Anything But Sweet (10 page)

“Weren’t you supposed to turn into a pumpkin at midnight?”

She looked up and gave him a smile that melted a frozen chip off his heart. He’d never
had a woman smile at him like that since Diana—like she was genuinely happy to see
him.

Then again, maybe it was just the beer in his system.

“Is that an insult to my poodle?”

He chuckled, leaned a hip against the bar. “You got a comeback for everything?”

She grinned. “I try.”

“You’re pretty good at it.”

“Wow. Is that a compliment from Mr. Grumpy?”

“I’m not grumpy.”

A husky laugh, which made everything inside him tighten and swell, escaped those pretty
lips.

“You so are grumpy. And you have the most amazing dimples.” She reached up and trailed
a finger down his cheek. “You really should show them more often.”

He didn’t flinch when she touched him. In fact, he liked it so much he wanted to grasp
her hand before she could pull it away and make her touch him some more.

Then again, maybe that was just the beer in his system.

And maybe he seriously needed to quit blaming the two bottles of beer he’d had much
earlier for his reaction—or attraction—to her.

“Are you flirting with me, Ms. Brooks?”

She looked up, batted those full, thick eyelashes, and tilted her head. “Maybe.”

Blood raged through his veins when he looked at those cherry red lips that matched
her skimpy little sundress. He wondered what it would be like to kiss them. To find
out if they were as soft as they looked.

He inhaled a deep breath meant to calm him down.

It did not.

“I don’t know what to say,” he admitted.

“Say you’re flattered.”

“I’m flattered?”

“Thank you.” She twirled her index finger around the rim of her bottle. “So where’d
you get a name like Reno anyway?”

“From a mother who was so high she couldn’t remember anything except the city she
was in.”

She leaned her head back. Her eyes assessed him. Her luscious mouth parted just enough
for a small gasp to escape. “I’ve met your mother. She hardly seems the type.”

“She’s not. But she didn’t give birth to me,” he admitted openly though he didn’t
know why. “Joe and Jana were my aunt and uncle. They adopted me and became my parents
out of the kindness of their hearts.” And that was about all he planned to tell her.
Ever.

“Then you’re a very lucky man.”

“I am.” He gave a nod to her empty bottle. “You about ready to get out of here?”

“The bartender is making coffee, so I can drive home.”

“Caffeine will only make you a wide-awake drunk.”

Her smooth brows crinkled together. “I’m not drunk.”

“Uh-huh.” He glanced over his shoulder, looking for her design crew, but they all
seemed to have disappeared. “You got a purse or something?”

“In the Hummer. Why?”

“I’m taking you home.”

“Oooh, I like the sound of that.”

He couldn’t stop the smile that pushed at the corners of his mouth. “Only so you don’t
put anyone’s life in danger.”

“Well, that’s too bad.”

What did she expect? That he’d take her home, and they’d do the wild thing?

He didn’t like her.

He didn’t like that she could look at him so direct and find a way to extract pieces
of his life before he knew what the hell he was saying.

He didn’t like that she had practically everyone in town mesmerized with her pretty
words and false promises.

He just didn’t like a damned thing about her.

When he took her arm to help her from the stool, the warmth of her soft skin beneath
his hand brought everything together like the eye of a hurricane. And he had to admit
the one thing he’d been denying since she slipped out of that big yellow Hummer and
poked her high heels into Ernie McGreavy’s grass.

He wanted her.

Bad.

C
harli had never been one to lack for things to say. Her mother had once told her she
even talked in her sleep. On the ride back to Reno’s ranch, she was unusually quiet.
Until she realized her silence probably made him happy. And she could think of a dozen
better methods to make the man smile.

“At the bar, I heard a song something about a truck, and a beer, and a girl in a red
sundress.” She floated a Vanna White hand down the front of her dress. “Ironic, isn’t
it?”

When he glanced across the dark of the cab, she could swear a smile tilted his lips.

“Completely.”

