The Cottage on Pumpkin and Vine (6 page)

Grace lowered her gaze, stared at the bent and broken fingers and loose batteries. “Monster hands?” she repeated.

“You should've seen them crawl.” He sounded proud. “Straight across the hardwood, right to you.”

“They were . . . unexpected.”

“Scared you, didn't they?” Her answer seemed important to him.

“Maybe . . . a little.”

“A lot, Grace.” He grinned then. “You jumped a foot off the ground. Came down hard on those fingers.”

“Where did you get them?” She couldn't imagine him shopping for anything Halloween.

“The Thirsty Raven. Someone tricked Dakota last night. She got me tonight, and I came after you.”

“Lucky me.” They were pretty cool. She only wished she'd seen them in action, and hadn't freaked out. Too late now. She inhaled deeply, asked, “Do I smell French fries?”

“Fries and a burger. I figured if you were still working, you might be hungry.”

“You guessed right.” She nodded toward the sunroom, which was free of decorations. “Join me?”

“If you want company.”

“I do.”

She sat on a short wicker sofa, and he joined her. Their shoulders brushed. Their hips bumped. Their thighs aligned. He heightened her awareness. Stimulated her senses. Made her smile.

She liked to cook, and didn't eat takeout often. The loaded burger was the best she'd ever tasted. The fries were farmer cut, thick and crisp. She ate with gusto. Not until she was almost finished did she look up to find Cade watching her.

She wiped her mouth with a paper napkin. Closed the lid on the container. Set it aside. “I really packed it away.”

“Work hard, eat hearty.”

She had. She leaned back, patted her stomach, and sighed. “I'm so full.”

“How full?” He settled his hand over hers on her belly.

“Gut-busting.” The waistband on her slacks pulled tight.

His palm centered over her navel. He stretched his fingers. Touching her hip bone. Stroking high on her thigh, then back toward her sex. She tensed. She liked having him touch her, but not here, at her godmother's bed-and-breakfast.

He kept things light by saying, “You know what those monster hands were meant for?”

She was too distracted by the pressure of his palm to answer. She shook her head. She didn't have a clue.

“Touching, squeezing . . . tickling.”

He ran his hand along her side; his fingers prodded lightly, causing her to twitch. Her skin was sensitive. She was crazy ticklish. “Cade . . . no,” she pleaded, serious, until a giggle escaped.

He grinned, deviously slow. He'd gotten the reaction he sought, and went with it. Both hands now joined in the tickle torture. He soon had her wiggling, squirming, and biting her tongue to control her laughter. She didn't want Amelia or the guests to hear her. To find her and Cade in the sunroom in a compromising position.

How had she gotten on his lap? She sat sideways. Her shoulder leaned against his chest. Her bottom sat square on his groin. He was fully aroused. One of his hands ducked under her sweater, his thumb flicked her nipple through her demi-bra. Her legs were spread. His fingers on her inner thigh no longer tickled, they stroked. Sensually slow. The tip of one reached her sex. She was hot for him.

Control. She drew herself up, swallowed, and met his gaze, jet-dark and dilated. Hot. His skin pulled tight over his prominent cheekbones. His breathing was rough. He wanted her. She wanted him. Unfortunately now was not the time. There'd be no sneaking a quickie on the wicker sofa at Rose Cottage. Uncomfortable, crossed her mind. The idea of getting caught scared her off his thighs. He squeezed her shoulder when she settled back beside him. Then worked his hands into his jean pockets and made a discreet adjustment.

“You get to me, Grace,” he admitted, his voice husky.

He got to her, as well. She ran her fingers through her hair, mussed from his tickling and her struggle to get free. She next straightened her sweater. Her breasts felt tender. She secured the top button on her slacks. Her stomach softened. Every place he'd touched her still tingled.

“Come home with me,” he tempted her.

