Stage Fright (11 page)

Deena saw Suzanne’s eyes narrowed as she poured Cabernet into Billy’s glass. “Yeah, Deena’s quite the baker. I can’t even let that stuff into the house or I’d positively blimp out!”

Billy shook his head and gave Deena another wink. This time, Suzanne caught it. A look of surprised disgust crossed her face.

“Oh, God, Deena! What did you get all over yourself?”

Deena followed Suzanne’s gaze to the front of her shirt. She pulled the dark brown cotton away from her body and saw an uneven, horizontal trail of tan splotches just below her breasts.

Bleach. Shit!

“My washing machine,” she began. “It started banging around and I had to lean in and redistribute… Damn it, there must have been bleach on the edge…”

Deena felt her blush returning.

“You don’t still have that hideous old green thing, do you? You go and spend a small fortune remodelling the kitchen but you still do your laundry in that antique? I mean, really, Deena, why don’t you just—”

Billy interrupted, “Unbalanced during the spin cycle?”

Deena looked up and nodded.

“Have you had the belt replaced, or tightened?”

“I don’t think so,” Deena said.

“It’s an easy fix. Should probably try adjusting it first, then order a new belt if you need to. I could check it out if you’d like?”

Before Deena could answer, Suzanne dropped her hand on top of Billy’s, then traced a path up his thick forearm.

“So, Billy, how’d you like the wine?”

Billy’s smile broadened and, never taking his eyes off Deena, he said, “Perfect. Just the way I like it, full-bodied and unpretentious.”

He laughed and the hair stood up on Deena’s arms, there was something familiar about this big, beautiful man. Deena was drawn in by his eyes. She followed the faint laugh lines that fanned out towards his temples, stopping at an inch-long crescent moon scar framing the outside corner of his right eye like a parenthesis.

Deena focused on the scar. She looked into Billy’s blue eyes, back to the scar again, then scanned every inch of the handsome face. Recognition inched up on her until there was no denying it. She laughed and shook her head.

“Bill Swenson!”

Bill laughed. “Took you long enough, Dee,” he said as he shook free of Suzanne’s grip and walked around the island.

Deena was aware that the kitchen had grown silent, but, beyond that, she lost sense of her surroundings and who, besides Bill, was in the room. By the time he was standing in front of her, she had complete tunnel vision. He dropped his big, warm hands on her shoulders. “You look amazing, Dee.”

Deena looked into his blue eyes and wished she could believe him.

He wrapped his arms around her and, when he pulled her against him, she returned the hug. Bill bent his knees until their cheeks touched. Deena breathed in deeply. He smelt wonderful, masculine. She felt a chill zip up her spine. As if he’d felt the electrical surge beneath her skin, Bill pulled her in closer. He gave her one final squeeze, then backed up, taking her hands in his and looking her up and down. The sweep of his eyes over her body was as exciting as hugging him had been. Deena felt the tingle that had run the length of her spine gather again at her throat, then travel down over her breasts, making her nipples push outward against her shirt the moment his gaze passed over them. He continued to look over her and, when he got to her full, round hips, one side of his mouth tugged up in a devilish grin. Her pussy responded by growing warm and wet.

“I can’t believe you recognised me,” Deena said. “I was fifteen the last time we saw each other!”

Bill tapped the scar beside his eye and then winked at her. “What can I say, Dee? You made quite an impression.”

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About the Author

Gabrielle Holly lives in the Midwest United States with her husband and two enormous, world-class-shedding dogs. She has worked as a freelance journalist, newspaper humour columnist, stand-up comic and morning radio show host. She has a short attention span and enjoys reading, cooking, crafting, hunting for antiques, attending live theatre, watching movies, spending time outdoors, and coercing her husband into being her “research assistant.”

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Gabrielle loves to hear from readers. You can find her contact information, website and author biography at
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