Hot Pursuit Read Free Page B

nice.”
    Sawdust drifted. Taylor watched him shift another plank of wood with practiced ease. Why did the image of sweat and manual labor suddenly seem so sexy? “No offense, but I hope it won’t be too noisy. I work at home.”
    â€œWhat kind of work?” The question was casual as he pulled the lid off a big ceramic baking dish.
    Lasagna smells filled the air and Taylor’s knees threatened to buckle. “Writing. Suspense—heavy on characters and a solid hit of romance.” She waited for the snicker, the frown, the twist of the lips.
    He simply nodded. “Sounds interesting.”
    â€œIt has its moments. Some days you enjoy matching a nasty face with a lethal bullet.”
    Her neighbor chuckled, measuring a piece of lasagna with his knife. “How about this much?”
    Was the Pope Catholic? “Gee, I don’t want to be greedy.”
    â€œNo problem. I made plenty.”
    Taylor felt her jaw go slack. “
You’re
the cook?”
    He slid an éclair onto a plate and added a decadent amount of Belgian chocolate sauce. “My dad always said if a man wanted to eat, he owed it to himself to learn to cook. As a matter of fact, he could cook circles around my mom.” He smiled. “And she liked it just fine that way.”
    Taylor forced her mouth closed. Mr. Five-Star Biceps could
cook
?
    â€œHave some while the sauce is still warm.”
    She stared down at the plate he’d thrust into her fingers, pretty sure she was on the verge of disgracing herself. “Well, I don’t—”
    â€œGo on.” He leaned back against the cabinet, grinning. “Don’t tell me you’re one of these women who watches every calorie.” There was a glint of challenge in his eyes.
    â€œWell, no, but—”
    He slanted a look over her legs, now encased in fake leather capri pants.
    Taylor registered the faint look of challenge, and that was her undoing. She took a big bite of éclair—and nearly staggered with the decadent force of the rich chocolate and whipped cream. “Not bad,” she said huskily, licking white froth off her finger.
    Her neighbor didn’t move. “If you let me watch you eat,” he said slowly, “I’ll give you a few more.”
    Suddenly the room felt hot. Taylor picked up an electric charge that hadn’t been evident seconds before. Maybe she was hallucinating from carbohydrate overdose. “No thanks, I’d probably drool. But I appreciate the food, really. If you ever need some cappuccino, just drop by. Coffee is about the only thing I can manage in the kitchen.”
    He crossed his arms, revealing ripped muscles. “I’ll keep it in mind. Let me know if the noise bothers you.”
    â€œSure.” Taylor headed back to the door on autopilot. As she turned to say good-bye, she saw him silhouetted against the big picture window, light falling over his back. His face was in shadow and he didn’t look like a carpenter.
    Now he looked cool and dangerous.
    â€œDid you say carpentry was your regular job?”
    â€œYou have something against carpenters?”
    She stared at him in silence. In his face. The cool edge of challenge was back in his face.
    â€œLook, Mr. Broussard, the question wasn’t personal. It’s just habit for me to watch people. As a writer, part of my work is noticing how people talk, how they move. You look like an athlete. Or maybe a soldier. Definitely not a carpenter.”
    He picked up a hammer and shoved it into the tool belt riding low at his waist. “I didn’t know that carpenters had any particular look. But trust me, you’ll know that’s what I am when the banging starts.”
    Â 
    Jack Broussard closed the door and frowned. He heard feet tap down the hall and a door close. Quickly he walked into the bedroom and lifted a cardboard box, revealing a state-of-the-art surveillance system and two sets of headphones. He