Page 8 of Switching Places

Emma waited for her toast to brown, wondering how she could manage to keep up the impersonation when she felt constantly at a loss. What had seemed like a fun-filled idea moments ago now proved to be extremely stressful in implementing. She should just tell him she was Lily’s sister and let the chips fall where they may.

Maybe she could pretend to be sleepwalking. Cocking her head to one side, she wondered if she could pull that off. Actingproved harder than she imagined, especially without a script. Yet each minute that she succeeded in impersonating her sister gave her a bit more confidence.

“Want some more coffee?” she asked, picking up the pot, holding it poised over his empty mug, hoping he wouldn’t pursue the crocheted bathing suit.

She wished she could ask how well he knew her sister. Was there something more between the two of them than being neighbors? Did Lily consider this man a friend?

Wistfully she compared her friendship with David. She couldn’t imagine having breakfast so casually with him, and she’d known him for years. When David asked her to marry him, she’d been stunned. Of course he’d kissed her over the years, but nothing more. And she’d never felt the same kind of physical awareness that bubbled over this morning.

“Sure.”

He reached for the mug when she handed it to him. His fingers brushed hers in a deliberate caress. Emma almost dropped the pot. Unused to such blatant sexuality in every gesture, she didn’t know how to respond—ignore him or flirt back.

The men she knew were friendly, yet respectful.Andshe knew their names.Desperately she tried to remember what her sister said about the man. He did something with special effects. What else had Lily said?

“Thought you were hoping for a part in some new movie. Did it fall through?” he asked as she sat gingerly across from him.

“No. I mean, yes, it fell through.”

“Just wondered if you wanted to practice the reading with me like you did last time. I need something to get involved in, to stay awake today.”

He ate with relish, appeared to enjoy every morsel.

“Thanks. I don’t need to do that.”

Lie upon lie. She never knew she had such a talent. Her mother would be horrified. Her brothers would never let her hear the end of it should they ever find out. Lily would probably egg her on. Good heavens, maybe acting did run in the family.

Sighing softly, Emma tried to think up ways to admit to her deception without having the man think less of her. What grown woman played such childish games?

Yet the excitement led her on. She wondered if she could hold her own with this man, with any of Lily’s other friends. Or would they find her hopelessly provincial. She hadn’t had the benefit of traveling the world as Lily had, but she had her books and her vivid imagination. She read voraciously and thought she could hold her own.

Pleased with the enthusiasm with which he attacked the meal, she ate quietly, wishing she’d spent more time with Lily to learn how her sister would react around this man. She suspected Lily would flirt for all she was worth. She’d done so with strangers at the supermarket, so why wouldn’t she with a neighbor?

Despite her best intentions of sampling life in the fast lane, Emma didn’t think she could bring herself to flirt with the man seated opposite her. When he finished his French toast, he’d eat her up in two bites.

She glanced at him and found his gaze on her. He needed a haircut, but the longish hair looked good on him. The faint lines around his eyes were due to fatigue, not age. He looked to be not much more than thirty.

Watching as he ate, she again experienced that almost-overwhelming desire to brush her fingertips against that beard-roughened jaw, to feel the texture of his skin against hers. Would he pull her into his arms and demand a kiss if she gave in to the temptation?

Or think she was out of her mind?

“Do you need anything?” she asked nervously, conscious of him sitting so close.

Another first, eating breakfast with a man wearing her robe and nightie no less. She felt vulnerable. Not that she was afraid of the man seated at the table, she was more afraid of her own unexpected reactions to him. And her own curiosity. She wanted to know more about him.

He shook his head in response.

Finishing the meal in silence, he pushed the plate away and leaned back in his chair, tilting it on its rear legs as he sighed. Coffee cup cradled against his chest, he smiled.

“I think I’ll make it until tonight. That was great, thanks. You should make French toast more often, you’ve got it down pat.”

She smiled at his compliment, gathered from it that her sister wasn’t much of a cook. But Emma was. She had learned from her mother.

“Glad you enjoyed it.”

“Mmm, maybe I should make a habit of coming over more often for breakfast,” he said, his eyes watchful.

She blinked, uncertain how to reply, tracing her finger along the rim of her coffee mug, heat engulfing her at the thought of his coming over for breakfast. What if she wore one of Lily’s sexy negligees the next time? Combed her hair before coming downstairs?

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