“Of course, there was also something in that song about a kiss and a creek at 2:00
A.M
.” The beer tingle in her veins squashed down her man ban and gave her an extra boost
of bold. Not that she needed one. Just being around him took all her professionalism
and her cool and turned it inside out. Common sense? Pffft. Gone. Hormones raging?
Oh yeah. Which begged the question—why were women so intrigued by the unattainable
man? “Didn’t I see a creek on your property?”

The dashboard lights reflected off the buttons on his shirt and the side of his face
as he turned his head with a
What the hell?
look on his face.

“You whip off your clothes there, and you’re likely to become mosquito bait,” he said.

“Well, that’s not very romantic.”

“You know the difference between fantasy and reality?”

“Of course. But it’s my job to mingle the two.”

“I know I’ll regret like hell asking this but . . .” His fingers flexed on the steering
wheel. “How so?”

“Well . . .” She kicked off her flip-flops and tucked her feet up. “Sometimes when
I meet a client, they bring me a box or a binder full of pictures of things they like.
Images that inspire them no matter how far out of their reach they might seem. It’s
my job to bring those fantasies to life.”

“Sounds frivolous.”

“Oh, it is.” She leaned toward him and grinned. “Very often it’s decadent. Like a
rich chocolate parfait eaten in bed on a Sunday morning after a night of drinking
champagne and making love.”

He leaned his head back and looked at her like he didn’t know what to make of her.

“Don’t tell me you’ve never done that,” she said. Not that she ever had.

“I’m not much of the parfait type.”

She gave him her most innocent look and poked the bear some more. “Not even when you
can lick it off someone’s body?” She’d never done that either. But she was willing
to try.

He coughed.

She laughed.

Damned if she wouldn’t break him out of that shell somehow.

“Most of the time I mingle fantasy and reality in the form of creating environments
where families can bond over meals, or quiet time, or even game time,” she said. “Before
I started this job, I created a game room for a family of eight that was like
The Jetsons
meet
Happy Days.
It was a bit extreme, but I created all kinds of nooks where they could all just
gather and have fun. The mom and dad complained that as their children were getting
older and had so many activities, they were rarely home. So they wanted someplace
the kids would want to come. Maybe bring their friends over.”

She laughed, remembering the way those kids’ eyes lit up when they saw the room. “I
called them after a few months, and the mom said their game room had become the neighborhood
hangout, and now they needed to create a space for the parents to have some quiet
time.”

“What did you create for them?”

She sighed. “I wasn’t able to work with them because of the schedule for the show.
So I had to hand it over to a designer friend.”

“Sounds like that bothers you.”

“It does. When you work in someone’s home for weeks or months, you feel like you become
a part of them. You get to know them. Sometimes, they become friends. I liked being
in that house with all those kids running around. It was fun.” She glanced out the
side window at the passing rows of trees to mask a pang of longing. Sometimes, the
task of creating those warm family environments made her realize what she wanted but
didn’t have.

“Anyway.” For a distraction from the ache in her heart, she reached forward and turned
the volume up on the radio. A male country artist came on singing about wanting to
know what he had to do to win someone over. “Is this a classic truck?”

“No.” He kept his eyes trained on the road ahead. “It’s just old. It belonged to my
father. I have a newer one in the garage. I just like this one.”

She could relate. Sometimes, the connections you had to objects were all you had left
of a person. She had her mother’s jewelry box. Though it had been given to her empty,
she could still imagine the baubles her mother had once stored there. A few times
she’d even let Charli play dress up in those dangly earrings and huge necklaces. “I
like old things.”

“Right.”

She looked up and noted the frown tightening his brow. “You sound doubtful.”

“Hard to buy from someone who’s single-handedly trying to change everything old about
this town.”

“I didn’t choose to come here and change things, you know. I was
asked
to come here. I’m just doing my job.
And
I’m doing my best to preserve the soul of Sweet while giving it something that will
make it more attractive to those who want to come in and spend their hard-earned
cash. People in Sweet have to make a living, you know.”

