstreaks than she remembered, and his skin was a bit darker than before too, with a richer, surfer’s tan that made those highlights in his hair stand out even more.
    He straightened a bit, and Babette wished she could see his eyes, but he was too far up for her to know whether he was looking in her direction or at the computer screen. However, from the way he was sitting, and the way his hands didn’t move on the keyboard, she’d guess he was looking right at her.
    She backed against the building. “Rose, he’s looking.”
    “Nonsense,” Rose said. “He’s working. He doesn’t know we’re down here. Trust me, I do this all the time.” She put her weight on one foot and leaned forward. “That is one fine tribute to the male gender. I swear, if I was fifty years younger . . .”
    Babette grinned. Rose was right; the only way he could have been looking directly at them is if he were actually watching for them, which he wasn’t. He was working. Besides, even if he saw them, chances are he wouldn’t recognize Babette. It’d been a while since he’d seen her, and she’d had a black bob then. He wouldn’t be expecting her in Florida, nor would he expect the red hair. She was safe to stare.
    So she did.
    He wore a royal blue pullover with khaki shorts, and his feet were bare. He looked like he’d been plucked out of a Kenny Chesney video, one of the muscled, too-good-looking-for-his-own-good guys hanging out on a sunny day at the beach without a care in the world, except for the laptop saying that this guy was no beach bum; he was a beach businessman, and he was still the sexiest one Babette had ever laid eyes on.
    His hands moved over the computer, long fingers tapping against the keys, and Babette relaxed a bit more. He definitely wasn’t looking at them, and she undeniably wanted to stare a little longer. His jaw was set as he looked at the computer monitor, and his mouth quirked to the side as he typed, as though he were pondering the next thing to enter on the screen. It was a sexy quirk, and it reminded her of how good those lips had felt, nibbling intoxicating kisses against her mouth, and her neck, and . . .
    “Here she comes.”
    Rose’s words coincided with the appearance of the brunette on the balcony. She said something, and Jeff turned toward her. Even though Babette could no longer see his mouth, she had a side view of his jaw, and it relaxed as though he were smiling.
    She felt cheated. She wanted to see that smile too. That smile had always held the power to make Babette forget—forget what she was saying, forget what she was doing, forget everything but how much she wanted that smile, and that man.
    The brunette moved closer, ran her fingers through his hair, then leaned toward him and whispered something in his ear.
    Babette wasn’t used to playing voyeur, but she was used to reading people, and the brunette’s body language said one thing. She wanted sex. Or, more specifically, she wanted sex with Jeff. Babette didn’t like all of the emotions going through her at the moment. Rage at the woman for cutting her off this afternoon. Irritation at herself, for allowing Rose to take her into her little spy hollow. And finally, another emotion that really didn’t