Free Seventh Wonder by Renae Kelleigh Page A

stopped, and the sun was sliding toward the horizon.
    There was strain in his face as he looked at her. “I don’t tend to cook much, since it’s just me.” He sat up. “I can see what I’ve got. Or we could, um...order in.”
    Why did he seem so anxious about suggesting such a thing?
    “I didn’t realize room service was an option,” she replied, smiling faintly as she gathered the slides into a loose pile.
    “Only for local celebrities,” he said with a wink.
    “Well then, I don’t see as I have a choice,” Meg said. “I ought to take advantage of your stardom while I’m able.”
    John climbed off the bed and, taking his billfold from the bedside table, tucked it in his back pocket. “I’ll have to walk up to the lodge to put in our order. Any special requests?”
    “Yes,” she replied. “I’m a dessert enthusiast.”
    He grinned. “That makes two of us, then.”
    She followed him to the door. He placed his hand on the doorknob, and it was as if he was about to break a hermetic seal on the cloistered existence they’d contentedly shared. She could imagine him opening the door and letting the whole world rush in, the good and the ugly, and she was left feeling unexpectedly bereft.
    Besides, she’d nearly forgotten she was dressed in only an oversized shirt.
    John seemed to register her dishabille in roughly the same moment. He paused, letting his fingers slip from the knob as his eyes traveled the length of her body. Without speaking, he closed his arms around her waist and pulled her snugly against him. Meg’s blood surged and fired, pressing hotly against the bounds of her skin.
    He lowered his face, angling it beneath her jaw line. She could feel his breath against her neck as his lips came within a hair’s breadth of her throat. “Can I ask you a favor?” he murmured.
    As if she could deny him anything. “Yes.”
    “Stay just like this until I get back.” He kissed her neck, and her eyes fluttered shut. When she exhaled, her breath was tinged with something that sounded suspiciously like a moan.
    He stepped away and the door opened before Meg had had even a moment to negotiate her chaotic brain activity. “I’ll hurry,” he said.
    Then he was gone.
    Meg stumbled backward, not quite conscious of her own feet. She looked down, trying to see herself the way John might - as something to be desired.
    Her bare feet slapped against the wooden floor as she ran into the bathroom. She switched on the tungsten light and peered into the mirror over the sink.
    She touched her lips, softly at first, then pressing them against her teeth. She’d always disliked her mouth, feeling her bottom lip was too full to suitably match its counterpart. Now, however, under this light, in this cottage, freshly kissed by the only man she could remember caring for... Now her mouth possessed a certain allure she’d never noticed before. Her face, which she’d previously thought plain, had an enticing glow to it. Her hair had dried in soft, tumbling waves, and the overhead light gave her olive eyes an emerald cast.
    Perhaps, she thought, she was even pretty - as John had intimated more than once.
    She passed the time lying in his bed with a book of W.H. Auden poems, twirling her hair as a girl would as she slowly turned the pages.
    When John returned, he tapped lightly on the door before entering. It seemed charming yet odd, considering this was his house. He tarried in the doorway a moment, looking at her on his bed, before lugging a paper sack over to the counter. Meg laid the book face down with the spine tented and went to help him.
    Veal fricassee. Fingerling potatoes. Brown bread with compound butter. They moved silently: uncrating, stacking bowls, buttering bread. This time Meg accepted John’s offer of a beer, even though she’d never cared much for it. Everything else looked, smelled and sounded different - perhaps the beer would taste different. Perhaps it would be better.
    They carried their plates to