Page 7 of Switching Places

She shook her head, trying desperately to come up with an excuse to avoid dinner.

“Then say yes and cook breakfast. I’m hungry.”

“Okay. What should I wear?”

He looked puzzled for a moment.

“What you usually wear, I guess. It’s just dinner at Garcia’s.”

“Right.”

She flipped the bread into the pan. What did Lily usually wear?

Was Garcia’s some posh restaurant that would take four hours to work through a meal, or some trendy place where they’d meet dozens of friends?

She was crazy to even try this. She had to tell him.

Yet, embarrassment froze her tongue. How in the world would she explain without looking like the world’s biggest idiot?

“Are you all right, Lily?” Logan asked.

“Of course, why?”

She flipped a piece of batter-coated bread, afraid to turn around.

“You seem different, somehow. Not like yourself.”

“I...uh, I think I’m coming down with a cold,” she quickly improvised.

“What you need is a day lying in the sun, bake out the germs. We can go out later and laze around the beach all day and I’ll tell you about my trip.”

She piled the golden-brown French toast on a plate, added several strips of crisp bacon and turned to hand it to him. He stood right beside her. She almost tipped the plate down the front of him.

“Oh.”

“Thanks, looks better than last time.”

He reached around her to open a cupboard door, almost encircling her with his body and his arm. He crowded against her as he reached for something. Emma gave way until she pressed against the counter.

Paralyzed, she couldn’t move, her legs wouldn’t respond. Breathing in the scent of bacon, cinnamon and tantalizing male, her eyes traced his jaw, the brown column of his throat. Every nerve ending in her body tingled as he leaned in against her. The plate was the only thing that separated them. She swallowed hard, her eyes on his mouth. Her knees threatened to buckle. She might not be able to move away, but she might just sink into a puddle right in front of him.

Her imagination soared. What would it be like to be flirtatious like her sister, wild and uninhibited? To kiss him, to have him kiss her?

Chapter Three

“Need syrup,” Logan said, pulling out the bottle.

Released from the spell that bound her, Emma gently shoved the plate against him, slid to one side and put some distance between them. She tried to control the wayward trend of her thoughts as she dipped bread for her own French toast, her terry-cloth sleeve almost slipping into the egg batter. She’d taken no time to brush her hair when she heard the noise in the kitchen. She felt as glamorous as a slug. Taking a deep breath, Emma tried to get her raging hormones under control despite the devilishly gorgeous man sitting at the kitchen table.

“Wear that crochet thingy,” he said as he placed his plate on the table and plopped the bottle of syrup beside it.

Emma glanced at him. What ‘crochet thingy’? A cover-up for the beach?

“It’s at the cleaners,” she said, stalling again. Maybe she should just turn and tell him that—

“You sent a bathing suit to the cleaners?”

A crocheted bikini? Her sister obviously ran a bit wilder in her attire than she had suspected. “Oh, that, uh, I don’t know where it is. I thought you meant...” She trailed off. She hoped he was talking about the day at the beach and now what to wear to dinner.

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