She might have agreed, had the decorating been complete. But the sunroom still awaited its own scarecrow, witch, and goblin. She planned to set up a sound system to play scary music. A background of wailing ghosts and cackling witches would add to the mood.

“Come to Amelia's party with me,” she said without thinking, and immediately wished she could take back her words. She knew how he felt about Halloween. He'd made it perfectly clear.

He leaned forward, rested his elbows on his knees, and steepled his fingers beneath his chin. “You're still pushing me, long after I've passed on the party. Halloween is you, not me, Grace. Accept it.”

She could, and she couldn't. She believed with all her heart if he attended, he'd have fun. She would make sure he did. She'd seen his hands in the crystal ball, of that she was certain. They were symbolic of his place in her life. He'd helped her get ready for the party. Had brought her a burger and fries. He'd tickled her senseless. A part of her wanted to apologize and hold his hand forever. But stubbornness had her saying, “Nothing wrong with compromise.”

His jaw clenched as he slowly stood. “Nothing wrong with live and let live.”

Stalemate. She exhaled, deflated, too tired to argue with him further. “We're done here.”

“What about our contract? I still owe you a day's work.”

“Consider it honored.”

His gaze hardened, his tone turned flat. “If that's the way you want it.”

“That's the way it needs to be.” She couldn't face him tomorrow, knowing he wouldn't participate in the party. No matter how much it meant to her. Her heart, soul, and party-planning skills went into Halloween. That's who she was.

She let him go. “See you around.”

“Around.”

She listened to his footsteps walking away.

She heard the door open and
click
closed.

The silence in the sunroom had her realizing how alone she was at that moment. And how much she already missed Cade.

Chapter 5

C
ade and his cousins picked up an odd job the next morning. One not scheduled. They moved a newly married couple from an apartment to their first home. It took them only four hours. He had the afternoon free. Free to do what? He had choices. He could stop by the senior center, pick up a game of horseshoes with the Benson brothers. Lose ten dollars. Play cards. Win it back. Drywall needed to be delivered to Build a Future, the construction site for single parent housing.

But when was the last time he'd done something for himself? He thought about working out, going to a movie, stopping to visit his brother. Nothing replaced Grace. She was foremost on his mind. He couldn't shake her. He'd tried.

One way or another, he needed to see her again. She meant more to him than his dislike of Halloween. Maybe it was time to man up. He could make things right by wearing a costume and attending the party. His presence would make Grace happy. Wasn't that his ultimate goal? Her happiness.

He always had an out, he told himself. Should the party get to him, he could hang with Archibald and Dooley in Amelia's suite. The cats wouldn't mind. The Maine coon was wily and wise. He might find it amusing that Cade had compromised.

His mind made up, he felt an immediate need to see Grace. The feeling hit him hard, hounding him to find her. But where? He hopped in his truck, and cruised by Rose Cottage. The inn looked amazing, all lit up and spooky on this overcast afternoon. Adult guests had already gathered on the cobblestone sidewalk. They were costumed, chatting with each other, claiming their place in line. Cowgirl Kayla hitched her giddy-up to the porch railing. She was ready and waiting for early trick-or-treaters with a smile and trays of marshmallow ghosts.

Cade craned his neck and scanned the cars in the side lot. No sign of Grace's minivan. He circled the block and headed downtown. He drove by her shop. Her vehicle was parked in the alley. He drew in behind her, climbed out, and strode around to the front door.

The long window shade was pulled down. The C
LOSED
sign faced out. A slim space along one side of the shade allowed him to peer in. The shop lights were dim. No activity, until a slender shadow on the wall shifted and came toward him. Cheryl cracked the door, eyed him. “Costumes are all rented,” she said. “Can I help you otherwise?”

“I'm looking for Grace.”

“Is she expecting you?” He sensed that she was stalling him.

Did he need an appointment? “I only need a minute.”

