That cop? What cop? Her heart lurched. The wordcopalso meant “Eli” to her, though technically he was a sheriff’s deputy.
But Francone didn’t finish that intriguing sentence. Glory gave a guilty start when Sherrie shot her a worried warning look as she escorted a pair of people through the restaurant to sit at the counter in what happened to be the last empty seats in the restaurant. Sherrie was probably belatedly realizing the complications that could ensue if she left Glory Greenleaf to attend to someone who looked like Franco Francone.
“What can I get for you, Mr.Francone?”
“Your phone number, for starters.”
“Wow.” She gave a short laugh. “Talk aboutcheesy.”
Oh crap. Sherrie flashed her a distinctly quelling look on her way back to a table against the wall. “That is, the Denver omelet ischeesy, and I recommend the pumpkin muff...”
Suddenly her brain was full of white noise. Just like when the cable went out because they hadn’t paid the bill.
Eli was standing in the doorway.
Chapter7
He was wearing a pair of soft old jeans, and the way they hung on his hips and clung to his thighs made her stomach muscles contract from yearning.
A lightweight gray t-shirt hugged his shoulders and hung a little loosely at his narrow waist, and her hands twitched, as if they could slide over those delicious quadrants of muscle she’d discovered there the night they’d nearly banged each other against a tree.
But... something was different about him. Something seemed a bit... off.
And then she realized it was because something besides the jeans and t-shirt were clinging to him.
A blonde.
To be fair, she wasn’t so much clinging to him as chummily looping a hand through his crooked elbow and pointing at some Gold Rush ephemera hanging on the wall of the Misty Cat.
He lowered his head a little solicitously to hear what she was saying.
He hadn’t seen Glory yet.
Glory realized her breathing had gone shallow. She couldn’t take her eyes off that slim tan hand on Eli’s arm. As if some terrible species of arachnid had landed on him and she couldn’t find her voice to warn him about it.
Finally that hand dropped away.
God knew Glory had seen blondes hanging off Eli all through high school. She’d seen him making out with various blondes over the years, too. Just as he’d seen her with Mick, racing around in Mick’s car, making out with Mick at school dances.
How long had this blonde been in the picture?
Glory was innately competitive.
But what she was feeling now wasn’t mere competition. It felt a little more primal.
She hadn’t anticipated that one kiss would somehow alter her own body chemistry permanently to think “mine!” every time some woman touched Eli.
Whether or not she wanted him.
And then she realized she was now completely ignoring Franco Francone.
“I have a Porsche,” Francone said suddenly. Clearly wanting her attention again.
“What’s a Porsche?” she said absently, with wicked and quite faux innocence. Without looking at him. She suppressed a smile, imagining steam coming out of his ears.
Eli heard her voice. His head whipped around.
He went absolutely motionless when he saw her. He must have in fact gone rigid, because the blonde took her hand from his arm and looked up at him quizzically.
