Free Last Night's Kiss by Shirley Hailstock Page A

Adding chocolate syrup, nuts, and cherries to one, she took them to the living room.
    “Well, follow me,” she said, using her arm to wave him over.
    She handed him a bowl along with the syrup, nuts, and cherries and sat down on one of the huge sofas in front of the fireplace.
    “Am I in therapy?” he asked, tasting his ice cream.
    “Not today,” she said. “Therapy involves lying down, with soft music in the background and hot oils.”
    “I’ll keep that in mind. What does ice cream indicate?”
    “Friendship…maybe.”
    “Maybe?” he questioned.
    “You don’t like me, remember?”
    He nodded. “Why’d you come here for your vacation? With all the cities open to you, why Waymon Valley?”
    She stopped him. “Oh no, this is your floor show, not mine. You’re going to do the talking.”
    “Did I agree to this?”
    “Of course you did. It’s healthy. It’ll make you less cynical.”
    His look said he didn’t believe her, but he took a seat and laid his head back against the upholstery. For a long time he said nothing. Rosa didn’t think he was going to. He seemed to have drifted back in time to a place where only he and his demons knew the address.

Chapter 4
    It was unusual for Adam to come across someone like Rosa. Her name indicated delicacy, someone who needed and wanted pampering. And heaven knows her body spoke of the type of woman who needed caring for. But her disposal of four healthy teenagers in the “male out for trouble” category proved she’d passed the shrinking violet period long ago.
    Adam admired her ability to keep her head and protect herself. She reminded him a lot of Maureen. The two women were radically different in looks and personality, but Adam hadn’t had to worry about either. At least that’s what he thought, until the police knocked on his door at 3:00 AM and took him to the morgue to identify the body of camerawoman Maureen Carter.
    Squeezing his eyes shut, Adam closed off the mental image of Maureen lying naked under a sheet, her face gray with death. And the aftermath of her passing. He’d seen worlds torn apart. Witnessed the worst that man could do to himself, but when that cruelty touched him, he never knew how deeply it could cut, how much it could change his life.
    Purposely he pulled the image of Rosa Clayton to mind. She was sitting across from him, but he visualized her in the car—her hair a mass of long curls pulled into a swinging ponytail, her face clear, unadorned by a frame of hair, her makeup flawless, and her smile inviting his mouth to ravish hers.
    His eyes flew open. She stared at him. Standing up, he moved to the fireplace. Abruptly he dropped thoughts of Rosa, although his body, aroused from mental pictures, took longer to resume a normal state.
    Rosa was about to say something. He could feel it, but the ringing of the telephone stopped her. Both of them turned to look at the white instrument on the table next to where she sat.
    She picked up the receiver and a moment later, her eyes met his. She hadn’t said anything beyond hello.
    “I’ll give you some privacy,” he said. As he started to move, she stood up.
    “It’s for you.”
    When he turned, she was holding the phone out to him. Who could this be? Adam hadn’t lived here in years. Who had this phone number other than his father and people in the Valley? But none of them would call him here.
    Putting the phone to his ear, he said, “Hello.”
    “Adam, good to hear your voice.”
    “Not interested,” he said, recognizing the deep bass tone of Benjamin Masterson. Ben was a producer at WNN, his former employer. He’d called Adam several times, always with a more lucrative offer to get him back to D.C. and a news job.
    “You haven’t heard what I have to say,” Ben said. “At least give me a chance.”
    “It doesn’t matter what you’re offering. I’m not interested.”
    Adam could imagine Ben in his big office overlooking the Potomac. He knew Ben had deliberately used this