On Temporary Terms. Janice Maynard

patience.

      God help him, perhaps he could do it.

      On Abby’s front porch, he curled an arm around her waist and eased her into the shadows for a good-night kiss. She made no pretense of protest.

      As kisses went, it was world-class. They jumped straight over getting to know you and ploughed into where have you been all my life? Abby was short and he was tall, so the logistics were tricky. Abby solved their dilemma by hopping up onto the door stoop.

      Now he could run his hands from her shoulders to her narrow waist to the sensational curves of her bottom. The thin fabric of her green silky dress was no barrier at all. “Ye’re a stunning woman, Abby Hartmann,” he muttered. “I’m glad we met.” He nipped the side of her neck with his teeth and grinned when she made a little squeak in the back of her throat and nuzzled closer.

      “Me, too,” she said. “Thank you for dinner.”

      “So polite,” he teased.

      “It’s what we do here in the South. But don’t mistake nice manners for being a pushover.”

      “Understood.” He had never felt such an odd mixture of lust and tenderness toward a woman. “I’ll feed you again tomorrow night,” he said. “Six still work?”

      Abby pulled back and ran her hands through her hair, visibly flustered, even in the semidarkness. Her porch light was off, but the streetlight out at the road gave them a hint of illumination. “I have book club tomorrow night,” she said. She rummaged in her small purse, extracted a key and unlocked the door.

      “Thursday?”

      “Dinner with friends.”

      He ground his teeth until his jaw ached. “Friday?”

      She turned, linked her arms around his neck and kissed him square on the mouth, her magnificent breasts pressed firmly against his chest. “Friday would be perfect. But only if you take me by the house to see your grandmother beforehand and let me tell her about the buyer Mr. Chester has in the wings.”

      Duncan lost it for a good ninety seconds, maybe a full two minutes. He forgot where he was. He forgot he had decided to be a gentleman. He even forgot he was in a semipublic setting.

      He was angry and aroused, a dangerous combo. Abby’s lips were addictive. She looked so charming and innocent in person, but she tasted like sin. He wanted to strip her bare and take her up against the front door. Her hands played restlessly with his belt at the back of his waist. His erection was buried in the softness of her stomach. There was no hiding the state of his body. She had to know.

      But she didn’t back away, and she didn’t seem to mind.

      At last, and to his eternal embarrassment, Abby was the one to drag them back from the edge. “I have to go inside, Duncan.”

      She said it apologetically, stroking his cheek with one hand as if she could pacify the raging beast inside him.

      He shuddered and dragged in a great lungful of air in an attempt to find control. “Of course.” He stole one last, hurried kiss. At least he meant it to be hurried. In the end, he lingered, coaxing her lips apart with the tip of his tongue and stroking the inside of her mouth until they both breathed raggedly.

      Finally, he cupped her face in his hands and kissed her nose. “Stop seducing me, woman.”

      “I’m not,” she protested.

      He dared to cup one of her breasts through two layers of smooth cloth. The weight of her firm, rounded flesh nestled in his palm. The pert, firm nipple begged for the touch of his thumb. “Aye, lass,” he said. “Aye, ye are.”

      * * *

      Abby escaped into the house with her virtue intact, but it was a close call. She slammed the door, locked it and peered through the curtains to make sure the tall, handsome Scotsman made his way back to his car.

      Her knees trembled and her mouth was dry. She was such a fraud. From the beginning, she had known that going out with Duncan Stewart was a bad idea. She had rationalized to herself that getting on good terms with him could mean an opportunity to press the case for selling his grandmother’s business.

      And yet as the evening unfolded, Abby had let herself be sidetracked by the warmth of the Scotsman’s wicked smile. This was exactly the kind of thing that made mixing business with pleasure problematic. She was supposed to be initiating contact with Duncan’s grandmother and explaining why selling Stewart Properties could be in Miss Isobel’s best interests. Instead, Abby had forgotten her mission, endangered her stellar reputation in the law office and danced perilously close to becoming Duncan’s temporary fling.

      * * *

      The following day on her lunch hour, she and Lara munched apples and did their customary two-mile walk. Lara, being Lara, didn’t bother to hide her eagerness for details. “Spill it, Abby. Give me every juicy tidbit. My vicarious love life is all I have at the moment.”

      Abby swallowed the last bite of fruit and tossed the core in a public trash receptacle as they rounded the corner and headed away from downtown. “I had fun.”

      “That’s it?”

      “He’s interesting...well traveled, well-read. A gentleman.”

      “Well, that sounds boring as hell.”

      “No, it doesn’t. You’re just being mean. It was nice to spend time with a man who can carry on a conversation.” She didn’t mention the whole dessert thing. Even now she couldn’t think about the bread pudding incident without getting aroused and flustered.

      “So no sex?” Lara eyed her with an expression that was equal parts resignation and disappointment.

      They finished the third circuit of the block and turned back toward their respective places of employment. “You know me, Lara. I’m not impulsive, especially when it comes to intimacy.”

      “You went out with a client. That’s a start.”

      Abby stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, her heart pumping, and stared at her friend. “I thought you said my dating him was okay?”

      Lara’s smile was smug. “It’s not up to me, now is it? At least tell me he kissed you good night.”

      Abby shoved her hands in the pockets of her black dress pants and started walking again. “Yes. So?”

      “Are we talking a polite peck on the cheek?”

      “Not exactly.”

      “You’re such a tease.”

      Lara grabbed her arm, but Abby evaded the hold and kept walking. “I have an appointment in fifteen minutes. Gotta get back.”

      “Well, shoot.” Lara glanced at her watch and realized what time it was. “This conversation isn’t over.” She raised her voice to be heard as Abby headed in the opposite direction.

      Abby gave her a wave over the shoulder. “See you tonight.”

      Fortunately for Abby, Lara was more circumspect during their once-a-month book club meeting that evening. The dozen women in the group ranged in age from Lara and Abby’s twenty-something to eighty-one. This week, they were meeting in a back room at the pizza shop.

      Over cheesy slices of thick-crust pepperoni, the conversation zipped and zinged from one topic to the next before settling on the plot of the novel they were supposed to have read. Abby had finished most of it. The heroine died of a terrible disease two chapters from the end, so she had lost interest.

      Lara loved stirring up controversy and discussion. While Abby’s friend debated whether or not the hero’s character was supposed to symbolize lost dreams, Abby surreptitiously fished her cell phone from her purse and checked for messages. She hadn’t heard a peep from Duncan since he left her last night. Maybe her insistence on talking to Miss Izzy had scared him off.

      He