Three Down the Aisle by Sherryl Woods

‘good’ gossip does circulate wherever you are,” she agreed.
    “So, what do people back in Boston say about you?” he asked.
    “Hard to tell,” Melanie said evasively. “I try not to give them much to talk about.”
    “You told me once before that there’s no special man in your life, right?”
    “None,” she said tightly.
    He studied her closely. “Something tells me there’s a story behind that. You’re too beautiful to be alone.”
    “I was with the wrong man. It ended. That’s the whole story.”
    “In a nutshell,” he conceded. “Someday I’d like to hear the unabridged version.”
    “Why?”
    “Isn’t that what friends do? Tell each other their deep, dark secrets?”
    She laughed. “ Girl friends might do that. I’m not sure I’ve ever shared my deep dark secrets with a guy. What about you? Do you pour out your secrets to, say, Brenda?”
    “Not exactly. Not that she hasn’t tried to pry them out of me. And Jeff’s wife, Pam, is a master at the poking and prodding game. Her degree’s in horticulture, but you’d think she graduated magna cum laude in investigative reporting.”
    “How does that make you feel?”
    “Edgy,” he admitted. “Uncomfortable.”
    Melanie smiled. “There you go. That’s exactly how your poking around makes me feel. Why don’t we move on? We could discuss whether or not you’re any good at all at making a salad.”
    Mike looked as if he might argue, but then he gave her a chagrined smile. “Whatever you want. I happen to be excellent at making salad. There’s no cooking involved.”
    “Perfect,” she said. “And Jessie can set the table.”
    Mike opened his mouth, no doubt to argue, but Melanie cut him off. “The dishes are old. If she drops something, it’s no big deal.”
    “Then by all means, let her set the table,” he relented.
    Melanie regarded him curiously. “Doesn’t she have chores at home?”
    “Sure. She makes her own bed. It’s not pretty, but she does it. And I’m teaching her to do laundry. We’re a little shaky on the sorting process, which is why I’m sometimes wearing pink underwear.”
    “I’d like to see that,” Melanie said without thinking.
    He gave her an amused look. “Oh, really?”
    She frowned at the glint in his eyes. “You know what I meant.”
    “Of course I do,” he said, though he couldn’t seem to stop grinning. He stood up. “Where’s the salad stuff?”
    “I generally keep my salad ‘stuff’ in the refrigerator. How about you?” Melanie teased.
    He scowled at her. “I meant the bowl you want to use.”
    “Ah, that would be in the cupboard over here,” she said.
    But just as she opened the cabinet door, Mike stepped in behind her and reached over her head. She could feel the press of his legs along the backs of her thighs. His hips cradled her derriere. The intimacy sent a wave of longing washing over her, to say nothing of the kind of heat she’d sworn to avoid.
    He set the bowl on the counter in front of her but didn’t back away. Instead, he sighed.
    “I swore I wasn’t going to do this again,” he murmured just before he pressed a kiss to the side of her neck. “Damn, but you smell good. I couldn’t get this scent out of my head all day after I kissed you on Monday. It about drove me crazy.”
    Melanie trembled, as much from the helpless dismay she heard in his voice as from the touch of his lips onher skin. She knew precisely how he felt, understood exactly what it was like to have sworn off something only to be unable to resist it.
    In fact, she was clinging to the counter with white-knuckled determination right now to keep from turning in Mike’s arms and transforming that tender kiss into something filled with heat and urgency. There was no mistaking the press of his arousal against her or the wanting in his voice. She understood all of that, too.
    Slowly, inevitably—and all too soon—he backed away.
    “I’m sorry,” he muttered, avoiding her gaze.
    Melanie had lived