Tongue-tied. Colleen Collins

who he’d become.

      He raised his eyebrows, realizing she hadn’t responded to his question. “Is it all right that I walk you home?” Maybe she had someone waiting for her there, like a boyfriend or husband. An irrational jolt of jealousy shot through him.

      “It’s all right,” she said softly. And in the stray light from the diner’s windows, he caught her blushing. A reaction so innocent, it nearly knocked him off his feet. Penny never blushed. For that matter, none of the women he’d dated these past number of years had blushed. They’d seen too much, knew too much….

      Which made Robin all the more rare.

      He turned slightly and said, “Okay, let’s go. You lead…” he looked over his shoulder “…which I know you can do.”

      The first block they walked in silence. Johnny was aware of the moonlight-glazed world, the congestion of parked cars along the narrow streets, the late-summer scents of roses and lavender…but mostly he was aware of Robin walking next to him, seemingly lost in her thoughts. For a woman who’d damn near attacked him in public, she was certainly acting shy now that they had some privacy. Not such a surprise, though, when he thought back to the girl who was expressive inside her home, but withdrawn outside.

      He slowed his pace, almost imperceptibly, positioning himself slightly behind his walking companion to better observe her. Her head bobbed in time to her determined gait. Her rayon dress swished as she walked, and his imagination wandered, wondering what lay beneath that sound. In his mind’s eye, he again envisioned the kind of curves reminiscent of those early-twentieth-century paintings where a woman was soft, rounded…where flesh was alabaster and pink. He’d always had a keen interest in that era—maybe it was the businessman in him, intrigued with the revolutionary changes brought by electricity and the automobile. And as a man, he’d been just as intrigued with what he viewed as the last romantic woman—the Gibson Girl with her long hair curled in a luscious heap on her head, the long lacy feminine clothes, the petal-pink lips curved in secretive smiles….

      He stared at the long wisps of Robin’s hair and wondered how those glossy locks would look curled on top of her head. He imagined one escaped ringlet falling seductively down her pale neck. She was the type of woman who’d be a lady on the outside, but not such a lady in the bedroom….

      He nearly ran into Robin when she stopped abruptly. In the moonlight, he could barely make out her facial features, much less decipher the look on her face, but she was definitely staring at him. Intensely.

      “Something wrong?” he finally asked, wondering in some kind of insane way if she’d been reading his thoughts. He, who always felt he had the upper hand with people, suddenly felt awkward, as though his mind had been caught in the hot cookie jar.

      Silence. More staring. Nearby, a dog barked.

      A light breeze lifted a lock of her hair, the moonlight playing wicked tricks as it glinted silver off the blond strands. Impossible to see her eyes, which were in shadow, so he couldn’t translate the dead-on stare she was giving him. Years ago, a younger Robin Lee hadn’t had such difficulty speaking to him. Maybe she just needed time to feel comfortable with him again.

      Or maybe there was something she wanted to tell him. He’d heard from a buddy that there’d been a car accident several years ago in Buena Vista, one involving Robin and her mother, but Johnny hadn’t heard much more. Besides, Robin seemed fine….

      So why had she stopped? He looked over his shoulder at a square building with layers of windows. “Is…that your building?”

      She shook her head no, then turned and kept walking down the sidewalk. He kept up with her, wondering how long they’d continue on this silent journey.

      Robin bit her bottom lip, mentally beating herself up for being the most boring walking companion in Denver, if not the entire world. How many times as a kid had she fantasized about being with Johnny, being able to be the one and only girl in his world, and finally she gets that chance and how does she act? Like some kind of robot.Silent robot. Okay, maybe she couldn’t compete with women who teased with words, but surely she could do more than march along beside him! She had wanted to confess as much a moment ago when she’d stopped in the middle of the sidewalk and stared at him…but words had failed her.

      Even when he’d asked her a question. But rather than try to explain what was going on inside of her, she’d just continued walking.

      The only redeeming factor to this embarrassing stroll was that her shoes weren’t squeaking on the cement.

      Finally, they reached her building. She turned, quickly walked up a narrow cement path, and headed up the stairs to her second-story apartment. Behind her she heard his steps following. And with each step, her heart thundered, her breath heaved. Maybe verbally she wasn’t speaking to him, but if only he could hear her body! It pulsed and throbbed and vibrated like some kind of human Geiger counter.

      On the second-level landing, she turned right and headed down the dimly lit hallway toward a wooden door with the tarnished silver letters 2B. She’d been in Denver a year, but this was the first time she’d brought anybody to her place, and here she was bringing Johnny Dayton home.

      A crazy quote flitted through her mind. “To be or not to be.” Now was the moment to be or not to be. Stopping, she fumbled in her sweater pocket for the keys.

      Johnny stopped, but not too near. He looked so darned confused, she felt a twinge of remorse. She didn’t mean to run hot and cold—it’s just when it came to words, she didn’t always trust herself. But he had to know that about her. How many times had the teenaged Johnny Dayton hung out at their house, swigging pops with her older brother, talking about school, cars, girls…and Robin had dawdled nearby, occasionally chiming in when the mood struck. Within the comfort of her home, she had always felt more comfortable opening up, talking….

      But then Johnny knew that, too. That day he’d found her hiding out in the park, afraid to go to school because she didn’t want to make a speech, she’d told him why. And he’d encouraged her, told her he’d be there, and because of him she had one of the greatest memories of her life—the day she won the middle-school first-place prize for her short story.

      Looking at Johnny all these years later, she wanted to pour out everything in her heart. Tell him how he was her first and only crush, how no man compared to the incomparable Johnny…how he stood for everything she admired in the world—truth, integrity, guts. Everyone in Buena Vista knew he’d had it tough—a father who spent more time at the local bar than at home, a kid brother who seemed determined to end up in jail.

      But despite his home life, Johnny kept his cool. Never let circumstances drag him down—or never let it show, anyway. She quickly glanced up and down, sizing up how far he had come. The worn leather jacket and rumpled good looks were like the old Johnny. But he was different, too. The gold watch on his wrist looked expensive. And the wary look in his eyes was new, too. How she’d like to ask what had happened over the past fourteen years…

      …and how she’d like to tell him today had been the worst day of her life. And explain that crazy, hot moment at the diner. She’d tell him how desperately she’d wanted to one-up Jill, end the day as a success instead of as a loser, so Robin had seized the moment, so to speak.

      Forget the diner. In a rush of insight, Robin suddenly knew that if she went inside her apartment without seizing this moment, without letting Johnny know the feelings and needs that lay within her heart, this day would truly be the very worst in her life.

      She’d really be a loser, all the way around.

      Blinking, she turned, and looked at him. I’m not a loser. She took his large, warm hand and raised it to her lips, which trembled as she pressed a kiss into his palm. His skin was warm, his scent masculine. She let her lips linger, move imperceptively against his palm as her heart whispered its secrets.

      “Robin,” he murmured, more astounded by this simple act of affection than the fiery kiss at the diner. And when she looked up, with that beseechingly sweet look on her face, heat spread through his body,