She hesitantly moved aside, and let him enter. She was dressed as a flapper, with red boa and swinging fringe. Her expression was serious. “Keep it short. Grace hasn't been herself today. She's running late. Charm her, don't harm her.”

He would never hurt Grace. He had, however, disappointed her, he knew. He was there to smooth things over. To make amends.

“I'm leaving.” Cheryl had one foot out the door. “Lock up behind me.”

Cade set the dead bolt. Spooky and pretend had long since left the store. He stood alone, amid a graveyard of empty racks and cleared shelves. A splash of light snuck beneath a dressing room door. He heard a groan. A shuffle. A bump. A heavy sigh.

“Uh, too tight.”

He walked toward the back, stopping outside the dressing room. The door was cracked a fraction. He rested a shoulder against the wall, and glanced inside. Grace as Catwoman blew his mind. A feline fantasy.

The three-way mirror tripled his pleasure. He viewed her from every angle. Hot, sleek, fierce. The lady could fight Batman in her skintight black leather catsuit and come out the winner.

After a moment she scrunched her nose, slapped her palms against her thighs. Stuck out her tongue at her reflection in the mirrors. He saw what had her so frustrated. Sympathized with her disappointment. Her costume didn't fit. The front zipper hadn't fully cleared her cleavage, which was deep and visible. She wore no bra. She gave a little hop, and her breasts bounced. Full and plump. He felt a tug at his groin. Superhero lust.

He cleared his throat and made his presence known. She caught his image in the corner of the glass, and reached for the fitting room chair, positioning it between them.

Like that would keep him from her. He should've looked away, but couldn't. He sensed her embarrassment. Her panic. Flight? She had nowhere to go. He blocked the door. He wasn't leaving until they'd talked.

“Archibald's going to love your costume,” he initiated.

She didn't find him funny. Her gaze narrowed behind the molded cat-eye mask with attached ears. Her fingers clenched in her elbow-length gloves. Inspired by the movie
The Dark Knight,
she'd added a whip and a gun holster. Her thigh-high stiletto boots were killer, adding five inches to her height. Her image would stick with him forever.

She backed against the center mirror, and nervously fingered the open flaps over her breasts. A yank on the zipper broke the tab. The metal teeth parted, and the gap widened, revealing the round inner curves of her breasts. A hint of her nipples. Dusky pink. All the way down to the dent of her navel.

Her mouth pinched. He thought she might hiss. Possibly sharpen her claws on him. “What are you doing here?” came out softer than he'd expected.

“I came to see you.”

“You're seeing a lot of me.”

That he was. “Need help?” he offered. He wouldn't mind touching her.

She flattened one palm over the opening in the costume, and shook her head in defeat. Her color heightened. “I rented out the medium size an hour ago, and thought I could squeeze into the small. I can't, and it's all your fault,” she blamed him. “I ate that burger and fries last night, and I'm still bloated. I'm one big gap.”

He liked her gap. He had a solution. “If you can't get the zipper up, I can help you take it down.”

Silence collected in the dressing room. The mirrors reflected her uncertainty. She breathed in. He breathed out. The air had that quiet-before-the-storm quality. Expectancy, awareness. The swell of the inevitable.

“I'm naked underneath.”

“Commando here, too.”

One corner of her mouth tipped up. “Something else we have in common.”

He moved toward her, stepped around the chair. Closing in, he finger-traced her cleavage. She didn't flinch or cringe, which encouraged him to say, “I'll take off my shirt, so you don't feel alone when I peel down your top.”

“Once our tops are off?”

“We work our way down.”

“Down . . .”

“No surprises. You had my big reveal under the table at Amelia's during lunch. Thanks to Archie.”

Grace had gotten an eyeful. She was ready for a second look. She needed to clear the air first. “I've been thinking, and have come to a decision. I won't push Halloween on you ever again. You have every right to avoid the night.”

“Too late. I've changed my mind. I'll go to Amelia's party. I'll even wear a costume. Preferably a T-shirt.”