“Sweet was never meant to be a tourist attraction.”

“But it would bring in more revenue.”

“Everything can’t be about money.”

“Why do you like to argue all the time?”

He turned his head, gave her a long look. “I don’t.”

“You argue with me every chance you get.”

“Because you piss me off about 90 percent of the time.”

“Good.”

“
Good?
”

“Yes. That leaves at least 10 percent in my favor.”

He laughed. And by the expression on his face, that surprised him.

“Do you always just say whatever the hell you feel like?”

She tilted her head and studied the sudden Grrrr look on his face. “Don’t you?”

In response, he turned the truck onto the bumpy gravel road that led to his house.
They rolled to a stop and parked by the barn. After he shoved the gearshift into
PARK,
he said, “Look. I offered you a ride so you didn’t injure yourself or anyone else.
That’s it. I don’t want to talk about the age of my truck, or argue with you, or figure
out why you’re so outspoken.”

He grabbed the keys from the ignition and got out before she could respond. A bit
dazed, she sat there, expecting him to disappear inside his house without another
word. Instead, he came around to her side of the truck and opened her door.

“Maybe it doesn’t matter to you . . .” she said, dangling her legs over the edge of
the seat. “But I had to learn to be outspoken, so I wouldn’t be completely ignored.
The general wasn’t the most attentive father a girl could have. In his fleeting moments
at home, I had to make him aware of me. Whether he wanted to or not.”

His eyes searched her face for a long, breathless moment. Then his face softened.
Silently, he held out his hands.

Her heart skipped as she placed her hands in his and slid down from the big red truck.
Her bare feet hit gravel cooled by the night air, and her toes dug in.

They were breast to chest, and she swore she could feel his heart beat. When she thought
he’d let go, he held on and drew her closer. She knew that even as he did so, the
conflicts in his soul battled for dominance. She, on the other hand, had never been
a woman to let a good thing go. At the moment, they might be like fire and gasoline,
but something in his eyes said Reno Wilder was a man worth fighting for. And her heart
was more than willing to take a chance.

His gaze swept her face, fell to her mouth, then came back up to her eyes and held.
His thick dark lashes lowered on a slow blink. When she thought her heart would knock
through her rib cage, he cupped her face between his strong hands, lowered his head,
and brushed her mouth with his warm lips.

“I’m sorry you had to fight for your father’s attention,” he whispered against her
mouth. “But you definitely have mine.” Then he kissed her so slow and sweet, she thought
her hammering heart would shatter. For a moment, surprise immobilized her, and she
could do nothing more than stand there while he fed her a tender kiss.

His lips were soft yet possessive. Commanding yet gentle. When his long fingers slid
into the hair at her temples and tilted her head for better access, she wrapped her
arms around his waist. His lips tested, and teased, and made her want more, more,
more.

Then he was gone, and her arms were empty.

He lowered his hands to his sides and turned to leave.

“Wait a minute.” She reached out and grasped the firm muscle of his forearm. “That’s
it?”

“Yeah.” He looked over his shoulder. “That’s it.”

While everything inside her buzzed and snapped, he was content with one kiss?

“Are you serious?”

“To be fair, I’ve been pretty up front about everything.” He turned—halfway toward
escape. “You can’t say I didn’t warn you.”

“Then what was that kiss all about?”

His broad shoulders lifted. “Momentary insanity.”

“Bullshit.”

“Call it what you want.” His dark slash of brows pulled together, and the silver at
his temples glinted in the moonlight. “It won’t happen again.”

Bullshit.
She wanted to argue or prove him wrong, but, for the moment, she’d let it go. “Will
you be at the senior center reveal tomorrow?” she called to his retreating backside.

“Don’t count on it.”

Charli grabbed her purse off the seat of the truck and walked into the darkness of
the barn. There she turned and, with a skip in her heart, watched those long legs
and slow gait put space between them.

She considered herself a
reasonable
woman.

Reasonably
smart.