Wolfe's Lady Read Online Free Page A

She wanted to see his house although it was strange he called it a behemoth. That made it sound like it was alive.
    “I would love to see your house. I need to change, though.
    These shoes are killing my poor feet.”
    He moved closer, standing so near that she swore she could feel the heat of his body radiating against her skin. His proximity titillated her and she took another step forward so that they stood so close that if she raised her hand, her fingers would brush against him.
    Darien’s eyes met hers and she felt some invisible electrical charge pass between them. He moved and his hand rested against hers, skin-to-skin, warm against it.
    “Of course you can change. If you like, I will even banish the bad shoes forever.” Come with me and I’ll drive you by your apartment.” As he spoke, he shifted position so near now that his body heat radiated out toward her in waves. That made her want actual contact.
    Stella shifted just enough that their bodies touched, shoulder to hip. His warmth on contact filled her with a rush of desire but she struggled to remain focused on their polite exchange despite their growing physical flirtation.
    “You don’t have to do that.”
    Darien Wolfe leaned toward her, his lips scant millimeters from hers.
    “I want to do it.” His breath, sweet smelling, wafted against her cheek and Stella thought he hinted at far more than giving her a ride home.
    “Let’s go, then,” Stella said, stepping back before she drowned with desire or yielded to temptation.
    “I’m delighted!” he said, crooking his arm for her to grasp so she did, hoping that Mr. Sanderson might be gone for the day.

    He wasn’t. When they sauntered past the principal’s office, Mr. Sanderson exited and almost bumped into them. His eyes scanned them, top to bottom, and he grunted his disapproval but said nothing.
    In the parking lot, she tried to guess which of the remaining vehicles might belong to Darien. Stella rejected the pickup truck, the Volkswagen Beetle, and the fire engine red Camaro. That left a vintage sleek black Packard, a silver Corvette, a well-worn, high mileage Chevy, and an El Camino. It had to be the Packard or the Corvette so she was not surprised when he led her to the Packard.
    “What do you think of my automobile?” he asked, with a sideways grin.
    “I like it. What year is it?”
    He opened the door for her. “This is a 1939 Packard.
    Everything is restored to the original quality.”
    After a brief stop, when she dashed upstairs to change into black denim jeans and a bright scarlet blouse, to slide her aching feet into a pair of huaraches, they headed toward Darien’s home in the Packard.
    It was a classic car and a class ride, smooth as sailing on a calm sea. The seats were leather and everything screamed luxury.
    The well-tuned engine was almost silent as they drove to the far edge of town, then down a long lane lined on either side by beautiful evergreens. At the end of the drive, Darien pulled up before a huge square house with a native stone chimney on one end. She recognized it immediately as being from the American Craftsman movement, the once popular style that downsized the Victorian Queen Anne to a large but comfortable family home. In recent years, such homes, bungalows and the larger so-called cottages, found a new fan base in urban couples and anyone who appreciated vintage anything. Stella liked their unique touches, so different from the suburban ranch style home where she grew up, where every home on the block was virtually the same.
    “That’s a Craftsman home!” Stella gasped with appreciation.
    “Oh, Darien, it’s wonderful. I love Craftsman homes. They are such a perfect shift from the larger Victorian styles like the Queen Anne down to a more friendly but still large size. I don’t suppose at the time it was built that anyone realized how famous the whole Craftsman movement would became or how many people would seek them out more than a century later.