Find My Way Home (Harmony Homecomings) (13 page)

“Because my dark soul could use some saving?”

“That and you should be there with your daughter.”

Keith leaned down to kiss her powdery soft cheek. “You’re shameless, always playing the daughter card. One of these times it’s not going to work.”

Francesca laughed. “Don’t underestimate me, my fine Prince. I have lots of tricks up my sleeve.”

“Good night, Auntie.” Keith gave a brief wave as he reached the front door.

“Keith?”

He stopped with his hand on the brass doorknob.

“You need to call your mother. Maddie should speak with her grandmother,” Francesca said at the bottom of the spiral stairs.

Keith groaned and dropped his forehead on the wood door. “Of course. The prodigal son reaching out to the prodigal mother.”

“Nevertheless—”

“Where’s she living this month? Florence? Paris?” he asked.

“Outside Florence, where’s she’s been for the last two years. You’d know that if you called her more often.” Francesca’s curt tone told Keith she didn’t approve of his relationship with his mother. What relationship? He hadn’t lived in the same state, much less the same house as his mother since he’d turned thirteen.

“The phone works both ways, Aunt Francesca.” He unleashed a heavy, painful breath. “Maddie and I will call her on the road tomorrow.” She nodded, and he closed the door behind him.

***

Keith found himself back in the crowded lot at the Dog, cruising for a parking space while debating whether he should go in. One more drink and then he’d head home—to his vacant house and empty bed. He drove around the lot when he spied some couple up against a car parked near the rear entrance. The guy appeared to be doing “the lean,” as he came within inches of his date, going for a kiss.

Keith chuckled. “Go for it, dude. At least somebody’s getting some.” He almost drove past when he noticed the girl wore purple and black-striped stockings. The same stockings Bertie had been wearing earlier with her roller derby costume. Keith hit the brake and lowered his window.

“Come on, just a little sugar,” the guy whined in a deep Southern drawl.

Keith listened. Did he say
sugar
?

“Absolutely not. We’re just friends, and you’ve had too much to drink.”

Keith recognized that bossy voice. “Bertie?” he called out his window.

Bertie’s head popped out from around the guy’s side. “Keith? Oh my.” Bertie scrambled away as she pushed the guy aside and rushed toward Keith. The guy wobbled on unsteady legs. “Of course, I almost forgot…you wanted to talk to me…I shouldn’t have kept you waiting.” She tugged her tight T-shirt down—it looked as if this asshole had pushed it up. Not any asshole, but Scott, the grade-school flame from earlier that evening. Scott stumbled back, shaking his head.

“Hey, Bertie…where you goin’?” Scott said with a slur, appearing bemused as he looked down at his empty outstretched hands. Keith could relate, knowing how it felt to have Bertie’s juicy curves teasing his palms.

“Sorry, Scott. I have a meeting with my client—”

“Now? At…ten thirty?” Scott blinked at his watch.

“Yes. He’s very anal. Thinks he owns me…you know the type…like the world only revolves around him.” Bertie trotted around the hood of Keith’s car. She yanked the passenger door open and practically dove inside. “Scott? Go inside and find Liza,” she said. The tantalizing scent of gardenias filled Keith’s car. Bertie leaned over the console toward the open window. “Liza said she really misses you.”

Scott stumbled forward. “Don’t drive,” Bertie ordered. “Cal will find you a ride or call Coco’s Cab.” Scott appeared confused and bereft without Bertie. Keith almost felt sorry for the big lug until he glimpsed Bertie’s grim expression.

“Aw, Bertie…you know, I only…you mean Liza Palmer?” he asked, his befuddlement clearing up.

“Yep. The one and only. Get back inside, okay?” Bertie sat back digging for something in her orange bag. “Drive away slowly…please,” she said to Keith as she pulled her cell phone out and punched a number.

Keith tore his gaze away from Bertie and eased his foot off the brake. He checked Scott through the rearview mirror, standing in the middle of the parking lot.

“Cal? Listen, Scott’s drunk and shouldn’t drive home. Make sure someone has his back. Yeah…no, I don’t think he’ll show up later…uh, Keith’s driving me home… Uh-huh. Thanks. Bye.” Bertie punched her phone off.

