Goes down easy: Roped into romance by Alison Kent

be an option.
    The truth was that, at forty-eight years old, she didn’t know where to begin. Because somewhere along the line, the dynamics had changed. Now Perry was the one doing the looking after, a reality Della had come face-to-face with today. Into Perry’s life had walked the amazing Jack Montgomery, and what did Perry do but throw up a protective wall to keep him away.
    As weak as Della had been feeling the last few days, from the migraines brought on by her visions, she appreciated the buffer her niece created for her between Sugar Blues and the world.
    What she didn’t like was how Perry hid behind the wall as well. Which was why, when presented with theopportunity to play interfering, busybody matchmaker, Della had jumped at the chance. Now all she could do was hope her manipulative ways didn’t come back to haunt her.
    Hearing the bell chime on the door as Book let himself in, Della hopped and limped back to the chaise lounge where she’d already spent too many hours. The aroma of the food he’d brought with him wafted ahead and made her realize that she was hungry after all.
    But then, the empty sensation deepened, tightened. And none of what she was feeling had a thing to do with the food. It was a sense of anticipation she’d not let herself experience in years; a hope, a flutter of girlish excitement. And it hit her the moment he walked through the door that she’d loved him for a very long time.
    He still wore his suit coat, though his shirt collar was unbuttoned and the knot of his tie hung loose. He’d wrapped one arm around the paper bag he carried, almost like he was charging ahead with a football.
    It made her smile, the way he was so unequivocally male, the way her heart raced when she noticed. She laced her fingers tightly together in her lap and watched him come into the sitting room from the landing, well aware of the tension created by her invitation.
    “That smells wonderful,” she said, hoping to put them both at ease. “I didn’t realize how hungry I was till you got here.”
    “Good. Because I brought more than plenty.” He unloaded the containers onto the coffee table, surprising her with a six-pack of beer, then sliding the table closer to the chaise lounge and handing her a pair of chopsticks. Only then did he look around for a place to sit.
    “Here. I’ll make room.” She shifted her legs to the side of the seat, and then she waited, her pulse accelerating, a sheen of perspiration breaking out between her breasts.
    He hesitated, and she wasn’t sure of the cause until he said, “Do you need anything from the kitchen? Something other than beer? Do you want a glass? Do you need a fork or a knife?”
    “I’m fine,” she said, still nervously waiting. “Book, I don’t bite.”
    “It’s not you I’m worried about,” he said under his breath, causing her to wonder if he knew he’d spoken aloud.
    But he did sit, and the world didn’t come to an end when his hips made contact with her legs. He pulled a bottle from the six-pack, twisted off the top and handed it to her.
    Their fingers met when she took it from his hand, the bottle cold, his skin warm. She reacted strongly, a sharp shiver that caught her unawares. He held her gaze for a very long time before bringing his own bottle to his mouth and turning away to drink.
    Della drank, too, hoping the buzz from the alcohol would ease what she was feeling, would soften the tension into something sweet. Right now it was unbearable, and she didn’t want anything about her time with Book to be that way.
    “So, what did you bring me to eat?” she asked, setting her drink on the corner table at her shoulder and snapping her chopsticks together.
    Book opened the closest carton. “Spring rolls.” Opened another. “Sesame chicken.” Opened a third. “Mongolian beef.” Opened a fourth. “Kung Pao shrimp.”
    She leaned forward, clipped a spring roll with her chopsticks and sat back. “You know these things are my