Trouble When You Walked In (Contemporary Romance) (21 page)

But he rocked at kissing. And other things. “Sure, you can have a personal life,” she said, “but not when you’re technically representing our town.”

“Okay,” he said, “so no
sex
”—did he have to put such emphasis on the word?—“when I’m on duty.”

“Right.”

“Guess what? I’m mayor twenty-four seven, three hundred sixty-five days a year. I think as long as I choose a time where I’m not using the taxpayers’ money—and I’m discreet—I can have sex any damned time I want.”

She just looked out the window. He was getting riled up, and inside she was, too, in a very bad-girl way. How many people had she ever had such a conversation with?

None. Zip. Nada.

“Do you think the constituents really need me at three in the morning?” he went on, his voice getting lower, silkier.

“No. But you shouldn’t tease your opponent like that.”

“Wait a minute. You started it in the gazebo. You said you were thinking about me with no clothes on.”

“You forced it out of me.” What was wrong with her? She wanted to have sex with him at three o’clock in the morning in the gazebo! That’s what he’d whispered in her ear, but in a much more interesting way, with luscious details that had made her whole body strain toward him in her zebra-striped jacket.

She should be all over him now, kissing his neck while he was driving. Why was she acting so defensive and uninterested? “And here’s the other thing,” she said.

“Yes?”

“It’s cold at three in the morning. And the gazebo floor looks
hard
.” Sabotaging herself once again. She really did have some sort of hang-up.

He laughed. “I promise you, you won’t feel the cold. Or the floor.”

She rested her jaw on her fist, leaned against the window, and stared outside at the passing woods, catching glimpses of faraway mountains between the branches and leaves. Sand formed behind her eyes.

She needed to stop this.

“The truth is”—it was like speaking with a bunch of rocks in her throat—“I’d love to make love with you inside the gazebo. Even if it’s cold. And the floor’s hard. That’s why I brought it up again. I-I just don’t know how to say things right.”

Shoot. She sounded so
stupid
. And formal. Her heart was beating so hard, she thought she might run out of breath and die.

He was silent. She dropped her fist and looked straight ahead.

The truck’s engine whined as the steep incline got steeper.

“I’d love it, too,” he said quietly. “And I always know exactly what you’re trying to say. Even when you don’t say it that way.”

“You do?”

“Uh-huh. Since our very first conversation in the library. I even know what you want to say when you don’t speak. It’s why I let you have the shiny red ATV today and I took the ugly brown one.”

“Really? I never said—”

“Exactly. But you wanted it. You were gonna die if you didn’t get it.”

“That’s true.” She couldn’t help but laugh.

Feeling a shock of warmth, she looked down to see his hand laid over hers on her lap. It was the most amazing feeling. Her fingers unfolded of their own volition and grasped his.

But there was no time to wonder what was happening because the entrance leading to his house was in front of them, and Boone needed his hand back to hold the wheel while he unrolled the window with the other and pressed a button to open the wrought-iron gate.

Whew. Good thing that little moment of intimacy was over. She wasn’t quite sure she was ready for that. She’d been on her own so long. A neophyte was what she was—at relationships with guys. At her advanced age, too.

Maybe she’d buried her nose in a book more often than she’d realized.

Real life was here.

And she was scared.

*   *   *

Boone knew he shouldn’t have grabbed Cissie’s hand like that. It wasn’t that he wasn’t a gentleman. He paid attention to the women he slept with. He was thoughtful. He’d held many a woman’s hand before.

But never like that.

Never so protectively.

Never so tenderly.

There was an awkward silence between them while he navigated the driveway. And then he shut down the engine in front of the house instead of pulling into the side garage. “Here we are. We’ve got a couple hours. Hungry?”

He’d reverted to proper host.

“Yes. Very.” A patch of red crept up her neck. She opened her door and paused. “I’m going to run up and shower first. Then maybe we can meet in the kitchen.”

“Sounds good.” He was rattled by that hand thing. Best to slow things down. They still had a TV crew to face tonight anyway.

