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Robin knew exactly what she’d do to prove herself!
She inched one knee onto the red upholstered seat, close to the stranger’s jean-clad thigh, never breaking eye contact. Pressing her torso forward, Robin pulled the rubber band out of her ponytail, then ruffled her fingers through her hair.
His cool blue eyes flickered with hot flames. She had his full attention.
In a rush of movement, Robin leaned down and planted her lips on his. At his moan, she pressed her mouth harder against his and gripped his chin to hold him in place. The muscles in his jaw bunched, then loosened under her massaging fingertips. Good, she was taming the wild beast…who now was molding his lips to hers, teasing the underside of her top lip with his tongue. He was kissing her back!
“Oh, baby,” he murmured in a rugged, husky voice that turned up her inner temperature about a thousand degrees.
Something exploded between them. The next thing she knew, she was almost on top of the man. Fiery sensations rocketed through Robin’s body and she suddenly wanted much more….
Dear Reader,
Don’t we all have that fantasy guy from our past who once rocked our world? And don’t we sometimes secretly wonder what would happen if he strolled back into our lives again?
That’s what happens in Tongue-Tied when Johnny Dayton, the hometown bad boy, appears years later in Robin Lee’s life. Only, Robin doesn’t realize it’s Johnny until after she’s darn near hijacked the guy with a mind-melding kiss on top of a late-night-diner table!
How she handles this hot surprise, and better yet, how Johnny handles Robin, made this a fun, sexy book to write.
I love to hear from readers. You can tell me how you liked Tongue-Tied by contacting me through www.colleencollins.net or writing to me at P.O. Box 12159, Denver, Colorado 80212.
Happy reading!
Best wishes,
Colleen
Books by Colleen Collins
HARLEQUIN TEMPTATION
867—JOYRIDE
HARLEQUIN DUETS
10—MARRIED AFTER BREAKFAST
22—ROUGH AND RUGGED
30—IN BED WITH THE PIRATE
39—SHE’S GOT MAIL!
Tongue-Tied
Colleen Collins
MILLS & BOON
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To Matt, for being my rock.
To my nephews, Sean and Robbie, for being a well of laughter and love.
And to the memory of my father, Dale Collins, for being a role model of integrity and grace.
Contents
1
“YO, HOT STUFF, it’s almost closing time. Grab some java, make the rounds, and pick up the tab at table two.” Al, the short-order cook, barked the orders without looking up as he industriously scraped the metal spatula across the grill. The air smelled of grease and onions, lingering reminders of the dozens of meals Al had fried and grilled that evening at Davey’s Diner.
Robin Lee stopped wiping down the wooden butcher block in the back of the kitchen, a chore that was part of her nightly clean-up ritual, and stared at Al. For the four months she’d known him since starting her tenure as kitchen prep at this Denver eatery, he’d reminded her of a Santa Claus gone bad—rotund, gruff and moody. If words were gifts, he gave out few. And of those few, she never thought she’d hear him call her something sassy like “hot stuff.” Not quiet, industrious Robin who Al had never seen in anything other than one of her four white rayon, wash-and-wear outfits. Add her white sneakers, fine blond hair pulled back into a ponytail, and a slash of pink lipstick that sufficed for makeup and she was hardly the image of a “hot stuff.”
Al typically said it like it was, and truth was a trait she admired above all others. So she chalked up his endearment as an attempt at charm. And he definitely needed to slather on plenty of charm—even more slathering than he did with the butter he smeared on every-thing—if he wanted her to play waitress.
“Move it, hot stuff,” he repeated. “With Dottie gone, I need you out dere.”
Charm mystery solved. After Al’s fight tonight with Dottie, the fifty-something waitress who’d stomped out of the diner while mumbling a few choice words about control-freak cooks, he was obviously trying to butter up Robin by calling her “hot stuff.” He needed her to finish Dottie’s few tables so they could close. What Al didn’t realize was that no matter how many terms of endearment he concocted, no way was she going “out dere.” In fact, she wished desperately she’d never come “out here” to Denver because she’d never been comfortable in the big city. An uncomfortableness that bordered on unbearable after what had happened today.
Tonight of all nights, she wanted to keep to herself, do her kitchen thing and not get involved in potential conversations with anyone, especially total strangers slugging down the remnants of their coffee at midnight in a diner. No way, no how. Not after the worst day in the life of twenty-six-year-old Robin Lee.
Okay—just in case she was being