Foul Play by Janet Evanovich Page A

only was she attracted to Jake, but she liked him, she enjoyed being with him, she respected him…she loved him. She retreated from the refrigerator with a handful of lemons.
    â€œJust because,” she said. End of discussion.
    She caught a glimpse of tantalizing blue towel and busied herself with the lemons, paying strict attention to squeezing, measuring, and mixing her ingredients. She was afraid if she didn’t keep her hands busy squeezing lemons, she might squeeze something else. At the very least,she was tempted to rip his towel off. Lord, she was bad. All those years of dormant, suppressed desire were catching up with her.
    â€œI have some gym clothes in the middle drawer of my dresser,” she said breathlessly, attributing it to the exertion of making lemonade. “Maybe you can find something more comfortable to wear. I have a pair of black sweats that have always been too big for me.”
    Jake almost ran to the bedroom. Wearing nothing but a skimpy towel was putting a strain on his self-control. And the way she’d looked at him! He was afraid his towel would catch fire. But then she’d backed off. She’d squeezed those lemons until there was nothing left but pulp. Damned if it wasn’t confusing.
    He found the sweats and tugged them on, for the first time noticing the details of her bedroom. It had the same airy serenity of the living room, but there was a difference in the atmosphere.
    It was warmer, more sensual. Her tablelamp was reflected in the rich patina of her brass bedstead. The bed linens and quilt were peach, trimmed in satin. The room was sparsely decorated. Just the bed and a low oak dresser with a white marble top, above which a wood-trimmed oval mirror was centered on the wall. A small television sat on the dresser.
    Jake stretched out on the bed and thought of the cache of undies and nighties he’d found that first night…satin and lace and raw silk. He was beginning to understand Amy. She kept the sensuous part of her private, wearing it under her clothes, confining it to the bedroom. She was a lady-in-waiting. The big question was, how long did she want to wait? She said she didn’t necessarily care about marriage. What did she care about?
    Amy brought Jake his lemonade and sat Indian-style on the bed, next to him. She zapped the television with the remote control, but couldn’t get interested in the ten o’clock news. She had the clinic on her mind. She was beginning to share Jake’sbelief that Turner and Bottles knew more about the rooster’s disappearance than they’d admitted to, but what about the second break-in? It didn’t make any sense.
    Jake sipped his drink and watched Amy. “You look like a woman with a lot on her mind.”
    â€œI can’t help wondering about Red. Why would you—” She stopped in midsentence and stared openmouthed at the television. There she was in living color, holding a container of alleged rooster soup. “Omigosh.”
    Jake scrambled to the edge of the bed. “We made the ten o’clock news?”
    â€œâ€¦and so, there you have it, folks. The question remains unanswered. Has Lulu the Clown cooked Red’s goose?”
    Amy felt her eyes fill with tears. “What a terrible thing to say about Lulu.”
    Jake pulled Amy into his arms and shut the television off.
    â€œWe must have missed something, Amy. The reason. We need to know the reason for all this. There have to be clues. We just haven’t recognized them.”
    Amy didn’t care about clues. She cared about getting kissed. She cared about getting closer to Jake. A lot closer.
    He looked at her face, flushed with desire, and knew she wasn’t going to tell him to stop tonight. Heaven knew, he didn’t want to stop, but there was a meddlesome voice, whispering through the cobwebs of his mind, “Why?” He wanted to be sure it was love. This had been a strange day. He was afraid