That's Amore! - Janelle Denison [84]
Luke stared at his brother, drew in a long, deep breath, and finally replied, "That is exactly what I have to figure out."
RACHEL DID a pretty good job of putting Luke Santori out of her mind for the rest of the week. The shop was busy, with many June brides coming in for their May fittings. The one bride who didn't was Maria Martinelli, which was just as well. Rachel didn't think she could look Maria in the eye without blushing over the fantasies she'd had about her fiancé.
Fantasies. Dreams. Long, hungry nights when she'd replay that moment when Luke had so carefully—reverently—touched the soft fabric in the dress shop. When their eyes had met and they'd both been thinking of touching other soft textures. Skin. Hair. Tongues.
"Stop it," she whispered aloud, tightening her jaw as she stood in a quiet area in the local mega bookstore. What a pathetic picture. Friday night—date night—and here she was perusing the stacks, trying to find something absorbing to read to get her mind away from where it had no business going.
It wasn't easy. Getting her kicks on a Frappuccino with whipped cream and caramel couldn't compare to the way she really wanted to get them.
Well, the whipped cream and caramel might still be involved. But they'd be licked, rather than sipped.
"Enough," she muttered, lifting her drink to her mouth. She sipped at it, curling her lips around the straw, ordering the icy-cold coffee brew to chill her out. Then, focusing on how much she loved the smells and sights and sounds of a bookstore, she went exploring.
"No romance," she reminded herself, avoiding that section altogether.
That was all she needed, to read some steamy book to get her even more hot and bothered. Since there was no sex looming in her future for probably the next decade—or at least until she changed careers and went to work where she might meet unattached men, instead of engaged ones—she needed to avoid anything involving sex. Because as convenient as some of those cute, naughty little gadgets some of her suppliers sold for bridal showers were, Rachel had never worked up the nerve to actually take one home and try it out.
Since she couldn't go for sex and romance, she'd decided to shoot for murder and mayhem instead. Beelining for the general fiction area, she scouted out her favorite mystery writer. She'd taken another sip of the drink and begun to study the titles when the most unusual sensation washed over her. Though her drink was cold, she felt suddenly warm. Hot, in fact, in spite of the comfortably air-conditioned store. Her breaths grew shallow, and her skin taut as she suddenly went on a strange, internal alert.
Someone was watching her. Intently.
Slowly, she turned around, as if merely moving to another shelf of books. She let her gaze dart to the end of the row, almost laughing as she saw nothing but empty air. The mystery titles were obviously getting to her.
"Girl, you're imagining things."
"No, you're not," said a soft voice.
Oh, God, it was him. Luke. He'd been standing right there. Around the corner, at the end of the bookcase she'd been studying, nearly hidden and out of sight, but so present, she couldn't help but feel him.
She wasn't used to seeing him in anything but tailored suits and dress shirts, so the jeans and tight gray T-shirt were a definite surprise. A breath-stealing, heart-pounding surprise.
Oh, what the man could do to a thin, worn cotton T-shirt. And a tight pair of faded, threadbare jeans that hugged his thick thighs and did sinful things to his lean hips.
"Hi," she whispered, then cleared her throat and strove for nonchalance. "This is a coincidence."
He smiled, bringing forth those dimples and that twinkle in his eyes, and suddenly Rachel forgot every single thing she'd been telling herself for days about why she needed to stay away from him.
"Do you always talk to yourself?"
"Do you always spy on people in bookstores?" she countered.
"I wasn't spying."
"What were you doing then?"
His smile faded. "Trying to work up the nerve to leave."
Oh. Wow. Damn.