Nobody said no to body language like that
Tyler also knew that nobody said no to a woman who looked and smelled, sounded and felt like Jenna.
He needed to stop this. He needed to let her down easy. She was the subject of his investigation, for goodness sakes.
âTyler?â she breathed. She closed her eyes and leaned into him.
He clenched his hands into fists, trying to get the right words, the right phrases to form in his mind. But they didnât. There was no way out of this without kissing her. Just a taste, he promised himself.
Aw, hell. Tyler gently pressed his lips against hers, but promised he wouldnât pucker.
Jenna wound her arms around him, her soft body cradling his tightly.
A roar started in his ears and quickly overwhelmed his brain. Forget puckering, his lips parted. She tasted of sweet wine and summer sunshine.
Damn.
Dear Reader,
I love a hero with a secret. I particularly love a hero who has to choose between his secret and his principles. Add to that a sexy heroine who tempts him to compromise both, and youâve got Tyler Reeves, private investigator, a man going quietly insane while he watches the one woman in the world he canât possibly touch.
Growing up in Vancouver, Canada, I often drove with my family across the border to visit Seattle. With its towering hotels, exciting shopping and extraordinarily beautiful scenery, it remains one of my favorite cities. The last time I visited, my good friend Jane Porter drove me along the winding lakeshore roads to view the magnificent homes set between cedar forests and the rocky shore. This laid-back luxury was the inspiration for the Quayside hotel, the fictional setting for Next to Nothing!
I had a great time writing this story. I hope you enjoy the atmosphere of the West Coast.
Best wishes,
Barbara Dunlop
âHE STILL OUT THERE?â Jenna McBride watched as her business partner, Candice Hammond, crossed in front of the waterfall fountain in the hospitalâs new atrium lobby.
âShort guy?â asked Candice, her high heels clicking on the freshly finished sienna tile floor. âBalding. Doesnât know polyester is dead?â She spoke loudly enough to be heard above the rushing water.
âThatâs him.â Jenna snapped her pencil into the clasp at the top of her Canna Interiors clipboard. The closed-for-construction lobby was nearly empty now that most of the workers had left for the day. âWhere on earth did Brandon find that guy?â
Jennaâs partner in Canna Interiors arched her perfect eyebrows, her dark lips curving up in a half smile that revealed the dimple in her left cheek. âOne-nine-hundred aging gumshoe?â
Jenna shook her head and raked her auburn, shoulder-length hair back from her forehead. She was hot from working all day, and a fine sheen of sweat dampened her hairline.
âI canât believe heâs still trying.â Sheâd finally broken off her engagement to Brandon four months ago. Then sheâd moved from Boston to Seattle to put some distance between them.
âYou always did live in denial,â said Candice as she settled on the bench facing the fountain, crossing one stocking-clad leg over the other. âOlâ Brandonâs like the Energizer Bunny.â
âNot in bed,â scoffed Jenna, surprising herself with the moment of pithy honesty.
Candiceâs eyes lit up with newfound admiration and humor. She sat slightly forward. âYouâve come a long way, baby.â
âBecause I no longer think the sun rises and sets on Brandon Rice?â Jenna took a seat at the opposite end of the bench, curling one denim-covered calf beneath the opposite leg and setting her clipboard down next to her purse.
It was embarrassing to realize sheâd been taken in so easily, and for such a long time. Naive and gullible. Book smart and life stupid. That was Jenna.
âBecause you can finally admit he was a loser in bed,â said Candice, gazing at the water as it foamed against the natural rocks and sculpted mortar. Her short, chic hair curled against the collar of her jacket.
âIt was kind of hard to tell in the thick of things,â said Jenna. She eased off her loafers, wiggling her toes.
The high ceiling fans sent a light breeze wafting down, but the mid-June sunshine had warmed the atrium.
Candice fought a smirk.
âItâs not like Iâd done any comparison shopping,â Jenna added. âI was barely twenty-two when we met.â
She was twenty-six now. And, thanks to Candice, she had a second chance on life. A chance that didnât include becoming Mrs. Brandon Riceâproperly behaved trophy wife. Or was that properly behaved lap dog? Hard to know for sure.
âYou donât need vast personal experience to know three minutes is pathetic,â said Candice, giving her head a shake and rattling her silver earrings. âYou just need the public library.â She cocked her head, contemplating the newly finished fountain. âYou think the whale is too much?â