Letters and Lace (The Ronan's Harbor Series) (26 page)

“That’s how we’re going to play it, huh?” she asked. She took a tall tin canister from the counter and brought it with her to the small kitchen table.

He poured measures of his mixture into two waiting mugs and joined her. She had opened the canister and placed a round blond cookie on a napkin at each of their places at the table.

“What’s this?”

“Try it first, then I’ll tell you.”

There was a small Mona-Lisa kind of smile on her lips, a flirty little grin that had the identical effect of a gulp of his toddy.

Sarah brought her mug to her lips and took a sip. She muttered a muffled moan as she pulled the cup away. “You found the brandy.” She sipped again. “Very good.”

There was something different about her, Benny decided. She was more relaxed in spite of the events of the evening. In spite of being rattled by the late-night appearance of her daughter’s first love.

Hell, that on top of the fact that Clyde Stone had swooped in with talk of her building falling down, and then his revelations about Clyde and Sal’s scheme.

She deserved brandy to accent her tea. She deserved more than that.

He bit into the cookie, a tasty almond-flavored round. “Good. Did you make these?”

“You think you’re the only baker in Ronan’s Harbor?” She tilted her head, assessing eyes on him. “Did you always like to bake?”

He could have just given her his typical shrug—that understated gesture he’d used all his life—but not tonight, and not to her. “Always,” he heard himself say. “Since I was little.”

“You come from a line of bakers?”

He watched her take a nibble of her cookie as her gaze remained intent on him.

“My mother was one of those natural bakers. She didn’t need cookbooks or anything. It was only when I started showing an interest that she started writing recipes down. I still have them.”

That little smile was back on her face. “Must have been a fun household.” Her tone was light, but the eyes still focused on him, beaming with sincerity.

Benny couldn’t help but respond in kind. “Well, not when it came to my liking to bake. The men in my family saw it as a sign of weakness.” He didn’t fool her with his hollow-sounding laugh.

The brightness in her eyes dimmed, but the orbs remained intent on him. She didn’t reply to his comment, but he saw the way she pulled her lips in on themselves.

“We were all cops from my grandfather on down. It was like an unwritten law or something. Benedetto men went into law enforcement. And, well, let’s just say my turning into a real baker wasn’t worth the aggravation.”

“So, you went into law enforcement.”

“Twenty-five years.”

“But you didn’t give up on baking.”

“For a long time I did. Life got busy. I got married, worked a lot of overtime, the marriage went kaput. You know how it is. But, baking’s always been there in my head, you know?”

“I do.” She cocked her head. “When did you get back into it?”

“After I retired. It’s amazing how it came right back to me. It’s like riding a bike, no hands on the handlebars, arms stretched out in the breeze.” He suddenly felt uncomfortable, as if he’d said too much. He shrugged. “Something like that, anyway.”

He hoped the softness in her gaze was not laced with pity, but rather understanding. It surprised him how much he wanted that.

“I know. My sanity has been this inn.” She stared into her mug, both hands wrapped around it. “When Gary and I called it quits, I had no idea how on earth to do this.” She looked up and gave a little grin. “I mean, what did I know about running an inn all by myself?”

Sarah shrugged. “And now? Maybe not as much as I should know.”

“Sarah, I’m sorry for your having to go through all this,” Benny said, meaning it. “And, I apologize for my part in it. But, I have a plan.”

She smiled at him. “Well, that makes one of us. I’m all ears.”

“First thing on the agenda is meeting with the mayor, letting him in on what’s going on. Hopefully he’ll get those permits signed for you.”

“Unfortunately, that won’t change the fact that the foundation is about to give out and I can’t afford to fix it.”

“It’s quite probable that Clyde Stone was exaggerating.”

She gave him a nod. “I’ll call my insurance company as soon as the office opens.”

“So, you do have a plan.”

Her look was sly. “Well, what do you know?”

He lifted his mug in salute. “In the morning then.”

“It’s already morning,” she said.

He consulted his watch.
Shit, it was almost two.
He got up from the table. “Well, then I guess it’s time to say good night.”

She followed him to the sink where they each placed their mugs side by side. They shared another long glance.

“You going to be okay?” he asked softly. He looked down into her eyes.

“Yes,” she said. She pulled her lower lip into her mouth, then let it spring free as though the effort would summon courage.

He felt his heart squeeze.

Her eyes smoky and hooded, she finally released a whisper, “Benny, I was wondering. Is there anything else involved in that plan of yours?” She took a miniscule step closer.

“Yes.” He released a breath. “I’m pretty sure there is.”

“How sure?”

“Damned sure.” Benny pulled her close, their bodies melding instantly, their lips locking in a deep kiss.

Her arms lifted up over his shoulders and she wrapped them around his neck. She massaged a hand at the back of his head, her fingers delicate, yet firm. Their mouths moved back and forth rhythmically in a kiss that tasted both new and at the same time familiar—like long-lost lovers finally reunited.

The kiss broke but not their hold on each other. Their embrace only deepened and he could feel the length of her body against his. He whispered what was in his heart. “I’ve wanted to do that for so long.”

“Me, too,” she said.

He felt her warm breath on his neck. He pulled back so that he could see her face. Her eyes shone with emotion and it took his breath away. How in hell was he going to leave her now?

“I…” He tried to breathe. “I should go.”

Sarah shook her head no.

****

In her whole life the only time she’d done this—led a man into her room by the hand—was in a fantasy. Reality, she was learning, was better. But pretty scary, too.

She gave his chest a gentle push with one finger, just a touch really, one that certainly wouldn’t have enough force to move a sheet of paper let alone a man. But, that was all it took. He slowly collapsed back onto the quilted coverlet.

