Read Stevie Lee for Free Online Page B

pink, one-piece, and two-piece and all the in-between stuff. The bathroom looked like an erotic gypsy carnival.
    He thought back to Stevie Lee, standing in the kitchen in her hiking boots, faded jeans, and bulky sweater—and Lord knew what else—and another stream of muttered curses floated from his lips. All he’d wanted was a cup of coffee and a hot shower, and now she’d ruined them both.
    Still cussing, he reached for the cold water tap.
    * * *
    Stevie turned the steaks over and shoved them back under the broiler. Hash browns and eggs sizzled in a frying pan on top of the stove.
    “That was quick.” She glanced up when Hal returned. Then she took another look, and felt her heart simultaneously rise to her throat and drop into the pit of her stomach—an incredibly disconcerting experience.
    A hung over, slightly rumpled, good-looking man had walked out of her kitchen. A sun-god had returned in his place.
    A soft white, collarless shirt clung to his damp skin, caressing the solid curves of his chest and arms. Baggy, black cotton pants hung dangerously low around his hips, and put a hundred sensual images in her mind. Clean-shaven with his hair wet and slicked back, his face did the same—images of her mouth trailing across his golden skin, of her fingers tangling through his flaxen hair and curling around the back of his neck ran rampant in her head.
    “Looks as if you’ve got enough food there to feed an army, Stevie. I thought all women watched their weight.” He spoke to her, but thankfully his eyes remained locked on the frying pan, giving her a moment to compose herself. It wasn’t long enough, but she did her best.
    “Don’t worry. Most of it’s yours. I thought I’d . . . uh . . . get all of this gratitude business out of the way in one fell swoop.” She’d also thought about Nola’s recital of his grocery list, and of her freezer full of prime Colorado beef. She’d forgotten about the special intimacy implied in sharing breakfast.
    “You’re just full of good ideas, aren’t you?” he looked up with a mischievous light warming the depths of his eyes.
    She was full of ideas all right, tempting, seductive ideas. They whirled around her imagination and teased her body with memories of the previous night. Ideas involving two people and little else.
    “What did you eat in the South Pacific?” she asked, rushing into the moment of silence, clamping down on her capricious thoughts.
    “Raw fish.”
    “Raw?” Good Lord, even his voice had taken on a sexual undertone.
    “My matches got wet when my boat went down, lost most of my supplies.” He let out a soft chuckle. “By my third month on the island, I was a regular sushi chef.”
    “Well, yes, I’d guess so. We don’t get much call for sushi in Grand Lake. Actually, I don’t think we’ve ever had a sushi chef in town.” She was babbling and staring, and she had to stop both.  Good Lord, he’d been shipwrecked on an island. “Do you want milk or juice?” Finally, a coherent statement. She latched onto the moment of lucidity, turning away from him and going to the cupboard for plates.
    Hal’s gaze followed her across the room, lingering on the sway of her hips and the curve of her waist. He wanted to know what she was wearing underneath her sweater and her jeans. He wanted to know what erotic delicacy slid against her skin, but he said, “Milk.”
    “Go ahead and sit down. It’s ready.”
    He did as he was told, which was a nice change, and Stevie served up breakfast. The minute her bottom hit the chair, she dug in, wanting to get it over with. Lost in her own disconcerted thoughts, she made all the little clattering noises with her knife and fork people usually make when they eat but usually nobody notices—unless the nobody is praying over his food.
    “Excuse me. I didn’t think about saying grace.” She whispered a hushed apology and belatedly closed her eyes.
    “It’s a habit I picked up on the island. Every time I caught