He watched her butt while she went up the front steps, locked into wanting her despite his best intentions. Keys in hand, he caught up with her to open the door. But the massive oak slab swung open when she turned the knob.

The television was on. Savory aromas came from the kitchen. A slow-burning anger tightened his jaw. “Mom? Dad?”

“In here, son!” called his mother from the media room.

He exchanged a look with Cissie. Her eyes were guarded.

“Sorry,” he muttered.

“No, no. It’s fine.” She tried to smile. “I’ll say a quick hello and go on up.”

“Great.”

It sucked to have parents who didn’t respect boundaries, who basically thought they
owned
you.

It was his fault. He’d felt sorry for them. He’d enabled them. Up until now, he’d been able to work around the problem, but not anymore.

He’d tell them right now.

Go. Go home
.

He rounded the corner with Cissie. She could say hi, and then when she left, he’d kick them out.

“Oh.
My
.” Janelle stood next to his dad. “Look at you two!”

She looked the part of wealthy, cosmopolitan girlfriend off to watch a polo match or something equally highbrow. His mother and father were smiling their fake country club smiles.

Boone threw his keys on a low cocktail table. “Hello,” he said abruptly, disgusted by the whole dynamic and mad at himself for not coming right out and saying so.

But the old-fashioned boy in him would not allow his parents to be humiliated in front of outsiders. When he talked to them in private, yes, he’d be blunt. But he’d also try to inflict as little pain on them as possible.

How he’d accomplish both things—putting them in their proper place, and not hurting them deeply—he had no idea. But it was something he could no longer avoid acting upon.

“We wanted to have a nice supper ready for you.” His mother had retreated to her cool tone, which she employed with him when she was hurt or disappointed. “Janelle’s going to tell us about her upcoming golfing trip to Bermuda, and we want to hear about your adventure with
Morning Coffee
.”

“It’s not over yet.” He sent a steely look his father’s way. “Hi, Dad.”

“Son.” His chin was set at a stubborn angle.

Oh, yes, Frank was definitely glad Janelle was there as a buffer. He knew damned well Boone didn’t want them around.

“Janelle.” Boone greeted her with a neutral expression.

He refused to say he was glad to see them. In Southern talk, that was tantamount to being seriously rebuffed, but did any of them actually hear him?

No.

“You’ve had quite a day, it appears.” His dad rocked back on his tasseled Italian loafers.

“We’ve been on pins and needles waiting for some deets,” Janelle chimed in as if she were a member of the family. Her pouty lips parted in a pearly white smile.

“It was long, and it’s not over,” he said. “We need to shower and get to The Log Cabin. They want us to hear some bluegrass.” He wouldn’t say they had a whole couple of hours before then.

Cissie stood slightly behind him, to his right. He wished she’d take a step forward.

“What time do you need to get back?” asked his shrewd mother. “The casserole will be ready in forty-five minutes.”

He should lie, but they probably already knew. He could see Janelle or his dad prying the information out of someone on the
Morning Coffee
crew left behind in town. “We need to leave here by eight. The band’s not playing until ten. But it takes a while, apparently, to make the place, and probably us, camera ready.”

“Sounds fun,” said Janelle in a fake cheerful tone. She was obviously annoyed he was the mayor getting so much attention—not her. And he had no doubt she was jealous of Cissie. “Maybe I’ll go,” she added as if she’d just now thought of it.

“That’s your prerogative,” Boone said. Again, damning words for anyone truly interested in listening. But Janelle was not one of those people. She had her agenda, and she was going for it.

“I’m heading up for a shower.” Cissie was the only quiet, sincere one in the room.

The rest of them—including him—were playing a big game.

“I’m heading to the shower, too,” he said. “And it’s going to be a long one.”

“We’ll be waiting.” His mother was as unyielding as his father.

When Boone turned around to go, Cissie was already gone, slipped out like a shadow. Who could blame her?

He had a brief vision of her stripping down and washing all those mud flecks off her body. And then he had a dastardly, brilliant idea. “Mom, why don’t you all watch
Jeopardy!
with Janelle and compete against one another while I’m in the shower. You know that DVD you gave me for Christmas?”

