Unforgivable by Tina Wainscott Page B

flickered in his eyes when he said, “Works for me.”
    Realizing he’d never taken the food, she covered her breasts with one hand and held out the container again. “We had some leftover food. I don’t know if you have anything to heat it up with, but it’d probably be okay cold.”
    “I’m fine, thanks.” He glanced beyond her to the general direction of her house. “Where’s Ben?”
    “In town.”
    He studied her for a moment, making her feel as though he was reading her soul, knowing about the fight.
    “I’d better get going,” she said. It was dumb, bringing the food. And the way he was looking at her made it nearly cross the line into dangerous. She was married and had no intention of breaking her vow.
    He nodded toward the porch. “Come up and have a drink before you head back. You look thirsty.” Before waiting for her response, he walked back to the porch. His movements were fluid with lupine grace. And those eyes could definitely belong to a wolf sizing up his prey. He turned to find her still standing there. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to eat you up.”
    She nearly choked at that, but pushed herself forward. “Maybe just a quick drink.”
    Could he know her throat was tight and dry? Could he know the reason wasn’t the long walk? She followed, setting her rejected food on the railing. 
    A notepad covered in his scribbles sat askew atop a stack of folders on the faded boards of the porch. There was also a map, a cell phone and a beeper beneath an open box holding two slices of pepperoni and mushroom pizza. He held out the rocking chair to her. Her legs were a bit wobbly, probably from the walk, so she sank onto the wooden chair.
    “Pizza?” he asked when he saw her looking at the box.
    “You don’t take my food, so I won’t take yours.”
    He lifted one edge of his mouth. “One has nothing to do with the other. Giving and receiving,” he clarified. “Water or chocolate milk?” he asked, holding up a dripping bottle of each from the cooler. 
    She could see his own bottle of Nestle’s chocolate milk on the railing. “Water, please.”
    He opened it and handed it to her. One of the cold drops of water dripped on her arm. He leaned against the railing in front of her, looking completely at ease. He picked up his bottle and took a swig. His neck was long, and she felt something shift inside her as she watched the muscles move as he swallowed. She looked away when he stopped drinking. She didn’t understand these strange feelings that eased through her body the way wine did on an empty stomach. She took a drink. Because she could feel him watching her the way she’d been watching him, she got nervous and dribbled down her chin. She rubbed it with the sleeve of her shirt.
    “Is that why you came here tonight?” he asked.
    “Yes. And…I just needed a walk.” She glanced down at the array of paperwork on the floor. “Did I interrupt you?”
    “A beautiful nymph materializes out of the forest as if by magic, and you think I’d mind?”
    “I’m not beautiful.” The words rushed out before she could even think to stop them.
    He crossed his arms in front of him, framing a square of tan, flat stomach between his arms and the waistband of his faded jeans. “You really don’t think you’re beautiful, do you? What would you rate yourself on a scale of one to ten?”
    Her fingers tightened on the worn edge of the chair arms. “That’s silly. I don’t rate myself.” He waited, sending a shiver through her as he studied her. “Okay, a five.”
    “You’re serious?”
    “I don’t want to talk about this anymore. Who cares about scales?”
    “Nine.”
    “What?” Her throat tightened all over again, despite the recent wash of water.
    “I’d say you’re a nine. Definitely. Ten with makeup, I bet.”
    She opened her mouth to protest, but he was serious. She should never have worn this outfit over here. “It’s just the clothes,” she said at last.
    He lifted an eyebrow.