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“Are you a good button-popper?"
Leif laughed. "Oh, Hilda, if there's one thing I do know..."
This time she crooked the eyebrow.
"Is that Abigail's not going to let me touch her buttons."·
''Come now, Mr. Lively. I have faith in you. Bet you could unbutton things with that delightful smile alone."
"Use my teeth, eh?" He snapped his pearly whites and grinned.
"Jesus, go practice double entendres with Abigail, you devil. She needs some romance in her life …and something to curl her toes.”
Leif stilled as Cal's angry "Later" signaled the end of Abigail's conversation with her ex-husband. "Her life is pretty complicated at present."
Hilda tilted her head, darting a glance at Abigail. "True. But never let complicated stand in your way. She was once full of laughter. I miss that about her."
Her words pummeled his resolve. That was the first thing he'd noticed about Abigail. Okay, the second. The first thing had been her frown at the custodian's failure to fill the ice chests for back-to-school night, which she'd tempered with a pat on the shoulder and an offer to help him. Then he'd noticed the absence of something in her smile. Such a pretty woman who looked so... He didn't really have the words.
Joyless?
So what would it hurt if he flirted with her? Gave her a little attention? Or a lot? It wasn't charity. Abigail was an attractive, single woman who he suspected hid her sensuality beneath a cloak of PTA attending, Volvo-driving, committee-organizing responsibility. Question was could she let go enough to let him in?
Just because she put on a skirt and heels didn't mean she wanted to straddle him... or even share a cup of coffee with him.
There was only one way to find out.
He picked up Hilda's hand and kissed it.
Hilda sighed. "If I were thirty years younger and fifty percent more flexible, I'd lock you in my bedroom."
Leif chuckled. “And I'd let you."
He turned toward where Abigail stood looking half aggravated, half uncertain."Coming Abigail."
"Let's hope so," Hilda drawled before waving to her cousin.
"You're a bad girl, Hilda Brunet,” he whispered.
"Yes. And let's see how bad a boy you can be for my Abigail. I'm putting money on you."
Leif shook his head before heading toward Abigail. "You needed to talk to me?"
Abigail blinked. "Huh?"
"You told Cal you-"
"Oh, yeah. I wanted to talk to you about Birdie." Leif opened the door, tucking his folder under his arm. He stood aside to let her pass. "So what about Birdie?”
"Why didn't you tell me you were naked when she spied on you?"
8
CHAPTER EIGHT
THE CRISP NIGHT air met Abigail as she stepped out her cousin's door. She'd been stupid to wear the short skirt. Her knees probably looked wrinkly and it was too cold for her legs to be bare. And the ridiculous high-heeled pumps pinched her toes. Vanity, thou art a bitch.
All because of that damned Marcie.
