Page 15 of Too Hot to Sleep
Her pulse kicked up. What was he doing here at the mall? She watched him send the kids on their way, then glanced at her watch. Ah, the kids were playing hooky. He stood with his hands on his hips and stared after the boys who chanced sullen looks over their shoulders while they shuffled toward the exit.
She wondered how the dog had fared, and decided it was perfectly legitimate for her to ask—she'd put her job on the line, after all. But while she watched, a young woman tottered up to him wearing painted-on clothing, high heels, and exhibiting her mastery of hair-toss. Georgia glanced down at her own institutional clothing and resolved to slink out unnoticed. The officer responded to the young woman's inquiry with a smile that made Georgia swallow a chunk of bagel without chewing.
It promptly lodged in her esophagus, effectively blocking her airway. Georgia clutched her throat. She was choking. She was going to die with last night's tawdry act on her conscience... Her next conversation would be with St. Peter: "Oh, and here's Miss Ring-a-Ding-Ding..."
Chapter 7
GEORGIA STOODand flailed for a few seconds, trying to get the attention of the people around her before conceding she would have to try to administer the Heimlich maneuver on herself—perhaps on the back of a chair?
In the background she heard someone yell, "She's choking!" and before she could fling herself against a solid surface, two strong arms encircled her from behind and applied a quick upthrust below her breastbone. Her feet dangled. On the second thrust, the chunk of bread projected out of her mouth like a torpedo, bouncing off a table a few feet away. People scattered. She gasped for air like a racehorse.
Background applause registered dimly in her oxygen-deprived brain. She was shepherded into a seated position.
"Are you all right?"
The voice seemed to come from a distance. She blinked a man's face into view. An attractive man. A familiar, attractive man.
"Georgia, are you all right?"
She nodded in abject mortification, realizing that Officer Ken Medlock had saved her life. Didn't that mean he now owned her soul or something? He was kneeling before her, his face creased with the same concern she'd seen when he was carrying the dog. She felt like an idiot.
"How about something to drink?" he asked, his face close to hers.
The man had a cleft in his chin worthy of a superhero. A strong nose, broad and straight. And she was mesmerized byhis serious brown eyes, surrounded by layers of dark lashes and thick eyebrows that were, at the moment, raised. For lack of a better response, she nodded, then tried to clear her head as he reached for her drink. Her skin tingled like menthol—probably because everyone was staring, certainly not because of this man's proximity. She was, however, mindful of his big body. The dark blue uniform was tailor-made to form to his powerful frame.
His fingers dwarfed the paper cup he extended. Georgia noticed he wore a scholarly ring of some kind, but not the married kind.
Not that it mattered. She sipped slowly from the cup of fizzy drink, feeling his gaze bore into her and realizing she must look a fright—muss-haired, flush-faced and teary-eyed from the coughing. Her attempt at laughter came out sounding a little strangled. "You're a regular hero today, aren't you?"
His grin was boyish. "No heroes here, ma'am. Just doing my job."
His dark hair was short, but not short enough to curb the curl on top, highlighted by the sun streaming in from the skylights above them. Amazing how she hadn't known Officer Ken Medlock existed before today, yet their paths had crossed twice in a matter of hours.
"It'sa small world, isn't it?" he asked, as if he'd read her mind. That uniform... those eyes... as if he could delve into her psyche, see all her dirty little secrets. She had yet to recover from her episode with Rob, and here she was, lusting after a virtual stranger. Just as she'd feared. Overnight, she had plunged herself into a cesspool of sexuality.
"Looks like you've been having fun up until now," he said lightly, gesturing to her Elm's shopping bags.
In her case, fun always led to misfortune. From now on, fun was her red flag:If fun, then cease and desist.
"Special occasion?" he asked, eyeing the hatbox.
The man had an amazing-looking mouth. Good for... blowing whistles. "A wedding," she croaked.
"Yours?"
From the size of his lopsided grin, he was trying to be funny. As if she couldn't possibly be the bride. Had he been chatting with her mother? She pursed her mouth, suddenly feeling cranky. "No, not mine."
He tilted his head. "Are you sure you're all right?"
"Of course," she said, drawing back to massage her side. "That is, if you didn't crack a rib. I'm a registered nurse. Officer Medlock, perfectly capable of administering the Heimlich maneuver to myself."
He gestured vaguely to her chest area. "But you weren't doing it."
She inhaled, indignant. "I was calmly looking for a chair of the proper height."
The man appeared to be immensely amused. "Guess I should've watched you turn blue while you looked for the right chair. Or better yet, maybe I should've sent you to a clinic on the other side of town."
Officer Ken was entirely too cocky. Smothering images her unfortunate choice of adjective conjured up, she stood and hurriedly cleared her ill-fated meal.