“Great idea!” Becky Lee clasped her hands together.

A flicker of total horror crossed Janelle’s face.

“You can answer,” said his dad to Janelle, “but only if you put it in the form of a question. Or it won’t count.”

“I see.” Janelle’s smile had a tinge of sulk in it.

“I’ll keep score,” said Becky Lee.

Boone had to fight not to chuckle. Janelle deserved to be slightly tortured for being so presumptuous as to show up uninvited with his parents.

He checked off the first part of his idea.

Now on to the second.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

She didn’t belong here, Cissie thought as she ascended the wide staircase at Boone’s house, her thigh and butt muscles sore from the ATV, her back a little strained from the raft. She didn’t belong with these people. They were all polished and perfect, and their interests were different from hers: country club parties, fancy shoes that probably cost a month’s salary, and golfing trips to Bermuda.

And not one of them ever came to the library.

She had nothing in common with them.

She peeled off her muddy shirt and shimmied out of her jeans, which were soaked in ditch water and snug on her skin. She knew she didn’t belong, so why was she so wrapped around the axle about Boone? Was it just because he was good-looking and sexy?

No. If that were all she cared about, she wouldn’t be feeling so miserable now. Her heart actually ached.

She turned on the shower, stuck her palm under the needles of water, and waited for it to warm. The problem, as she saw it, was that she’d built him up in her mind all these years to be something like her romance-novel heroes.

That was it. She’d set herself up for a big fall. That was why her heart was sore.

The water heated almost immediately, and she stepped inside the vast space. At home she had to turn around in her shower with her elbows drawn in. Here, jets sprayed at her from everywhere. And there was a stone bench—not some measly little alcove in the wall, but an entire lounging area at one end where she put her shampoo, conditioner, razors, and loofah. She sat there every night to shave her legs.

Such luxury.

She could easily get used to it.

She soaped up her loofah and got busy. She wished she could scrub away all the vague insecurities she had around people like Janelle and Boone’s parents. By the age of thirty-two, she should feel confident in her intelligence, her talent as a librarian. She should be proud that she was a loyal friend, daughter, and granddaughter.

Yet it didn’t seem enough just a few minutes ago in Boone’s media room.

She closed her eyes, let the spray hit her face hard.

Life was moving on. She had to stop second-guessing herself. She needed to grab it—

The door to the bathroom opened.

“It’s just me,” a male voice said softly.

She froze. A whisper of hope penetrated her gloomy thoughts.

Boone stood right outside the shower’s glass enclosure. “Sorry about my parents and Janelle. Can I come in?”

Billows of steam rose around her. She blinked several times, kind of laughed and cried all at once, then swallowed it right back down.

He waited.

She cracked the glass door. It was funny that she didn’t feel insecure being naked around him, considering all her other issues. But she didn’t. She wanted him to see her.

To touch her.

He kept his eyes on her face, which was the only part of her not shielded by the glass door. Instantly, their lips locked, and he kissed her as if she were his last hope. She kissed him back the same way, their tongues colliding, playing, exploring—

Things were already so hot between them, what would happen when she opened the glass door and let him in?

It was inevitable.

“Come on in,” she whispered, and crooked her finger to make double sure that this vision of masculinity understood—

She wanted him.

He was already naked, a towel from his own bathroom wrapped around his waist. He let it drop, she held the door wide, and next thing their two bodies met inside the shower space, beneath the spray, and his hardened length thrust up against her belly. The water beat down like a million teasing fingers—
Hey, you two, don’t think you won’t be caught
—which was thrilling in its own way. Cissie’s small breasts, crushed against Boone’s slick chest, ached with pleasure. He held her tight between hard, muscular arms, and his mouth sought and found—ravished—hers over and over.

Finally, air must be had.

“How did you get up here?” The water might not totally drown out her voice, so she kept it low.

He looked amazing dripping wet. “Easy. The back stairs.”

“Really?” She grinned. “I was hoping it would be harder to get to me than that.”