Keith stopped before pulling onto the side street. “You okay? Did he hurt you? Do I need to kick his sorry ass?”

Bertie glanced over her shoulder before settling back in her seat. “No. I’m fine. His intentions are good, but I still don’t like being mauled.” She scrubbed her hand around her neck as if she had germs. “Phew, am I happy to see you. I didn’t think he’d ever leave. He wouldn’t stop following me around and I couldn’t get rid of him. Turn left.” Bertie pointed with her finger.

“That’s because he wants to see you naked.” Keith accelerated onto the empty street. “Can’t say that I blame him,” he muttered under his breath.

Disapproval pinched her features. “No way. I’ve known Scott since I was six—”

“Which only means he’s been dreaming about getting you naked since he was thirteen or fourteen.”

“Huh?” Bertie’s jaw dropped and she gawked at Keith as if he spoke in tongues.

“Unless he already has…and now he can’t get enough. Are you guys sleeping together?” For some reason, the answer to that question was very important to him.

Bertie’s spectacular chest heaved under her T-shirt. “No. Scott’s a childhood friend, not a boyfriend.” A frown settled around her full lips.

Keith chuckled—from relief or release, he didn’t know which one, but they were both good. “Something tells me Liza was not missing that big goofball,” he said.

Bertie shrugged. “Liza can handle it. He won’t get very far with his roving hands.” She glanced at him. “Thanks for your assistance. I had everything under control, but it would’ve taken a lot longer to get rid of him.”

Keith shifted in his seat. “Why didn’t you tell him to fuck off? He deserved it.”

Bertie’s eyes widened. “I could nev—he’s a friend…we grew up together and his mother was my first-grade teacher.” Bertie bit her plump lower lip. “He doesn’t mean anything by it. He’s harmless.”

Keith gave a bark of laughter. “Harmless? Hardly. Bertie, that guy outweighs you by at least a hundred pounds. Copping a feel indicated he wanted more than
sugar.
” Keith drew out the word
sugar
, mimicking a Southern accent.

A scowl marred her face. “He’d had too much to drink and got a little frisky. The end. I don’t want to talk about Scott Douglas anymore.”

Frisky
my
ass
. Keith kept silent while Bertie only spoke to give directions. The houses appeared smaller and farther apart as Keith bumped over some old, broken-down railroad tracks. After another mile down the country road, Bertie told him to turn left. Keith followed a winding, gravel driveway until he stopped his SUV next to a bungalow-style home with a gable roof and arched front door.

“You live here?” he asked.

“Yep.” Bertie checked her watch. “Cal and I grew up here. Cal got the restaurant, and I got the house after my dad died.”

“Looks nice. Well cared for.” Potted plants lined the front steps and a light glowed from inside. Keith noticed Bertie fidgeting in her seat and felt like laughing. Maybe not comfortable bringing men home, this Bertie. Good.

“Uh, Cal asked if you wouldn’t mind staying for a few minutes. He’s being overly protective, but he doesn’t want Scott showing up at my door.”

Keith leveled a hard look at her. “Does he make a habit of showing up?”

“Not really. But sometimes when he’s back in town, he stops by late at night…uh, uninvited.”

Sure he does.
“Do you let him in?”

“No. But I can hear him calling my name and sometimes…he sings.”

Singing. Right. Mayberry.

Bertie fiddled with the keys in her hand, avoiding eye contact. “You only have to stay about thirty minutes. Long enough for Scott to forget about me. I’ve got beer if you’re interested.”

Yeah, sure. Poor Scott had been mooning over Bertie since first grade. No way was he forgetting about her. Hell, Keith couldn’t forget about her and he’d only known her a little over a month. Keith reached for the door handle. “Okay. I could use a drink. But it might take longer than thirty minutes.” For what he had in mind.

Longer than thirty minutes? Oh my. What did that mean? Was he a slow drinker due to a medical condition? Like waiting thirty minutes after eating before jumping in the swimming pool? Big, bad, sometimes annoying, slow drinker, but mostly delicious Keith Morgan stood in her small kitchen with the painted wood cabinets and the original green subway tile backsplash. Bertie handed him a cold beer, hoping he didn’t notice her shaky hand.

