Wolfe Watching by Joan Hohl Read Free Book Online

harsh little puffs. She was tired. She wanted nothing more at that moment than to sit down, or lie down and rest, relax...maybe die.
    “Lift that leg and kick and kick and...”
    The upbeat female voice blaring from the TV lashed at Tina. Gritting her teeth, she kicked and kicked, imagining the instructress as the target for her thrusting foot.
    “Higher and higher. You can do it!”
    Tina narrowed her eyes on the TV screen. The physical-fitness expert was young and beautiful, with gleaming chestnut hair, sparkling hazel eyes, whiter-than-white teeth and a figure to kill for.
    Tina hated her. And yet, without fail, she shoved the video into the VCR every Tuesday and Thursday evening and, like now, every Sunday morning, working off the calories accumulated on the days in between.
    One oft-bemoaned bane of Tina’s existence was the fact that she loved to eat...all the wrong foods.
    “Now rest...a ..slowly...in...and slowly...and out...slowly...”
    Raising her eyes, as if seeking sympathy from the ceiling, Tina silently cursed the woman, but inhaled...slowly...and exhaled...slowly...and turned her back on the screen to gaze out the rain-spattered picture window.
    Still breathing...slowly...she focused on a russet leaf the driving wind and rain had plastered to the pane. Autumn had finally decided to put in an appearance.
    A blur of movement at the far side of the window caught her attention. Her gaze settled on the figure of a man, a tall man, jogging past the house.
    What kind of nut jogs in the pouring rain? she wondered, moving closer to the window to get a better look.
    The kind of nut who tools through traffic on a roaring motorcycle and devours baked potatoes drowning in butter and sour cream while sipping on a light beer, she reflected, identifying the jogger as her new neighbor, Eric Wolfe.
    “Rest period’s over, ladies. Now let’s get to work on those flabby upper arms.”
    “You know what you can do with your upper arms, honey,” Tina muttered, feeling smug because she didn’t have flabby upper arms. Nevertheless, since she also didn’t want flabby upper arms, she reluctantly dragged her riveted gaze away from the elongated form of her neighbor.
    He might be a nut, she mused, swinging her arms around in ever-diminishing circles, but nut or not, Eric Wolfe did possess one fantastic body.
    Memory flared to vibrant life. The too-peppy sound of the instructress’s voice faded into the background. A delicious chill shivered along Tina’s spine. The leotard clinging to her thighs seemed to contract, confine, conjure up a response.
    She could feel him pressing against her flesh, as he had on Friday morning and twice last night, zooming to and from the restaurant, the slim tightness of his tush and hips a solid presence between her parted legs.
    Tina’s breathing processes slowed, then raced forward. She was panting, nearly gasping. Her leaden arms fell unnoticed to her sides. Her eyes stared sightlessly at the TV screen. Her stomach muscles clenched. Perspiration trickled in rivulets down her temples and at the back of her neck. She felt drained of energy, weak all over.
    “Geez!” Tina whispered, raising a limp hand to massage her nape. “Talk about chemistry!”
    The video was only three-quarters over, but Tina knew that she was through for the morning. Drawing a shaky breath, she reached for the remote control and pressed the Stop button, then hit Rewind.
    Nut or not, Eric Wolfe was nothing if not dynamic—at least as far as the crackling awareness the mere sight of him instilled in her was concerned, Tina acknowledged.
    Eric had played the role of the perfect gentleman when he brought her home last night, even leaving the bike idling in the driveway while he escorted her to the front door, even though Tina had insisted it wasn’t necessary for him to do so. He had plucked the keys from her unsteady fingers and unlocked the door for her. Then he had stepped back, not so much as touching her hand as he