First You Kiss 100 Men.... Carolyn Greene
pale blue eyes darkened slightly. The fringe of dark, sultry lashes and the brash, upward jut of her chin reminded him she was no longer a child. Little Julie Beth wasn’t so little anymore.
Seeing her standing there like that, her face tilted as if inviting him to partake in the kiss he’d coveted earlier, he blurted the first words that came to his mind. ‘‘My birthday’s tomorrow.’’
Those dark lashes widened almost imperceptibly, alerting him that his remark had surprised her as much as himself. And then her freckle-spattered face was covered with a broad, uncensored smile. Standing on tiptoe, the ukulele dangling at her side, she whispered, ‘‘Happy birthday!’’ and touched her soft lips to his.
Forgetting about adhering to workplace procedures or saving social pursuits until the appointed break time, Hunter returned the kiss and felt himself respond in a way that was decidedly unprofessional. Not to mention painful.
It was as if she had locked up his brain and handed the key to his mutinous body. He pulled her to him, seeking release in the sweet sensation of her touch, but that only served to fan the flames even higher. And when she lifted her arms to encircle his neck, he didn’t even care that she banged the ukulele against his rump.
Her mouth, which he remembered as being full of sass and mischief, was now sweetly compliant as he explored her tender lips with his own. Her strawberry-flavored lipstick teased his senses, making him hunger for more. The soft curve of her breasts pressed against his chest, and Hunter damned the suit jacket he was wearing for adding an extra layer between them.
It was seconds—or maybe minutes, or even days—later when he reluctantly lifted his head to end the kiss. Julie Beth exhaled deeply and dragged her arms from around his neck. Her motions were slow, almost as if she were drugged.
‘‘Hear, hear!’’ said Len in an appreciative tone. The rest of the staff signaled their agreement with cheers and thunderous applause.
Hunter swallowed. He didn’t regret what he’d done, but he hoped Julie Beth wasn’t embarrassed by the attention. His gaze still fixed on the delicate features of her face, he sought to lighten the mood and, at the same time, cut an escape hatch for himself.
He asked his partner, ‘‘What’s today’s date?’’
‘‘April first,’’ the old guy said.
Julie Beth narrowed her eyes at him as she caught on to what was happening.
‘‘April fool,’’ he told her with a teasing grin. ‘‘Tomorrow’s not my birthday.’’
She tucked the ukulele under her arm and maneuvered past him. ‘‘I know.’’ Shooting him a wink over her shoulder as she headed down the hall toward the elevator, her skirt swaying in a devilish salute, she added, ‘‘Your birthday is in August.’’
‘‘I think Anna is seeing someone.’’
If it were anyone other than his brother making this outrageous statement, Hunter would laugh and tell him to get a hobby and stop letting his imagination run amok. As a judge and a pillar of the community, however, Peter Matthews was not prone to creating fanciful tales.
‘‘She’s been slipping out at odd times of the day and night, and she refuses to tell me where she’s going.’’ Peter’s face tightened in pain. He stabbed at the chicken with his fork. ‘‘And yesterday, when I looked in her tote bag for a pen, I found some racy lingerie.’’
Hunter’s sister-in-law had been a devoted wife and mother during her eighteen years of marriage. As much as Hunter tried, he couldn’t imagine her hurting Peter like this. Not intentionally, anyway. ‘‘There must be a reasonable explanation for her behavior.’’
‘‘Things haven’t been well between us for a while.’’ Peter met his eyes and then looked away. ‘‘I want you to follow my wife. Find out what she’s been up to. It’s important that we keep this unpleasantness out of the media.’’ He leaned forward and lowered his voice as if to emphasize the importance of what he was about to say. ‘‘With the reappointment coming up, I can’t afford a messy scandal.’’
Hunter set his napkin on the table. He had no wish to get in the middle of their marital difficulties, but an impartial third party might be able to help them. ‘‘You don’t need an investigator,’’ he said gently, ‘‘but a good counselor could probably help.’’
Peter clenched his jaw. ‘‘I already suggested that to Anna. She wouldn’t go.’’
‘‘Did you offer to go with her?’’ He immediately answered his own question. ‘‘What am I thinking? Of course not.’’ Despite the fact that Hunter had always admired his high-achieving older brother, he recognized that Peter often had difficulty believing he could ever be less than one hundred percent right. Perhaps that’s what had led him to become a civil court judge. It allowed him to have the final say on most of the cases that came through his courtroom.
Peter’s high-handed attitude softened for a brief moment, long enough to make Hunter realize that his brother was deeply concerned. ‘‘We have two teenage sons who need their mother.’’
If Hunter hadn’t already been swayed by Peter’s worried expression, mention of the boys would have been enough to make him agree to take the case. ‘‘After all you’ve taught me about collecting airtight evidence for my clients, I suppose I owe you a favor in return.’’
The smile of relief that greeted his response was clearly heartfelt. Hunter didn’t like what he was about to become involved in, but it would be worth the sacrifice if the results of his investigation provided a healing salve for his brother’s marriage.
Hunter left the restaurant and walked the long way back to the office. He told himself it was because he needed the extra time to think about his brother’s situation, but the decision had more to do with the fact that the Merry Messengers telegram shop lay along this route.
Curiosity was his motive, he told himself as he walked past the bagel shop and an independent bookstore. As he approached Merry Messengers, he slowed his pace and casually glanced in the window to see if Julie Beth might be there, waiting to deliver her next kiss-o-gram. As for what he would do if he should happen to see her, he hadn’t thought that far ahead.
Holding a hand to his forehead to shade his eyes, he squinted into the dark store. A middle-aged woman behind the counter smiled and waved him in.
It wasn’t Julie Beth. He took her invitation anyway, and once inside, glanced around the small shop.
Real and silk flowers adorned a shelf near the counter, and on the back wall sat ceramic figures and plaques with cute sayings. A spinner rack near a door marked Employees Only offered an assortment of greeting cards, a few of the less attractive ones gone yellow with age.
Still no sign of Julie Beth. He turned to leave, but the proprietress would have none of that.
‘‘How may I help you today?’’ The woman spoke in an overly perky tone, as though she felt the need to demonstrate the enthusiasm with which their telegrams would be delivered. ‘‘We’re having a special on birthday-grams this month.’’
‘‘Uh, no, I don’t think so. I was just looking for someone who was at my office earlier today.’’ He glanced around for a sign of the miniskirted imp who’d kissed him this morning. ‘‘But Julie Beth’s apparently out on a delivery.’’
The woman did a spaniel impersonation and cocked her head. ‘‘Julie Beth?’’
‘‘Julie Fasano. She’s about so tall.’’ He held his hand at shoulder level. Maybe the size of the shop was deceptive, and the lady had employed so many merry messengers that she couldn’t keep track of them all. His guess was confirmed when someone came into the building from a back entrance and made a small commotion beyond the Employees Only door.
He continued his description. ‘‘Long dark hair, petite figure,’’ he said, emphasizing the latter with a