Her kitchen wasn’t actually small, but it felt small with Mr. Hunky standing so close. Keith ran his large hand over the scarred butcher block at the end of the old marble countertop next to the stove, checking his surroundings. Bertie had a flash of him running his hand over something smoother than the rough butcher block, like her thighs or her belly or even…
Stop
it.

“Would you like a seat? I have chairs and sofas…you know, things you can sit on in the living room. It’s not really a living room, more like a family room, but I have nicer furniture in there so that makes it a living room. Or maybe a parlor. I have rattier furniture on the back porch if you’d prefer that room. It’s closed in but we still call it a porch.”
Shut
up
already,
Bertie commanded her babbling tongue.

Keith smiled and sipped his beer, making her dingy white cabinets appear even dingier. Something about him standing on her cracked cork floors like a Ralph Lauren model, with tousled hair, scruffy face, and classic, expensive clothes, made her old kitchen appear shabby.

Keith didn’t move but studied her face, and then he took a long, slow pull of his beer, making Bertie weak in the knees at the sight of his strong throat.

“About that sitting…” Bertie forced her gaze from his throat to the green split vinyl chairs around the matching 1950s chrome-and-Formica breakfast table. She’d been meaning to update those chairs in a killer croc-embossed, lime-green patent leather, but she hadn’t gotten around to it. Where did she put that vinyl sample? It must be in her office somewhere.

Keith watched her with hooded eyes as he fiddled with his beer can. Bertie’s heart slammed into her chest so hard she almost jumped.

“Remember that kiss the other day?” The sexy note in his voice made her senses quicken.

Remember it? It was embedded in her brain. She wished she had a video of it. Bertie’s brain stuttered, trying to think of where she’d last seen that embossed vinyl. Maybe she gave the sample to Gary. She made a mental note to ask him first thing in the morning.

“Do you?” The glint in his eye clouded her head.

She cleared her throat. Oh, yeah, the kiss. “Sure. It was a whopper.”

Keith’s gaze dropped to her mouth and then to her chin and even lower. Oh gawd. He had the look that a guy gives before he makes his move, and not in a groping, clumsy way like Scott’s version, but in a totally hot way because he knew what he was doing. The look from a man who’d had plenty of practice.

“I want to kiss you again,” he whispered mere inches from her.

She inhaled his musky scent. Bertie leaned back, her butt hitting the apron of the porcelain farm sink. She locked her knees, fearing they would give out and she’d collapse at his feet. The oath she’d taken about not kissing clients screamed in her head—along with Keith’s goal to find a wife and the fact that every woman in Harmony had lined up outside his bedroom door to audition.

“Uh, bad idea,” she said, trying not to concentrate on the smooth gray weave of his thin sweater covering his rock-hard chest—the chest she’d like to cover with her mouth instead.

Keith remained poised as if controlling an urge to grab her and maul her against the cabinets. Maul might be a bit harsh, but at this point, Bertie would take it.
Lose
control. Do something!
Bertie bit her lower lip, waiting for his next move…hoping…praying.

Keith gave a jerky shrug and shoved his hands in his pockets. “Yeah, you’re right.” He stepped back and picked up his beer from the table. Bertie missed his heat, and it left her cold and lonely. She wished she could take back her words.
Bad
idea.
She wanted to yell,
Great
idea. The best idea ever.

Keith took one last pull of beer and placed the empty can on the table. “I better get going.”

Numb, Bertie nodded as he reached for the handle on the kitchen door.

“Thanks for the ride and all.”

“No problem.” Keith pulled the door open.

“Good night.”

He glanced over his shoulder. “Yeah, see you soon.”

“Okay. Uh, Keith?”

He turned back with eyebrows raised. Bertie didn’t think—she launched herself at him and hoped he’d catch her as she attached her lips to his. Keith, being a quick study and a professional athlete, held Bertie tight and kicked the door shut with his foot, all while kissing her as if he only had one more day to live. His restless hands moved to her legs and then around her bottom as Bertie wrapped her legs around his waist. He moved blindly across the kitchen until she bumped the side of the butcher block. Keith hoisted her on top, his lips never leaving hers as he pressed his heat into her, melting her bones. The kiss turned hot and wild. He tasted like beer and raw passion. Keith sucked her tongue inside his mouth and she followed him, kissing him and indulging her craving. He was so good—so good at making her feel this way, making her want to do things she had only dreamed of doing. Mindless, Bertie fell, body and soul.

