Stolen Kisses (26 page)

“Tell me something I don’t know. She’s given both Trevor and me a few more gray hairs than we need,” she informed her quickly. “This morning he found her trying to learn how to fly by jumping off the balcony. She told us, and I quote, ‘I don’t need a parachute because my wings are dynamically sound.’”

“Hey, darlin’, have you got a kiss for a needy man?” Trevor easily scaled the porch railing and stole his kiss before he got an answer.

“A hot and sweaty man,” Jessie declared, wrinkling her nose as she smiled up at him. A movement behind her grinning husband quickly distracted her. “Okay, hotshot, turn around and grab your daughter. She’s following your example of avoiding the steps.”

“Whoops.” With practiced reflexes, he swiftly scooped up Darcy, then perched on the railing with his daughter sitting snugly in his lap. “So what horrible plot are you two hatching?”

“Well, I was just about to ask your sister what we should do for your fortieth birthday,” Jessie explained sweetly. “Or would you like us to ask your daddy to plan it?”

“You still haven’t forgiven me for that, have you?”

“For what?” Logan asked as he came around the corner with two beers in his hand.

“My sneaky husband tricked me into marrying him by withholding vital information.” Jessie gave Trevor a look that dared him to contradict her. His salacious grin in answer sent a shiver of delight skating up her spine.

“It wasn’t that important,” he responded before taking a swig from the water-beaded can in his hand.

“I didn’t realize it was going to be then,” she shot back, her eyes gleaming with amusement, answering the promise of his smile with one of her own. Even a mock argument deserved a passionate reconciliation, and her husband always enjoyed proving his point about the sensuality of older women. “I heard you tell Chase that you were going to be as old as Mama pretty soon. He asked me if I was as old as Granner this morning.”

“And a fine-looking woman she is,” Trevor responded hardily, gesturing for the others to join in a toast to the lady. “Now admit you married me because I’m a sexy devil.”

“Daddy’s a silly devil,” Darcy chanted and wiggled to get down, skipping off to join her older brother in the gazebo.

“I think I need to have a talk with my daughter.” Trevor looked thoughtfully after the little girl before casting a suspicious eye at his sister. “You haven’t been coaching her, have you?”

“Be nice, or I won’t babysit for your kids next week end, she shot back.

“What’s this?” His dark eyes took on a speculative gleam as he turned to look at his wife, who was squirming in her seat.

“Why is it, no matter what, I can never surprise the man? He managed to spring an entire wedding on me, but I still haven’t managed one tiny little surprise,” Jessie complained good-naturedly as Tory apologized for her blunder.

“It takes time to learn to be conniving and crafty like the Planchets,” Logan stated firmly in her defense. “You and I have been exposed to the breed for only a short period of time.”

“Very true.” She nodded in agreement, waiting for the expected protests from Tory and Trevor.

“I’ll have you know you stunned me when you told me you were pregnant with Darcy,” her husband related with a grin. “We hadn’t planned on that little dividend. I guess all those rabbits did the trick after all.”

“I guess I deserved that one,” Jessie admitted, but didn’t hesitate to throw an ice cube at her unrepentant husband. He dodged easily out of the way. “I did promise not to tease you about your age if you’d give up rabbit jokes.”

The cry of a baby from inside the house kept Trevor from answering immediately.

“That sounds like little Preston.” Tory got to her feet as she spoke. Linking her arm with her husband, she asked, “Want to come help me feed your son?”

“Don’t mind if I do,” he answered quickly, an amorous smile curving his lips.

As the couple disappeared around the corner of the porch, Trevor slipped into his sister’s place on the swing. Dropping an arm around his wife’s shoulders, he pulled her close to his side, his fingers toying with the strap of her sundress. “Too bad we don’t have the excuse of feeding the baby to slip away.”

“Too true, but somebody’s got to watch the kids until Curtiss and Leeanne get here,” Jessie answered, turning her face up for his kiss.

“That’s the one thing they didn’t put in the baby books—the lack of privacy for the more important things in life,” he stated hoarsely as his lips claimed hers.

“Daddy’s a silly devil,” exclaimed a high-pitched voice from directly in front of them.

“Didn’t Gina say she and Jeff wanted a little girl?” Trevor asked as he reached out to tickle his daughter, a carbon copy of himself.

Jessie’s laughter blended with Darcy’s giggles. “She was talking about having a little sister for David. Besides she turned you down the last time you offered to sell her the kids, the day that Darcy put epoxy in your running shoes, I think.”

“So where are we running away to for my birthday?” he asked after he sent his daughter into the kitchen, where Arnette had taken Miriam and Chase for cookies.

“Damn, I thought you might have forgotten about that.”

“Not if it involves spending time alone with my incredibly sexy wife,” he murmured, returning his attention to the hollow of her neck. “I love my kids, but I have this incredible thing for their mother. I don’t get to have her all to myself very often, and I cherish the moments.”

“Oh, so do I,” Jessie murmured, covering his lips with her own. After almost five years of marriage, she was more in love with Trevor than the day she had married him. The adventure had lasted and only improved with age. Her impulsive, outrageous husband made each day special, and she wouldn’t change a thing about him.

About the Author

Sally Falcon spends her days as a librarian working with library computers stuff and databases. Her “evil twins” are responsible for writing romantic comedies. Sally Falcon uses the contemporary setting and takes advantage of the places that she had lived around the country. Sarah Eagle goes back in time to Regency England. Ms. Eagle has been nominated for Best Regency Comedy by Romantic Times and by the Colorado Romance Writers.

Her love of old movies, travel and history have helped a great deal in creating her stories. Currently she’s exploring the world of mysteries and Steam Punk. She also contributes to the Novelist, Inc. writer’s group monthly newsletter. She has BS in Education from Bowling Green State University and an MLS from University of South Florida.

