Hell On Heels by Robyn Peterman Read Free Book Online Page A

nose. Time stopped along with my breathing capabilities. My world was right and I felt happy. I was safe all tangled up in his big strong body. I knew my eyes were beginning to glitter with tears. It was so perfect that it scared the Hell out of me. Way more than Ernest Hemingway did when I was five.
    “You don’t like my singing?” he whispered, our lips almost touching.
    “Um, no. It was awful."
    His green eyes sparkled in the starlight and he took a shaky breath. Was he as affected as I was? Did he feel the same things?
    “You’ve mortally wounded me,” he teased. “My secret ambition is to be a rock star.”
    “You’re going to need to rethink that one.”
    My voice sounded wobbly to my own ears and my eyes were glued to his mouth. I carefully eased away and attempted to squash down my raging hormones. Wasn’t working.
    Disappointment flashed in his eyes. I couldn’t tell if it was because I moved or because I had insulted his singing. He didn’t try to stop my retreat, which was a relief. Kind of.
    “Are you hungry?” he asked, sitting up, seemingly unaware of my inner turmoil. He moved to the cooler.
    “Sure,” I replied as I removed imaginary lint from my jeans. I watched him through lowered lashes and picked at my manicure. I thought about sitting on my hands to keep from reaching for him, but I worried that might look weird.
    “What do you want?” He held up two sandwiches. “I’ve got turkey and gouda or ham and brie. I also have cheese and crackers, bruschetta, wine, strawberries and dark chocolate.”
    I wasn’t sure I could keep food down with the circus performing in my stomach, but I was hungry. I certainly didn’t want him to think I was one of those girls who didn’t eat. I loved to eat. “Ham, please.”
    “Coming right up,” he smiled. He made two heaping plates. I grabbed a glass of wine and my plate and dug in.
    “Mmm,” I said after taking a bite of my sandwich. “This is amazing. Where’d you get it?”
    “I made it,” he told me as he bit into his own.
    “Really?”
    “Dixie,” he laughed. “You’re going to give me a complex. First you think I’m illiterate and now you’re shocked I can make a sandwich.”
    “I’m sorry, it’s just that you’re so. . .” I stopped, unable to tell him how beautiful and amazing and smart and funny I thought he was.
    “Just because I’m Satan’s gift to women.” He grinned evilly and flexed his considerable muscles. “Doesn’t mean I’m as dumb as a box of hair,” he teased as he continued to flex and make ridiculous sound effects.
    “I don’t think you’re dumb at all,” I protested, rolling my eyes at his macho display. “You just keep surprising me.”
    “In a good way?” He tilted his head and ran his finger down my arm.
    My arm tingled with his energy. “In a very good way.”
    We ate in silence. A gentle breeze caressed my bare arms and flowers danced in the field like colorful little fairies. I was happy. I kept stealing glances at the beautiful boy who made amazing sandwiches. Every time I peeked, he was staring at me.
    “Do you want anything else?” Hayden asked.
    Boy, there’s a loaded question. “Um. . .no, I’m good.”
    Dots of brilliant purple light quietly filled the grass and trees and sky. Fireflies glowed purple in Hell. Some were a lighter violet and others boasted a deep indigo. The trees looked like they’d been strung with sparkling amethyst. They were my favorites. I put my hand out to catch one, but Hayden was quicker.
    “Here you go.” He delicately placed the fragile bug in my hand. “A sapphire for the Princess.”
    “Thank you, my loyal subject,” I uttered grandly, behaving like some of my older sisters who thought they were the bomb. “Hayden.” I bit my lower lip to hide my smile. “You have mustard on your mouth.”
    “No, I don’t,” he shot back in mock offense.
    “Yes, you do.”
    “Where?” he demanded.
    “On your lip,” I said, pointing to my own.
    “On