His hands skated up the sides of her thighs, and he settled more intimately between her legs. Bertie ran her fingers up his shoulders and through the silky texture of his thick hair curling around his collar. He trailed kisses around her jaw and down her neck. His hand found her breast, cupping it, and she moaned deep in her throat. Bertie panted as her nipple tightened. She felt the heat of his palm through her T-shirt and satin bra.

Keith made a guttural sound. “I need this.” He pushed her T-shirt up over her breasts and unhooked her bra with a flick of his wrist. His lids lowered and his breathing turned choppy. “Fuck.”

“What…”

Keith grabbed both her wrists and shoved them behind her, holding them in place with one hand, arching her back toward him as if offering her breasts up for his pure enjoyment.

“Keith, I…” Bertie panted.

“Shhh. Let me…God, you’re gorgeous.” His head dipped and Bertie jolted from the pull of his hot mouth latched on to her right nipple. All coherent thought left her brain as desire took its place and burned a hole in her head. He kissed her breasts, sucking and pulling and grazing with his teeth. The scrape of his unshaved jaw made her flesh tingle. She wanted more as she struggled for him to release her hands.

“Please. Keith. I need to touch you,” she begged, squirming to get closer and press against him. He dragged his lips from the feast he was making of her breasts and gave her a slow, sensual smile. Her stomach clenched into a tight ball. He released her wrists, and she ran her palms under his sweater, bunching his shirt up underneath so she could feel his hot, taut skin. It wasn’t enough. Bertie pushed both his shirt and sweater up with greedy hands. Keith helped by reaching behind his head, whipping the offending clothes off, and dropping them on the floor.

Finally. His chest had played a major role in her fantasies, and she needed to touch it with her fingers, lips, and tongue. Keith watched from beneath hooded lids. Bertie’s palms trembled as she covered his tight nipples and feathered kisses along his throat. She could feel his ragged breathing. Her bold hands moved across his chest, and beneath her touch, his muscles bunched. Keith growled and slanted his mouth over hers in another crushing kiss. Beneath her tulle skirt, Keith started to push her stockings down.

Bertie gripped his lean waist. “Wait. Shouldn’t we…here?”

Keith had already worked her stockings halfway down her thighs. “Here. Now,” he growled.

He cut off her objections with his mouth and shoved her panties down, sliding his fingers inside her slick heat. “God, you’re wet,” he groaned against her lips.

Bertie started to see stars as his skillful fingers pushed in and out in a slow, hypnotic rhythm. Her eyes squeezed shut and his name escaped her lips, part moan, part sigh. Keith’s thumb circled above his fingers against her aroused flesh. Bertie began to shudder as a climax built with every masterful stroke.

“Come for me,” he rasped, biting into her lower lip. And Bertie did. She gripped his shoulders and moaned his name as her world turned upside down. Keith crushed her to his chest as tremors shook her body and rippled across her flesh.

When the sizzling inside her body subsided, leaving her boneless, Bertie floated back down to earth. She gulped air into her lungs. Her head rested in the crook of his neck and she reveled in his musky, heated scent. Keith’s breathing slowed and he pulled back enough to peer down into her relaxed face. Naked desire filled his dark, smoky eyes.

“Where’s your room?” He started to lift her from the battered butcher block.

“Huh?” Bertie shifted uncomfortably, suddenly appalled at her location and what she had just done. Her stockings and panties were twisted around her knees, her shirt was wrapped around her neck like a noose, and she had no idea where her bra was. Her hair had fallen from her ponytail and hung damp against her neck. She stole a glance at Keith, and of course, he looked even more scrumptious in his rumpled state. Passion agreed with him, softening all his hard edges.

Keith cradled her face in his palms and pinned her with his intense gaze. “We’re not finished. I have to—” Keith stopped and his head jerked up.

“What?”

“Shhh.” He put a finger to his lips. And then Bertie heard it.

“Bye bye, Birdeee…I’m gonna miss you sooo.”

