CLAIRE DAVON

Excerpt

Movement seemed to slow as she absorbed his words. “I…I had a headache,” she returned, the lie sounding hollow even to her own ears. A twinge of regret swam through her that Taylor had found her so lacking. All six-foot-two of him was delightful, with ropy muscles and a shock of cinnamon-colored hair that complemented his eyes. His jaw was firm and square. He biked a lot and had the strong thighs and forearms to show for it.

“Sorry to hear that.” Taylor flexed his hands on the patio railing and looked toward the margaritas she had brewed up. “Margaritas will fix that. May I?” he asked, indicating the pitcher with his chin.

She lifted her glass, the casual action at odds with the emotions roiling inside her. His presence shouldn’t make any difference, but her body was singing a different tune. Damn it.

“Sure,” she said. Wanting to grab him and ask him why he was there, Paige shrugged instead, knowing the movement didn’t look natural.

“I can’t believe you’re listening to that old-fart music.” He poured a margarita for himself, topping hers off as well.

“All the times you and Josh played Guitar Hero made me appreciate it.”

Taylor smiled, a hint of melancholy in the upturn of his lips. He settled into a chair beside her, too far away to touch but near enough to feel the heat of his skin.

“I kicked ass on drums,” Taylor said. “That was years ago.”

“Lots of things were.” The memory surged up before she ruthlessly shoved the thought of that naïve young woman away. His presence sang across her nerve endings. She wanted to reach over and run her hands through his hair.