Free Manhunting in Mississippi by Stephanie Bond Page B

son. She’d known him one stinking day and he’d already displayed nearly al the desirable characteristics listed in her grandmother’s manhunting manual. And who knew—naked, he’d probably get an extra check mark or two.
    She inhaled sharply at the direction of her rambling, scrambled mind. “Turn here.” She pointed, her hand shaking. “About a half mile down, mine wil be the fourth town house on the right.”
    He raised one dark eyebrow. “A town house? In Mudvil e?”
    “It’s real y an old shotgun-style house with a postage stamp–size yard.”
    “Shotgun?”
    “The front door is in line with the back door,” she explained, gesturing when the houses came into view. “The mayor’s daughter bought an entire row and renovated them for
    rentals. Mine’s the blue one.”
    “Nice,” he commented as he slowly wheeled into her narrow driveway. “Very nice.” Smiling, he leaned forward and peered out the window.
    Strangely buoyed, Piper silently gave thanks for the weekends she’d spent planting purple petunias and yel ow barberry shrubs around the foundation of the little house—
    despite having to endure Lenny’s ghastly company every dirt-grubbing minute.
    At the thought of her nosy neighbor, she slid her gaze to the porch next door. Deserted, thank God. She’d pay penance later by going over to wish Mrs. Kern a happy birthday…
    after she’d bathed in pink chamomile lotion, and before she gave in to the descending lethargy.
    She started gathering up their trash. “Thanks for the ri—”
    At the sound of the car door opening, she glanced up in time to see the driver-side door closing. Once again, Ian circled around the front of the car. Piper’s stomach twisted. He opened her door and smiled, but his wolfish charm had fled. Instead he seemed…nervous. Which made her nervous.
    “I’l walk you to your door,” he offered politely, pul ing the trash and her shopping bag from her arms.
    Silently, but with her heart pounding, she got out of the car and led the way down the stepping-stone walk between her house and the Kerns’, limping. “Gary has my keys,” she reminded Ian over her shoulder. “I have to go in the back door.”
    “So you weren’t kidding.” His voice floated up to her in the fal ing dusk—earlier this evening due to the cloud cover.
    Her laugh sounded apprehensive even to her own ears. “No, I wasn’t kidding.” Her ankle throbbed, her stomach churned and her skin burned. Piper walked the short distance
    to the back of the house, turned right, crossed the tiny patch of grass that masqueraded as her backyard, then climbed the four steps leading up to the rear door.
    His leather-soled shoes padded lightly on the steps behind her, like a countdown. With her back to him, Piper opened the door and pushed it inward, then spun around with a
    wide smile to relieve Ian of his load. But whatever clever parting line had been on her tongue eluded her when her gaze met his in the near darkness. He stood on the next to last step, a good six inches below her, which put them nearly eye to eye, hand to hand, and mouth to mouth. They were close enough to see, touch…and kiss.
    She sank her teeth into her lower lip to stave off a groan of sheer desire and reached out to empty his arms. With a half pivot, she deposited the bags on the counter just inside the door, then realized her mistake when she turned back: both of them now had empty arms. She crossed hers, giving herself a white-knuckled hug. “Thanks,” she said, nodding, her smile just as tight as her grip on her arms. “Ian,” she added, stil nodding.
    He remained silent, during which her mind played several versions of how this evening could end—and only one of them would al ow her to face herself in the mirror tomorrow.
    She turned to step inside.
    “Piper.”
    Was it a question? A statement? She wasn’t sure, but the word yes was not going to pass her lips, so she simply turned back and raised her eyebrows, hoping he