“Oh gawd!” Bertie pushed at Keith’s chest, hopped off the butcher block, and scrambled to pull her stockings up. She stumbled into Keith, practically knocking him over. “Crap! Crap! Crap!”

“What the fuck?” Keith hit the back of the table but managed to keep Bertie upright. She hopped away and he snatched up his shirt and sweater from the floor, shoving his arms through the sleeves as the noise outside grew louder.

“Bye bye, Birdeee, why’d you have to gooo?” Scott Douglas crooned off-key from her backyard.

Bertie gave up on the twisted stockings that wouldn’t go any higher than mid-thigh and shoved her arms through the sleeves of her T-shirt without a bra.

“Bertha Mavis! I know you’re in there. Get out here right now before I let him sing another verse,” Liza bellowed outside the back door.

Bertie froze. Alarm bells went off. Why was Liza here? Keith pushed his fingers through his hair in irritation, which only made their groping escapade more obvious. His inside-out sweater didn’t help either.

“Don’t make me come in there,” Liza threatened as Bertie heard her stomping up the walkway.

Bertie tugged at her T-shirt and made sure her skirt covered her ecstatic female parts that mere seconds ago had been singing and doing the boogie-woogie. “Coming. Hold your horses,” she called out. “I can’t believe this. What is Liza doing here?”

Shock had taken a turn for the worse and full-blown panic had set in. Bertie glanced at Keith one last time, and the look of utter disgust marring his features would be imbedded in her brain forever. What had they done? She yanked open her back door just in time to stop Scott from belting out another verse. The cool evening breeze whooshed, mocking her heated cheeks and highly sensitive kitty bits that still purred.

“What?” Bertie asked. Liza had a death grip on Scott’s shirttails. “Why did you bring him here?” Bertie spoke to Liza but watched Scott as he swayed on his unsteady feet.

“Hey there, B-b-bertie. Would you like me to sing s’more?” Scott wore his goofy and usually adorable grin, except tonight Bertie wanted to stomp her feet and yell at him for ruining the best sex she’d never had.

“He wouldn’t go home peacefully until I had driven him here. Next time, call a—” Liza stopped talking. She studied Bertie, noting her disheveled appearance. “What have you been up to?” She raked her gaze from Bertie’s tangled hair down to her twisted stockings and zeroed in on her braless state. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think—” To complete Bertie’s mortification, at that moment, Keith stepped into view. Liza’s eyes flared with disbelief, then she narrowed them at Bertie. “My, my, my. What have we here?” Liza waggled her fingers. “How you doing there, Prince?”

Bertie wanted to smack that silly expression right off her sanctimonious face. “It’s not what you think,” she said through clenched teeth. It could’ve been. Bertie’s entire body sighed in disappointment because they’d been rudely interrupted by a bumbling fool and a know-it-all ex-prom queen.

Liza raised one eyebrow. “Oh, really?”

“Screw you,” Bertie growled.

“Looks like the Prince’s already taken care of that.”

Keith pushed past Bertie and hurried down the back steps as if leaving a burning house. “You need any help with Frank Sinatra, here?” he asked Liza, jerking his thumb at Scott, whose head flopped around his neck like a broken daisy on its stem. Keith didn’t glance at Bertie. Didn’t even acknowledge her. He blew past her so fast, her skirt almost flew up around her face. Okay, he regretted what almost took place, and yeah, maybe they went a little crazy on the whole groping, making out, and giving Bertie the best orgasm she’d ever had. Ever.

But the complete brush-off. That was plain cold. It wasn’t like she jumped him. Okay, well yeah, she jumped him. But he could’ve stopped. He didn’t have to swirl his tongue in her mouth and shove half her clothes off and suck on her…
stop
it!
Bertie crossed her arms over her betraying breasts, hoping Liza with the eagle eye didn’t notice.

Liza’s gaze darted from Keith’s stony expression to Bertie’s flushed face. “Nope. I got everything under control. Don’t let me scare you off.”

“I have to be going.” Keith ducked his head and shoved his hands in his jean pockets. His boots stirred up the gravel on the driveway as he made his way to his car parked on the side. Both Liza and Bertie watched him leave. No wave good-bye. No wink. No plans to see her later.