Free Bringing Home a Bachelor by Karen Kendall

teasing her. “So, you didn’t have nightmares about me? Horrible dreams in which you begged me to put my clothes back on?”
    “No! I—”
    “You’re really cute when you blush, by the way.”
    What was she supposed to say to that? Thank you?
    “But why are you blushing?” Pete looked perplexed.
    “Because…I don’t normally, um, unzip guys’ pants—”
    “Really? That’s a damn shame.” He sipped at his mimosa, eyeing her over the rim of the glass.
    “…or grab their…”
    “I didn’t know it was possible for someone’s skin to turn quite that red,” Pete mused. “I think it might actually be dangerous.”
    “…parts,” she finished desperately. Then she drank half her mimosa in a single gulp.
    He touched his cold glass to her hot cheek, sending a shiver down her spine even in the humidity. “So what you’re telling me is that my, er, part, was endowed with a powerful magnetic force that drew you helplessly towards my zipper. Mine was special. You couldn’t help yourself.” He winked again.
    She stared at him, her mouth working. “No, what I’m saying is that I had too much to drink.”
    “Aww, and here I was beginning to be seriously flattered. Not to mention turned on again.” Pete came a couple of steps closer, right into her personal space, and sucked all the oxygen out of it.
    She could smell the soap he’d used that morning, and that clean, breezy aftershave. The quirk in his mouth was addictive. Her fingers itched to trace it.
    Her heart hammering, Mel took a step back. “You don’t have to flirt with me.”
    His eyebrows drew together. “What if I want to flirt with you, honey? What if I was going to ask you what you’re doing this Saturday?”
    Her heart leaped, and then fell again. He was just being polite about Saturday. She shrugged uncomfortably. “I mean, just because of last night, you shouldn’t feel obligated to—I mean, I’m a big girl. I know it meant nothing.”
    He tilted his head and gazed down at her quizzically. “It meant something to me, Melinda.”
    “It was just sex,” she blurted. “A booty call. I get that.”
    Pete opened his mouth to say something—probably a polite denial of what Mel knew to be true—but snapped it closed again as her mother and father appeared at her elbow.
    “Melinda,” said Jocelyn in frosty tones. She smiled brightly, though—too brightly.
    “Hi, sweetheart,” Richard said, kissing her cheek. His gaze darted from her mother’s face to hers and then back again. Clearly, he knew there was trouble between them.
    Pete looked actively uncomfortable, shifting from foot to foot, but produced a hearty grin.
    “And Pete. How are you this morning?” Richard stuck out his hand. He and Pete shook.
    “Peter, I noticed that one of the buffet trays is empty,” her mother said coolly. “And that table in the corner? It’s littered with dirty plates and utensils.”
    “Mom, Pete is not a waiter,” Mel said through gritted teeth.
    “No, but he does supervise the staff, don’t you, Peter? When you’re not busy, that is.”
    “Thank you for alerting me, Mrs. Edgeworth,” Pete said smoothly. “I hope you’ll excuse me while I take care of those issues. Enjoy your breakfast.” And with those words, he vamoosed, leaving Mel with her parents.
    “Richard, darling, would you get us some coffee?” Jocelyn asked, never taking her gaze from Melinda’s face.
    Mel raised her chin and squared her feet, bracing herself for whatever came next.
    “Drinking again, Melinda?” Her mother gestured to her mimosa.
    Mel’s hand clenched around the glass. “What do you mean, again?”
    “Didn’t you have enough last night?”
    “No, Mother. Clearly I didn’t.”
    Jocelyn shrugged. “Empty calories.”
    Melinda raised her flute and drained the contents, barely restraining the childish urge to wipe her mouth with the back of her hand and then belch. “They’re well worth it to me.”
    “Melinda, I think you owe me an