Page 72 of This Heart Of Mine (Chicago Stars 5)

odged Roo, who was trying to make a meal of his ankles, and set the bags on the counter. “Why are you doing that? Where’s Amy?”

“Stop it, Roo. I just let her go. She was starting to whimper from Troy-deprivation.”

No sooner had she said it than she spotted Amy flying across the yard toward her husband, who must have sniffed her on the wind, because he’d appeared out of nowhere.

“There they go again,” Kevin said.

Their reunion was more passionate than a perfume commercial. Molly watched Troy dip his mouth to the top of Amy’s exposed breast. She threw back her head. Arched her neck.

Another hickey.

Molly smacked a Tupperware lid back on its container. “She’s going to end up needing a blood transfusion if he doesn’t stop that.”

“She doesn’t seem to mind it too much. Some women like it when a man puts his mark on them.”

Something in the way he looked at her made her breasts prickle. She didn’t like her reaction. “And some women see it for what it is—the pathetic attempt of an insecure man to dominate a woman.”

“Yeah, there’s always that.” He gave her a lazy smile and headed back out the side door for the rest of the groceries.

While he unloaded, he asked Molly if she wanted to go into town for dinner, but she declined. There was only so much Kevin temptation she wanted to expose herself to at one time. She headed back to the cottage, feeling good about her self-discipline.

The sun looked like a big lemon cookie in the sky, which made Daphne hungry. Green beans! she thought. With a nice topping of dandelion leaves. And strawberry cheesecake for dessert.

This was the second time today the critters had popped into her head. Maybe she was finally ready to get back to work—if not to write, then at least to do the drawings Helen wanted and free up the rest of her advance.

She let herself into the cottage and found a well-stocked refrigerator and a cupboard stacked with supplies. She had to give Kevin credit. He was doing his best to be considerate. She wasn’t crazy about the fact that she was starting to like him so much, and she tried to work up some anger by reminding herself he was a shallow, egotistical, overpriced, Ferrari-driving, kidnapping, poodle-hating womanizer. Except she hadn’t seen any evidence of womanizing. None at all.

Because he didn’t find her attractive.

She grabbed her hair and let out a muffled scream at her own utter patheticness. Then she fixed a huge dinner and ate every bite.

That evening she sat on the porch gazing down at the pad of paper she’d found in a drawer. Would it hurt to move Daphne and Melissa just a little farther apart? After all, it was only a children’s book. It wasn’t as if America’s civil liberties rested on how close Daphne and Melissa were standing to each other.

Her pencil began to move, at first hesitantly, and then more quickly. But the sketch that appeared wasn’t the one she’d planned. Instead, she found herself drawing Benny in the water, fur dripping into his eyes, his mouth agape, as he looked up at Daphne, who was diving off the top of a cliff. Her ears streamed behind her, the beaded collar of her denim jacket flapped open, and a pair of very stylish Manolo Blahniks flew from her paws.

She frowned and thought of all the accounts she’d read of young people being permanently paralyzed from diving into unfamiliar water. What kind of safety message would this send small children?

She ripped the paper from the pad and crumpled it. This was the sort of problem all those people who wanted to write a children’s book never considered.

Her brain had dried up again. Instead of thinking about Daphne and Benny, she found herself thinking about Kevin and the campground. This was his heritage, and he should never sell it. He said he’d been bored here as a child, but he didn’t have to be bored now. Maybe he just needed a playmate. Her brain skittered away from thinking about exactly what playing with Kevin would involve.

She decided to walk to the Common. Maybe she’d sketch some of the cottages just for fun. On the way there, Roo trotted over to greet Charlotte Long and impress her with his dead dog imitation. Although fewer than half the cottages were occupied, most of the residents seemed to be out for an evening stroll, and long, cool shadows fell like whispers across the grass. Life passed more slowly here in Nightingale Woods…

The gazebo caught Molly’s attention.

I’ll have a tea party! I’ll invite my friends, and we’ll wear fabulous hats and eat chocolate frosting and say, “Ma chère, have you ever seen such a bee-you-tee-ful day?”

She settled cross-legged on the beach towel she’d brought with her and began to sketch. Several couples strolled by and stopped to observe, but they were members of the last generation with manners, and they didn’t interrupt her. As she drew, she found herself thinking about all her years at summer camp. The frailest thread of an idea began to form in her mind, not about a tea party but about—

She closed her notebook. What was the use of thinking so far ahead? Birdcage had contractual rights to two more Daphne books, neither of which they’d accept until she’d made the revisions they’d demanded of Daphne Takes a Tumble.

The lights were on when she returned to the cottage. She hadn’t left them that way, but she wasn’t too worried.

Roo immediately started barking and made a dash for the bathroom door. It wasn’t latched, and the dog bumped it open a few inches with his head.

“Calm down, poochy.” Molly pushed it open the rest of the way and saw Kevin, all bare-naked beautiful, stretched out in the old-fashioned tub, legs crossed and propped on the rim, a book in his hands, and a small cigar clamped in the corner of his mouth.

“What are you doing in my bathtub?” Although the water came all the way to the top, there weren’t any soap bubbles to hide him, so she didn’t go closer.

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