Memories of Us by Linda Winfree

anyone else, for that matter.

    “Aren’t you going to answer that?”
    A chill ran over Tom’s skin, but he shrugged it off and leaned back in his chair, his gaze on Celia. She’d pulled her damp hair into a knot and tossed on her shorts, but eschewed her camisole and sandals. He’d followed her lead, tugged on a polo shirt with his trunks and stayed barefoot.
    He glanced up the steps toward the house, the distant ringing of a phone wafting to them. Another frisson tried to work over him, but he shook his head. “Voice mail will get it.”
    Celia tilted her head, a quizzical smile curving her lips. “What if it’s important?”
    “Not as important as this.” A breeze whispered in from the lake, making the candle between them waver and dance. The dinner salad Lora had put together before she left had satisfied one hunger; the one Celia had inspired with her little striptease still burned. He didn’t find himself in any hurry to hustle her up the stairs and lay her across his bed, though. Instead, he was content to sit here, listen to her laugh, watch the expressions chase across her face.
    The soul-deep pleasure bugged the hell out of him.
    He liked the way she looked at him too, her crystalline gaze flickering over him. She was hungry for him and she watched him as if trying to figure out where to start. The mere thought resulted in a shudder of sensation down his spine.
    She popped a piece of tomato, dripping with Lora’s homemade vinaigrette, in her mouth. Her lashes fluttered down and she sighed. “That’s fantastic.”
    He eyed the sublime satisfaction on her face. Maybe he wouldn’t wait to take her upstairs. One of the chaise lounges would work—he could peel the damp bikini away, slide his mouth and tongue along her skin, teasing and tasting until he made her sigh and moan like that.
    Her eyes flew open and her fork clattered to the plate.
    “Oh.” A slight flush washed her cheeks with color and she fumbled with her napkin. “Sorry.”
    He shook his head and extended a hand for her plate. “Are you finished?”
    She rose, her movements easy and graceful. “Let me help you clean up.”
    He tried waving her back to her seat. “Not necessary. I’m just sliding them in the dishwasher.”
    “Maybe I want a tour of your house.” With a smile, she trailed a finger along his arm as she passed. The simple caress left a quiver in its path. A grin quirked at his mouth. Who’d have known a tease lurked beneath her cool professionalism?
    And who’d have guessed he would enjoy every second of it?
    He jogged up the steps after her. In the kitchen, she helped him scrape and rinse the plates. She ran a palm over the marble countertop, an appreciative smile lighting her face. “Cis would die for this kitchen. She’s a gourmet nut.”
    He lifted the open bottle of wine in silent offer and she nodded. Pouring two glasses, he glanced at her. “Do you cook?”
    She laughed, accepting the glass he proffered. “I can, but why should I when Cis will?”
    “Good point.” He swirled his wine, watching her sip. The moisture made her lush mouth glisten and renewed desire punched him in the gut. He wanted to kiss her again, wanted to taste her sweetness mingled with the tart wine. “How about that tour?”
    She slipped an arm about his waist, surprising him. The rounded firmness of her breast pressed against his ribs, heat sparking along his skin from the point of contact. “Let me guess…ending in the bedroom.”
    He brushed his thumb over her lips. “Maybe.”
    Smiling again, she lifted her glass. “Lead the way, Counselor.”
    A showing of the downstairs took only a few minutes. He loved watching her move through his home, soaked in the way she took every opportunity to touch him—brushing against him in doorways, sliding her fingers over his arm, feathering them over his spine. By the time they reached the stairs, she had every molecule in his body alive and buzzing.
    Upstairs, she paused in the doorway to