She stood in front of him, their eyes bound to each other. A jumble of emotions careened in her chest, in her belly, in her blood. Nerves, anticipation, surprise at her own behavior. It was all those things and it was the message her blood rushed around inside her, but mostly it was an electrical charge that obliterated any reserve. The throb of freedom that pulsed through her settled somewhere deep.

She tugged the sweatshirt over her head as she realized she’d never done that for an audience. Ever. The effort felt clumsy and the hood caught on her ponytail yanking her hair by the root. The garment was off and on the floor and with it was the elastic that had tied back her hair.

She couldn’t even begin to imagine what the wavy brown mess looked like. She quickly gave it a shake with both hands, an apology for its appearance sitting on her tongue like a gumdrop.

“I love your hair,” he said, raising up on an elbow and resting his head on a hand.

“You do?” She wanted to tell him he didn’t have to say that, but the look on his face was so true, she believed he meant it. It baffled her.

“Yeah, it’s”—he searched for a word—”springy.”

That made her laugh and she plopped herself down next to him on the bed. If she turned just so, she knew she’d be able to see her image in the cheval mirror across the room. Absolutely no way. One look at herself in a bra—albeit her best one with the tiny satin bow between her breasts—and her hair bushed out like an overgrown hedge and she’d lose her nerve.

Benny reached up and touched her hair, a delicate hand that erased the thought. His fingers caressed the strands. “In the light it looks like it’s laced with gold. But you knew that.”

No, she didn’t know that, but she didn’t say so. She had no breath with which to speak.

He let his hand slide away from her hair, and placed a finger under her chin. “Come closer.”

She leaned in, her heart slamming into her ribs, beating like a drum, a really happy drum.

“Your eyes are my favorite part of you, though. They look like amber with warm flecks of color.”

An ache formed in her throat. She could tell this was not just flattery. This was unabashed honesty.

It touched her so deeply it was an effort for her not to cry. “Thank you,” she managed in a low, barely audible whisper that rode gently on an escaped breath.

He beckoned her with the guidance of that finger at her chin, slowly bringing her mouth to meet his. It was a gentle, soft kiss, a touch of their lips that lasted just long enough for her to want more.

She pressed to his mouth reclaiming the courage that had begun its life here in
this
room on
this
night because of
this
man. He tasted of the brandy from the toddy he’d made for them. It was a sweet, succulent flavor and she savored it.

Benny rolled back, pulling her onto him, as their kiss deepened. His hands ran over the skin of her back, gentle touches feeding her desire like magic. His fingers found the hook of her bra and released it. She helped him free her of it, all the while their kiss still intact.

Finally, her lungs screamed for air, and she broke the kiss. She stared down at him in the dimness of the room, his eyes beacons of emotion. They each breathed heavily, gulping air.

She had the urge to tell him how much she’d been thinking about him over the days and weeks. How the sight of him in his jeans had clung to her senses since the beginning. How the memory of their dance, that random kiss in the dark, came back to her every night as she lay in this very bed.

In the silence of her room there’d been no one to judge, no one to say it was wrong or silly. But, all she could say, the only word that would form on her lips and escape from her was his name. “Benny.”

She didn’t tell him how she felt, but, dear God, she showed him. She did.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Sunshine filtered in through her curtains, a bright promise for the day ahead.

Sarah sneaked a glance at the man asleep on his side next to her, the blankets low on his torso. In the light of day she saw the fading tan line on his upper arm. The muscle, a strong bulge under the skin, called to her for a touch. She wanted to feel him again. Now.

Sarah covered herself with the bedding, holding the blanket up to her chin with both hands. This was mad. She was mad. She looked at him again, then back up at the ceiling. Crazy was underrated.

What would happen now? She closed her mind to the thought. She shouldn’t speculate, an unfortunate habit she needed to break. She’d spent so much of her life projecting what would come rather than enjoying what was. She peeked at him again. Oh, she was enjoying now, all right.

His eyes opened and a lazy grin formed on his face. “Good morning.”

“Good morning.”

“You chilly?” he asked, lifting up on one elbow.

“No, why?”

“You’ve got the blankets up to your chin.”

She looked down at herself and then back at him. “Well, maybe a little.”

He reached out a hand to brush a few strands of hair from her forehead. “It’s officially morning. We have a plan.”

“Yes, we do.”

He scooted closer, pulling his side of the blanket up to his chin, too. She could feel his nakedness against hers. Her body zinged with anticipation, apparently having a plan of its own.

They turned to face each other, eyes locked above the highly placed bedclothes.

“Want to know what I’m thinking?”

She bit her lip and nodded her head.

“I know we said we’d tackle our plan first thing in the morning…”

“And it is morning…” she said.

“But, I’m thinking maybe we could modify the plan.”

She breathed, allowing her racing heart to be her guide. She reached for him. “So, let’s start modifying.”

****

Forty-five minutes later, while Benny showered, Sarah made coffee.

She liked the way this felt; liked having a man—
that man—
in her bed, in her shower, in her kitchen. This was so dangerous, allowing herself to lower the guard that she’d nailed in place long ago. Hell,
that
guard had been blown to smithereens.

The English muffins popped up from the toaster as Benny entered the room. His black hair—still wet and shiny—was slicked back on his head, his face clean-shaven. It didn’t appear that her old razor had nicked him.

“Coffee?” she asked.

“Yes, indeed.” He accepted the mug she extended to him and took a sip. “Good.”

“Milk and sugar’s on the table.”

He waved a hand. “This is great.”