Free Summer Rose by Elizabeth Sinclair Page A

she had hoped for at least a friendship with the handsome vet. Something on a neighborly level.
    Liar!
    The word shot through her brain like a Fourth of July rocket.
    Ever since you first saw him, he’s been on your mind. Admit it! You want far more than a neighborly level with this man.
    But that can’t be. Rose ran her hand over her flat tummy. She could no longer think in me terms. It was now us . Her and the twin lives she carried inside her. How could she even consider a future with any man until she’d settled her own life? Until she discovered if she had any mommy genes in her or if she had inherited those of the mother who had walked out on her claiming she just couldn’t do this .
    Rose shook away the troubling thoughts. Hunter had done nothing to make her think he had any interested in her. Nothing besides giving her a job, a place to live and an income to support herself and eventually the babies. There had been no hint of anything beyond a very strict employer/employee relationship, and she planned to keep it that way. Still, they could be friends. Couldn’t they?
    As she grew closer to his house, she skirted the front and headed toward the backyard where, having seen him cooking on other evenings, she knew he kept the barbeque grill. The smell of cooking meat enveloped her. If nothing else, the vet evidently had some cooking skills. She hadn’t smelled anything half as mouthwateringly enticing in a very long time.
    Stepping around the corner of the house, Rose came to a sharp halt in the shadow of a large maple tree shading the patio. Hunter stood at the grill, his hair still shower-damp, his broad shoulders encased in a lemon-yellow T-shirt, his feet bare and his tanned legs exposed by snug denim shorts. All her good intentions to keep this on a friendly basis threatened to sail right off into the twilit night.
    Taking a deep breath, she stepped out of the shadows onto the patio stones. “Salad has arrived.” She held up the bowl.
    Hunter swung around. For a moment he stared at her as if he’d never seen her before, then gave his head a slight shake and grinned. “Great. Looks wonderful,” he added after peeking into the bowl. Then he gestured toward a table he’d already set with plates, silverware, glasses and citronella candles, which infused the night air with an exotic aroma. “Put it over on the table. The steaks should be ready in just a few minutes. There’s a bottle of wine cooling in the ice bucket. Why don’t you pour us each a glass?”
    Rose placed the salad bowl on the table, then filled one glass half way with the chilled white zinfandel, and carried it to the grill for him. He glanced at her other empty hand. “You’re not having any?”
    How did she tell him that she didn’t want it because pregnant women don’t drink alcohol? She opted for a vague refusal. “I’m not much of a drinker. Got any soda?”
    He nodded, laid the tongs on the side of the grill and disappeared inside. Moments later, he emerged with a can of Coke. “Here you go.”
    When she took it, his fingers slid over hers, and the resulting tingle traveled all the way to her shoulder. The unexpected sensation totally unnerved her. Quickly, she retreated back to the table and sat in one of the chairs. She stared at his broad back and wondered how she’d ever get through this night without grabbing him and seeing if his kisses would be as sweet as she’d imagined.
    Hunter felt Rose’s gaze burning into his back. Doing his best to look casual, he flipped the steaks and concentrated on the task at hand. Not easy while still trying to recover from the unexpected sight of her luscious tanned legs and all that long, auburn hair spilling over her shoulders and onto her breasts . . .
    He shook himself. Steaks. Cook the steaks. She’s just another woman.
    But that was the problem. She wasn’t just another woman. She was Rose, the woman who’d been living in his head since the day she walked into the clinic. The