Free Dark Star by Roslyn Holcomb Page A

changes he’d put her though. Then he
did something so characteristically Nate that she just wanted to
kick him. He raised her hand from the towel and brought it palm up
to his mouth. Now wasn’t that just some Jane Austen shit? And so
typical. She’d always been intrigued by the dichotomy between the
south Alabama Bubba and the suave Frenchman. In a word it drove her
hormones nuts. It kept her off-balance and she hated it -- and
loved it. Now she did snatch her hand away. Nate grinned at her.
His perfectly straight teeth shone in stark contrast to his dark
complexion.
    “Well I can’t make up for ruining your career
or scaring your mom, but you’re developing a lovely set of freckles
across your nose. I can at least get you out of the sun before you
accuse me of giving you skin cancer. Besides, I’m starving. How
about some Belgian waffles?”
    Tonya couldn’t resist. “I’ve been known to
forgive nearly anything for waffles.”
    * * * * *
    They returned to the house, and after a quick
shower Tonya pulled on a loose-fitting sundress. The fabric was an
abstract design in vivid blues and greens. She hadn’t packed
anything like it, but Nate had gone into the small village and
picked up some things for her. Apparently he hadn’t forgotten her
love for bright colors, as the dress was definitely one she
would’ve bought for herself. She especially appreciated its
ankle-grazing length. When she joined Nate in the kitchen, he was
wearing the same shorts he’d snorkeled in. And thankfully for the
sake of her libido, he was still wearing a shirt.
    He was standing in the center of the tiny
kitchen whisking something in a bowl. She leaned against the
counter and watched as he poured the batter into a waffle iron. The
kitchen was in the center of the house, which didn’t have a
hallway. Instead it was built on something of a spoke design so all
the rooms branched off. She’d cooked in the kitchen a couple of
times and found it surprisingly well appointed, though she
suspected that with its teak cabinets and upscale appliances, it
wasn’t designed for actual use. Nate checked the waffle iron every
few minutes and before long he produced four delectable looking
waffles. He waved her over to the kitchen table as he plated them.
He’d already placed butter and warmed maple syrup on the table and
she applied both liberally, but declined the heavy cream he
offered.
    They sat at the table and dug in
immediately.
    The warm gooey waffles defined deliciousness.
Her mouth practically danced in delight. “Obviously you remember
all the cooking skills you picked up at Carlyle’s.” He had spent
one summer in Maple Fork attending classes with her at a local
community college and working at the legendary fish joint.
    “Oh, that’s real cute. You know they never
let me cook. I was a glorified dishwasher. I still have a scar on
my hip from taking down that damned fry station,” he said.
    “Poor Nate. Manual labor and all that. Your
lost summer spent living in our basement and slaving away in a
seafood restaurant. And you were such a good boy, too. You didn’t
even try to come up the stairs and sneak in my room.”
    “I assumed your mom had it booby-trapped,” he
said. “I like all my body parts where they are, thank you very
much.”
    Tonya chuckled. “Yeah, you’re probably
right.”
    “So no nookie, but it was worth it.”
    Tonya inhaled a sharp breath. “Was it
really?” Had he spent as much time thinking about that idyllic
summer as she had?
    “Hell, yeah. You know Carlyle made the best
fish sandwiches anywhere. Damn I miss them. To this day I can’t
smell hot grease without getting nostalgic for a sandwich all the
way with extra hot sauce.”
    Tonya had to laugh. She’d walked right into
that one.
    “Tell me about your next book. Covered was my favorite. Though I like Scattered too.”
    “You’ve read my books?” She couldn’t keep the
delight out of her voice. Of course, she was always surprised to
find