The P.I. Who Loved Her

She was just being sentimental. Yes, that’s what it was. That’s the reason she’d succumbed to the desire to kiss Mitch in Gran’s kitchen, why his nearness and flirting had such a hot effect on her now. Certainly nothing that would get in the way of her plans to move on with her life, go somewhere where she could set up her business all over again. Plans that had nothing to do with Mitch or Manchester or the nineteen hundred and ninety-nine residents that inhabited the north-central Virginia town, no matter how reassuringly familiar they all were. Plans she fully intended to see succeed before her thirtieth birthday less than two weeks from now.

Thirty years old. She nearly groaned and wondered if she should order her headstone now.

Mid-tally, Liz halted her pencil and flipped to another page in her order book. Tearing it off, she slid the white slip under the wall of the Manchester Journal.

Mitch dropped the newspaper a few inches, gazing at her with those teasing green eyes of his.

“Not in a hurry to get rid of me, are you, angel?”

“Now, Mitch, why would you say that?” She leaned her hips against the counter and offered up a smile. “How many times do I have to ask before you stop calling me angel?”

He shook his paper as if to straighten it, though his gaze remained riveted to her face. “Ask as often as you like. I’m not going to stop. Not as long as you’re in front of me wearing that white uniform.” The grin that threatened grew into blood-heating reality.

Every inch of her roused to glorious life. “Is that your way of saying you want me to leave?”

“That’s not my way of saying anything except what I said.” He rustled the paper again.

She twisted her lips and allowed her gaze to flick slowly over his face. This is his way of getting back at me, she realized. No angry demands to know why she’d left. No attempts to get her alone for a quiet talk. Not even any mention of the time they’d been together or the scorching kiss they’d shared yesterday. No, Mitch McCoy intended to make her time here as miserable as possible. And if he could speed up the process of her leaving, it was all for the better.

The maddening thing of it was that, despite everything, she wanted to have him hosed down and brought to her tent…pronto.

“Isn’t there someplace you should be getting back to? Doesn’t the world need saving or something?” she said, reaching for his paper again. He moved the Journal out of reach.

“I didn’t know you paid that close attention to my comings and goings.”

She crossed her arms over her chest. “The diner’s pretty full. We could use the spot you’re taking for someone interested in eating.” She smiled. “Anyway, I’m more interested in your goings than your comings, Mitch.”

“Funny, I’d say you’re more interested in your goings than your comings.” He stretched lazily, offering every solid part of his T-shirt-covered abdomen for inspection. Liz covertly admired the enticing wall of muscle, then turned away, a slow burn beginning in the pit of her stomach. She was wrong. More had changed about him than his unpredictability. No longer was he the corded teenager, then young man for whom she had once hungered. A few pounds of added muscle made his physique more intriguing, more enticing, and much more irresistible than it had ever been.

She pushed open the kitchen door, aware of his keen attention.

“Hey, Bo, how are the burgers frying?” She flashed a smile at the harried cook and half-owner of the diner.