âI donât think this is going to be a strictly business relationship â¦â
Before Serena could respond, Adam closed the distance between them, pulled her to him and closed his mouth on hers. Hot, determined, possessive, his lips moved over hers. He gave her a moment to accept or reject his caress and she used that moment to angle her body closer, to open her lips in mute invitation.
He took her mouth then, licking into her, giving her a taste of his power and hunger. Which, naturally, incited her own power and hunger. And, oh, she was hungry. He reminded her of how long it had been since sheâd lost herself in a man.
A tiny sound came out of her throat, half moan, half purr. He took that as encouragement and pulled her even closer, running his hands over her curves. She felt his arousal as he held her tight against his body, felt her own excitement building within her.
A car with all the windows open, music blasting, roared into the parking lot, and he quickly pulled away, shielding her with his body.
âAha,â he said.
She gazed up at him, stunned at the strength of her own response. âI donât date my clients,â she reminded them both.
âI donât recall asking you for a date,â he said, all sexy and pleased with himself.
âYouâre going to be trouble, arenât you?â
âOh, I hope so â¦â
1
âHEY, DYLAN, GRAB the fire hose,â Max Varo joked as the homemade chocolate cake laden with thirty-five burning candles made its way into the Shawnigan family rec room. The cake wobbled slightly in June Shawniganâs hands as she broke into a soprano rendition of âHappy Birthday to You.â The fifty or so people singing along were assorted friends and family of Adam Shawnigan, Juneâs baby, thirty-five today.
She suspected his surprise party hadnât been a surprise for more than a nanosecondâhe was a detective, after allâbut he was putting on a good face for the celebration.
It was a rugged, handsome face, too, if she did say so herself. She wasnât the only one who noticed. As she looked around, June could see the expressions on some of the younger womenâs faces. Adam was, as more than one young woman had informed her, a major hottie. So why was her thirty-five-year-old major-hottie son still single?
When heâd finished blowing out the candles, and sheâd passed slices of cake and forks, she called for quiet and motioned to her husband, Dennis, to dim the lights and push Play.
âNo. For the love of God, no,â moaned Adam as the big-screen TV came to life. Oh, sheâd surprised him now, she thought with satisfaction as the home movie sheâd taken on her first camcorder thirty years ago filled the screen.
Three little boys sat at the picnic table in Juneâs backyard, all chubby faces and mustard-stained mouths, chomping through hot dogs and potato chips. She must have guessed theyâd stay still for at least another minute or two, so sheâd grabbed her new camcorder, pushed Record. Of course, at five years old, the three were used to being followed around by eager parents with cameras and barely batted an eye.
She said, âAdam, how old are you today?â
âIâm five,â he said, looking at the camera as though a not-very-bright woman were behind it.
âWhat do you want to be when you grow up?â she asked.
âIâm going to be a police officer,â he said, dipping his hot dog into a pool of ketchup and stuffing it into his mouth. Even then heâd had big blue eyes that were so like his fatherâs. Then, his mouth full, he mumbled, âLike my dad.â
âAw,â said a chorus of voices in the living room.
âHow about you, Dylan?â she asked the freckle-faced kid next to her son, as if his answer werenât perched on his head.
He put his hand on the red plastic firefighterâs helmet heâd barely taken off in a year and said, âA fireman.â Dylan was the tallest of the three boys and the most daring. It had come as no surprise to June when heâd been cited for bravery four years ago for rushing into a burning building as it collapsed to save a young womanâs life.
âAmazing,â a voice from the crowd piped up. âWho gets their career right at five?â
âWhat about you, Max?â she asked the smallest of the three boys. Max Varo at five was very much like Max Varo at thirty-five. He had dark South American good looks and a neatly buttoned shirt that showed no signs of dropped foodâunlike the shirts of the other two. He ate tidily and always remembered to say please and thank you. âI am going to be an astronaut.â