Page 1 of Tangling Hearts

Chapter One

Rebecca

Dress: black lace, see-through, long sleeved, lingerie. Panties: what panties? Bra: you’re kidding, right?

Inspecting myself in the mirror, I feel pretty fucking sexy. My nipples, sensitive hard tips poking through the lace in their excitement, or fear.

Both, I imagine.

The dress — if you can call it that — falls less than an inch lower than my hips. I can see everything, and so will he.

If he shows up.

In my five hundred dollar pumps, I stroll back into the bedroom and bend to start the fire, my hands shaky. As soon as I get the kindling to flame and lick the thick, oak logs, I rise, wondering What time is it? Glancing up at the antique clock, I’m disappointed to see it’s twenty after nine, and I walk to my phone. But just as I’m about to dial, I remember what he said: I might not have my phone. Don’t call me.

“Dammit!”

Looking frantically around the room, I walk to the window and peek out the curtain, looking at nothing, really. With the phone smacking repeatedly against my open palm, I pace the room, the warmth of the growing fire fanning the flame of my anxiety.

“What if I just lit a fire for no one? Jesus, Rebecca. This is bullshit. Call him.”

I slide the phone open. Hold my finger to his name. The door knocks and my head flies to it, my long, overly-brushed hair flying. Tossing my phone onto a chair, I go to answer the door, wringing my hands. I don’t even pause before I swing it open.

Tommy’s standing there in his normal, casual, well-cut style, a jacket half-zipped over black jeans and boots, his olive t-shirt bringing out the sparkle in his hazel eyes. Taken aback by what I’m wearing, his sexy smirk twitches and his eyebrows raise up. I say nothing. Neither of us has said a word. I straighten my back, my normal response to nervousness. A lady can get away with anything. He slowly rakes over me with an appreciative stare, a surprised breath escaping him as he meets my stone-like stare. .

“Come in.” I turn and walk into the room, glancing over my shoulder, hoping to catch him in the act of looking at my ass. He is, and instantly I’m glad he came. That look is exactly what I needed.

“And here I thought we were going to talk,” he says, one corner of his mouth turned up.

I turn around in a slow circle as he closes the door and locks it. “What? We are. I don’t want you to do anything. Except open that wine you’re carrying.”

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