Look for these titles by Sally Falcon

Now Available:

Southern Hospitality

Coming Soon:

A Forever Man

Remember the Night

In this battle of North vs. South, love is the true winner.

Southern Hospitality

© 2012 Sally Falcon

When Northerner Logan Harrington meets Southerner Tory Planchet, sparks immediately fly. Forced to leave his beloved Boston for the South—Arkansas, no less—Logan has no idea what Tory sees in the place. His assignment to write about the Rally Car circuit is preposterous, and he has no problem letting everyone, including Tory, know it.

As far as Tory’s concerned, Logan Harrington can’t leave town fast enough. From the tip of his blond head, to the bottom of his polished shoes, he screams arrogance. How could her father possibly know his family? And if Logan expected her to be a sweet Southern magnolia blossom, he was sorely mistaken. In fact, with her, he’s going to get a taste of Southern Hospitality he’ll never forget.

Enjoy the following excerpt for
Southern Hospitality

“Logan, you have all the compassion of a rabid dog,” Preston Herrington stated, his weathered face showing his total disgust with the younger man lounging in the chair on the other side of the mahogany desk.

Logan Winchester Herrington, VI, stared impassively through slate-blue eyes at his uncle. The older man stood silhouetted against the fan-shaped window that framed the snowy skyline of Boston, his double fists on the desk top propping up his frail arms.

Both men had inherited the same whipcord-lean build from Logan Winchester Herrington, V, Logan’s grandfather and Preston’s father. Logan, however, was still the epitome of the Herrington male—six-foot, one-hundred-seventy pounds, with his aristocratic features tanned and finely lined from battling the sea for recreation over some thirty-six summers. Preston had looked much the same twenty years ago, before too much alcohol, too many cigarettes, and years of grueling living as a foreign correspondent took their toll. Until recently, the older man could have been dismissed as only mildly dissipated, but in the past two years it was clear his body was wasting away. A virus contracted in a small Argentine village had forced him to retire from field work and take over the helm of the Herrington Publishing Group, whose holdings stretched across the country. Despite his precarious health, Preston’s gray eyes still mirrored the mental vitality that ruled the Herrington empire with an iron will, although his brown hair was liberally streaked with gray while Logan’s was still golden brown.

“You’ve been watching Spencer Tracy movies again, haven’t you?” Logan returned, arching his straight, dark brown brows in question, not bothering to sit up. He remained with his right ankle resting on his left knee and his elbows propped on the arms of his Windsor chair. Bracing his chin against his clasped fingers, he watched his uncle from beneath drowsy eyelids.

“That poor man’s Kennedy drawl won’t get you anywhere this time, my boy. Try to at least act like a human being with blood running through your veins instead of a preppy android.” The sarcastic words seemed to drain the normally affable man of his last reserve of energy, and he lowered himself into the green leather chair behind him. He leaned his gray head back, dragging an unsteady hand through his thinning hair. “I held back when you laid into Hyde-White over his latest articles, and when you didn’t have enough emotion in you to understand Libby Vaughn’s problems during her separation. Today, however, you made me ashamed to call you a relative, much less my heir.”

Logan still didn’t move, although he’d had to suppress the urge to come to the older man’s aid when he sat down. Preston never tolerated anyone drawing attention to his weakness, except his wife, Babs. “You’re referring to Reinman’s request for time off?”

“Yes, time off to spend at the hospital with his family,” Preston answered in confirmation, his anger clear in the rigid lines of his face. “His son is having a kidney transplant. Anyone with the merest hint of feeling wouldn’t have cared that the man was already over extended in time off. Some might even be willing to allow the man the time with pay.”

“We have company policies, and as office manager I’m expected to see that we follow those policies,” Logan replied without moderating his drawl. “You and grandfather created the policies; I simply act upon them.”

“You enforce them with all the finesse of Captain Bligh, even your mother has more diplomacy,” his uncle stated, closing his eyes for a moment. “That is why I have come to a decision that hasn’t been easy. I met with Will Daniels yesterday.”

“What does your personal lawyer have to do with publishing magazines?” For the first time Logan was curious. Preston had become overly sensitive since his illness had been diagnosed as viral hepatitis, which made Logan ignore the comment about his mother. Preston usually didn’t mention his disdain for his younger brother’s widow. The older man’s mood swings worried both his wife and his nephew, although neither spoke of it.

“My lawyer came to draw up what is known as a living codicil,” Preston continued, a smile that was almost a smirk curving his thin mouth.

“A living codicil? Surely, you’re not going to actually threaten me with disinheritance in the hope that I’ll curb my evil ways by use of a questionable legal device?”

“We both know that the old goat, my revered father, left his property tied up in a trust for his heirs, since he didn’t think any of us would amount to a plug nickel, and he didn’t want your mother to have a penny,” his uncle replied, but his strange smile remained in place. “This is a stipulation that must be fulfilled for you to receive the full benefit of the Herrington holdings when I go. You are the last of the line, and I refuse to leave you in control with your present attitude toward life. At best, the doctor says I have five years now that I’ve been receiving proper medical attention for this bug. In that time, I intend to see you develop emotionally before you become a frozen, humorless replica of your mother with no hope for redemption. I blame myself since I should have returned home twenty years ago when your father died, and not waited until I was forced to by illness.”

“What, pray tell, is going to bring about my salvation? Forty hours of Disney movies? Enforced reading of morality tales?” He could stoop to the ridiculous if Preston was going to be melodramatic. Illness had made the older man change his attitudes a great deal, though he’d never approved of his sister-in-law’s preoccupation with social standing and rigid adherence to “proper behavior.” Usually Preston was delivering a running monologue on his misspent youth, or on his regret at not marrying his precious Babs until six years ago, Logan remembered with fondness.