Free Welcome to Temptation: A Romantic Comedy by Charlotte Hughes Page A

the next half hour, they concentrated on getting the rug outside, where they draped it across several old sawhorses to dry. Michelle wasn’t sure the rug could be saved, but knowing that Reba never threw anything away, she was hesitant to do so herself.
    Although it was still early, the day was hot and muggy. Gator, already drenched with perspiration, had shrugged out of his shirt and tied an old blue bandanna around his forehead. A fine sheen of sweat covered his back, shoulders, and chest, and tiny sweat beads glistened across his forehead and upper lip. That, combined with his unshaven face, convinced Michelle that he’d never looked more rakish or devilishly sexy.
    A shave and shower these days would have been sheer luxury, she knew. Although Gator had conveniently disappeared each night during the bath rituals to give Reba and Michelle privacy, there was still something very intimate about sharing the same bar of soap, the same tube of toothpaste, the same sink. Gator often waited until the women were in bed before he began his own ablutions, and Michelle had raptly listened to the sounds he made—the water splashing against the metal sink, Gator humming under his breath as he washed. In her mind she saw him standing naked before the sink, the kerosene lamp painting shadows on his large, hair-roughened body.
    Michelle forced her thoughts to the present as she followed Gator inside the house once more. They threw open the windows—those that hadn’t been broken during the storm—to aid in drying out the place. Michelle began the enormous task of mopping while Gator measured the windows and cut plastic from a large roll he’d purchased from the hardware store that morning. He’d brought a staple gun to make the job easier, courtesy of FEMA. Michelle had only finished mopping half the living room floor when Gator called for help.
    “I need you to hold these plastic sheets up while I staple them in place,” he said, rolling the sheets up so they would be easier to handle. “Why don’t we start upstairs so the bottom floors have longer to dry?” Michelle nodded and followed.
    Gator had Michelle hold the plastic against the window while he stapled it to the frame securely. Michelle decided it was the most unnerving moment in her life having to stand there, stretched to her full height as she held the plastic in place, while he stood directly behind her and tacked it in. She could feel his breath on the back of her neck, sending delightful tingles down her spine. When his big chest brushed her shoulder blades accidentally, she sucked in her breath and tried to make herself smaller. She suddenly felt vulnerable dressed in shorts that were a tad tight and a cotton blouse that exposed her midriff every time she raised her arms. They’d seemed practical enough when she’d chosen them at the shelter; with clothing so scarce, she’d been lucky to find something close to her size. She decided after a moment that clothing had nothing to do with the way she felt. Gator Landry could make a woman in a nun’s habit feel naked.
    When Gator finally finished nailing the plastic in place, he dropped his arms to his side and backed away from the window. Michelle, who’d been literally holding her breath, exhaled with such force that it almost made her dizzy. She grasped the windowsill for support.
    “You okay?” Gator asked, arching one brow quizzically.
    “Yeah, fine.”
    “How come your face is so red?”
    She fumbled for a reply. “It’s the … heat.”
    “I hope you’re not pregnant too.”
    Michelle faced him. “Of course I’m not pregnant. What on earth would make you say such a thing?”
    He shrugged. “I just thought it would be kind of funny if your good doctor knocked up his wife and mistress at the same time.”
    Her cheeks flamed. “I’m not his mistress.”
    “Call it what you like, Mic, but it all adds up to the same thing.”
    This time it took every ounce of willpower she had to keep from flying