Night Whispers - Leslie Kelly [3]
Fat chance, he thought. Solitude and quiet were two words he had never yet been able to associate with Kelsey Logan, the demon-child. He wondered how Baltimore had survived her presence.
Feeling a splash of water on his cheek, Mitch noticed he was standing directly in the path of a sprinkler. He grimaced, squared his shoulders and went to find Kelsey.
Mitch tiptoed along the stone walk and rounded a newly planted evergreen. Smothering a curse when he saw a little ceramic chipmunk, he restrained an impulse to kick it over the fence. Then he looked to the far corner of the yard and found her.
She obviously had been working. The pruning shears lay near some bushes, and a rake lay sprawled, spines up, across the lawn, just waiting for a Three Stooges-like accident to occur. Kelsey lay in a lounge chair with her back to him and he walked softly, being extremely careful to avoid potential mishaps with gardening tools. His shoes sank into the soft soil next to a leaking watering can. Glancing ruefully at the dirty Italian leather, he figured that was just one more thing to thank Kelsey for.
She didn’t notice him. He was a step or two behind her, far enough that he cast no shadow over her face to warn her of his presence.
Then he stopped dead in his tracks. This curvaceous, voluptuous even, woman in the lounge chair could not be Kelsey! He’d made a mistake. Kelsey was the skinny, obnoxious, freckle-faced younger sister of his best friend. So he hadn’t seen her in several years. She couldn’t have changed this much, could she?
She wore a devil-red bikini, which was damp with the sweat of her exertions and clung to her skin. Her legs were slightly bent and raised, a golden honey color, slender and about a mile long. His gaze slid up, taking in the gently flared hips and small waist, then on to the trim midriff and the deep vee of cleavage revealed by the low-cut bathing suit, and up to the top of her sun-streaked hair.
He stared as she reached a slim arm over the side of the chair and felt around until her hand brushed against her cool water glass. She caressed the side of it, her fingers becoming damp and slick with the condensation, and she smoothed a little of the water over her fingertips. Then she reached into the glass to fish out a piece of ice, shook it gently and brought it toward her chest.
He swallowed hard. The woman—Kelsey?—moved the ice just above her flesh, and Mitch watched each drop of water as it fell in a trail along her collarbone. When she finally lowered the ice to the hollow of her throat, he released the breath he’d been holding. Then he slowly drew in another as she moved the cube down her skin, allowing it to melt on her chest. He heard her small moan of contentment at the cool relief and very nearly echoed it. The ice disappeared quickly until her fingers were moving over her neck and shoulders with nothing but the tiniest sliver, and then just a few drops of water. Her hand remained motionless for a few moments, lightly resting on her throat, and he thought she’d perhaps fallen asleep. He considered backing up and retreating into the house, but she shifted slightly, and he remained still.
No. No, this couldn’t be Kelsey.
The last time he’d seen her had been at her high school graduation, seven years ago, back home in Virginia. She’d looked skinny and gawky and uncomfortable in the flowery dress her mother had made her wear under her graduation gown. They hadn’t exchanged more than a dozen words that day, as Mitch had spent most of the time catching up with his buddy Nathan. She’d just been…there…little Kelsey the pest. When had she become little Kelsey the temptress? And where the hell had he been during her amazing transformation?
When she reached toward the glass, ostensibly for another piece, Mitch cleared his throat. He was not about to watch a repeat performance of what had undoubtedly been the most unconsciously