“That's a one-eighty.”

“Relationships require compromise.”

“We're in a relationship?” she echoed his words.

“Let's see how the sex goes, then we'll decide.”

“I haven't had a lot of partners.” She felt he should know.

“You're not perfect in bed?”

“I'm sure you're good enough for both of us.”

“Bet on it, babe.” He laughed.

He hooked his fingers in the hem of his T-shirt, tugged it over his head. His hair fell over his brow. His lean cheekbones slashed to his jaw. His mouth was sexy. The three-way mirrors picked up his muscular physique, added depth and definition. Power. He was his own superhero.

Off came her mask, the better to see him. Her skin was warm, and the catsuit stuck to her. He inched the leather over her shoulders and down her arms, exposing her breasts and belly. She flipped back her hair, baring her neck. Astonishment etched his features.

“You have a cat tat.” He sounded incredulous.

“A henna tattoo for Halloween.”

“Catwoman,” he said. “I saw the tattoo in the crystal ball.”

“I saw your hands.”

“Was I touching you?”

“Not then, but feel free now.”

He did. Hunger glittered in his eyes. Desire flared his nostrils. He went down on one knee, helped her out of her boots. Her socks. He stood again, heel-toed his tennis shoes. Kicked them aside.

Her catsuit came next. One minute the leather hung off her hips, the next, it wrapped her ankles. Cade's jeans disappeared as quickly. But not before he snagged a condom from his wallet, stripped the foil packet, and sheathed himself. They faced each other naked. Anticipation played between them, a sexual tease.

“Sit or stand?” he asked.

“I'll straddle you.”

He positioned the chair, and sat. She slipped onto his lap, as if she was meant to sit there.

Breast to chest.

Thigh to thigh.

Sex to sex.

Every part of their bodies sought its counterpart.

Arousal brought his mouth down on hers, and he kissed her with a thoroughness and intensity that stole all breath and thought. His tongue thrust between her lips, tasted and seduced. She kissed him back, giving, taking, craving him.

He touched her, all over. Her shoulders and breasts. He circled her nipple, then her navel with his forefinger. Sensations overtook her. She squirmed, dug her nails into his shoulder. Her breath bathed his neck, his chest.

More kissing. More touching. More moans.

He embraced her and drank in her soft sighs.

She fanned out her fingers, ran them up and down his back, feeling the flex and flow of his muscles. The man was built. Her legs tightened around him. He felt good wedged between her thighs. Primal intimacy.

Hot, heavy, their breathing came together.

As did their bodies.

He cupped her bottom, angled her to accept him. She was wet, slick, when he entered her. They caught their reflection in the mirrors. His penetration, the roll of his hips, the rocking of their bodies, their building climax. Their raw need. Triple sexual.

Time went away and she began to unravel. Her orgasm stretched to the breaking point. She moaned. Stiffened. Shattered.

He came a second after her. His release of breath was rough, rushed. His expression going from pain to pleasure.

Spent and satisfied, he held her with the possessiveness of a forever lover. There was no doubt this was the beginning of a relationship like none they'd ever known. His chin rested on the top of her head. Her cheek pressed his chest. She listened as his heartbeat slowed. Steady and comforting.

“We're going to be late for the party,” Cade finally commented, his voice low, not wanting to disturb their closeness.

“Very late.”

“Our costumes?”

She tipped back her head, affectionately nipped his bottom lip before saying, “I rented out everything but a few T-shirts. You can choose between orange shirts designed with either
I Don't Do Costumes, Now Step Aside, You're Standing on My Invisible Dog,
or
If One Door Closes and Another One Opens, Start Worrying, 'Cause Your House Is Probably Haunted.
”

“That's it?”

She pursed her lips. “There is one more. . . .”

“I'll wear it.”

“Only if you're absolutely sure.”

“I'm sure.”

Halloweener
was the most remembered costume at the party.