Yours to Keep (16 page)

His cousin walked away before Sean could tell him he wasn’t going soft. The fact he didn’t want to see the woman he was and wasn’t pretending to have sex with wrapped around a tree didn’t mean he was going soft. It just meant…

It just meant he might be
starting
to get a little soft and he needed to get the hell out of there the second Cat’s departing flight started its taxi down the runway.

The fruit punch was horrible, the fake disco light looked more like a police light bar and the folding metal chairs were hell on old hips, but Cat was having one of the best nights of her life in the high school gymnasium.

Frank Sinatra crooned from the speakers, her head rested on Russell’s chest and his arms wrapped around her as they swayed to the music. Neither of them were particularly snazzy dancers, but they didn’t care. It was nice just to dance again.

As the song came to an end, Cat leaned back so she could smile and thank him and suggest they sit for a few minutes, but she could tell he was thinking about kissing her. His gaze flicked to her mouth several times and the butterflies in her stomach panicked.

She hadn’t kissed any man but John in…for goodness’ sake, it had been forty-six years. That didn’t seem right to her, but she’d been nineteen when she fell in love with John Shaw and married him six months later. She hadn’t been kissed by another man in almost half a century.

And she could see the hesitation in Russell’s eyes, too. He was thinking of his wife and Cat thought maybe he hadn’t kissed anybody but Flo in a long, long time.

“Do you want some more punch?” she asked, hoping to take the pressure off the moment.

He laughed. “I don’t ever want more of that punch. I could use a little fresh air, though.”

He didn’t take her hand as they went through the propped-open gymnasium doors into the cool summer night, but Cat tried not to be bothered by it. While it had been fourteen years since she’d lost her husband, for Russell it had only been six. Maybe when push came to shove, he just wasn’t ready to face a new relationship.

They walked across the grass to the small copse of trees in the high school’s courtyard, where granite benches sat honoring the graduates who’d lost their lives serving in the military over the decades. Surprisingly, the benches were unoccupied and Russell finally took her hand as he pulled her down to sit beside him on one.

“I enjoy your company so much, Cat,” he said quietly, and she heard the
but
coming from a mile away. “I just…I’m not sure what we’re doing here.”

“Enjoying each other’s company?”

“That we are.” He turned his head to smile at her and his gaze fixed on her mouth again. “I’m afraid if I kiss you, I might cry.”

She squeezed his hand, though not as hard as his words squeezed her heart. “I might cry, too, but I’d rather cry because I feel something and not just because I’m lonely and feeling sorry for myself.”

“Maybe I should do it, then, and stop trying to count how many years it’s been since I kissed a woman besides my wife.”

Cat tilted her face up and closed her eyes as Russell cupped the back of her head in his hand and kissed her.

She tried not to compare his mouth to John’s—Russell’s lips were softer and yet more aggressive—but eventually everything and everybody except the man touching her fell away. And, as his tongue brushed hers, the dormant feelings of desire and anticipation fluttered to life.

When he reluctantly broke away—or so it seemed to Cat—there were no tears. Maybe deep down there might have been a few bittersweet pangs of sorrow, but the avalanche of renewed and wonderful feelings had buried them
way
down deep.

He looked her straight in the eye, his face softening as he smiled. “It’s been about half a minute since I kissed anybody but you, Catherine Shaw.”

And for the second time in her life, Cat thought maybe she’d found a man worth keeping.

Sean watched Emma fumbling with her keys in the darkness. Having left earlier in the day, nobody had thought to turn the outside light on. “I can’t believe Gram’s out this late.”

“We’ve got the house all to ourselves. Maybe after I run that hot bubblebath for you, I’ll help you wash your back.”

“As filthy as I am, I’m going to have to make do with the shower or I’ll leave two inches of mud in the bottom of the tub.”

“We should conserve water and shower together,” he said as he followed her into the house.

“Gee, I couldn’t do that. I’m a
nice girl,
remember?”

He groaned and bent forward to untie his filthy boots. “There was nothing in your owner’s manual warning about your unnaturally good lip-reading ability.”

“But then I wouldn’t know you think I’m a nice girl,
but
…”

He wasn’t even sure what he was in trouble for. “I was trying to make him see the difference between him and his wife and you and me. I didn’t mean anything by it.”

“Relax,” she said with an impish gleam in her eyes. “I swear, it’s so easy to push your buttons.”

“You have a really twisted sense of humor.”

But he forgave her when she unzipped her jeans and wriggled out of them right there in the hall. She probably didn’t want to track trail dust all through the house, so he’d do the same. But he’d watch her first, since he wasn’t one to pass up a striptease by a beautiful woman.

She turned and walked toward the kitchen with her T-shirt still on, though, so he sighed and resigned himself to just admiring her legs. Her bruised legs, he noticed. She had an egg-sized bruise on the outside of one thigh, along with a few smaller ones. He kicked off his jeans and yanked his T-shirt over his head so he could follow her.

“You took a good whack to the thigh,” he pointed out while she filled a couple of frosted mugs with water.

She twisted around so she could see the bruises. “Yeah. It’s a little tender to the touch, but nothing major.”

“You should let me check the rest of you over.” She gave him a cold glass of water and an arched eyebrow. “For bruises, I mean, though you do look sexy as hell with a dirty face, wearing nothing but a T-shirt.”

Putting a hand on her hip, which drew the hem of her T-shirt up a tantalizing half inch, she scowled at him. “When I made you my fake fiancé, I had no idea you had this weird dirty-face fetish.”

“I didn’t have it before I became your fake fiancé.” He took a long drink of water. “And it’s not a fetish. I told you, it turns me on that you work hard and you play hard. The dirt’s just a visual representation of that, I guess.”

“That’s very deep of you.”

“Plus it means you’ll be showering soon and I like you all soaped up and slippery, too.”

A slow flush burned up her neck. “Dirty. Clean. Doesn’t matter to you, does it?”

He was going to tell her no, it didn’t matter—that he’d take her any way he could get her—but he kept his mouth shut. It was true, of course, but nothing good would come of her knowing that. She didn’t need to know that sometimes when they were curled up on the couch watching television or arguing about white versus wheat bread at the store, he would sometimes forget they were pretending to be a couple.

And she
really
didn’t need to know it sometimes bummed him out when he remembered.

That was bad. Sure, he enjoyed her company—and he sure as hell enjoyed the sex—but in just a week, he’d be leaving. He’d be free to explore the wheres and whats of the rest of his life, as he’d planned to do before being waylaid by Emma’s crazy scheme. He hadn’t had his freedom back long enough to give it up again, especially to a woman who drove him nuts. He wasn’t going to spend the rest of his life deadheading daisies and reading flowcharts on the proper order of household chores.

Emma walked past him, stripping off her T-shirt and giving him a
come hither
look over her shoulder.

On the other hand…

Two of them in the shower made for a tight fit, but Sean didn’t mind. The more of her skin touching his, the better. They did a quick lather and rinse to get the trail grime off and then Sean took his time, soaping her body inch by inch. He found a few more smatterings of bruises, especially near her right shoulder blade, though none as pronounced as the one on her thigh.

He kissed the ones he could reach standing up and noted the others for later. She winced a little when he carefully cleaned around the scrape on her arm and he kissed her mouth until that little gasp of pain became a moan of pleasure.

When the water started running cold, they dried off and brushed their teeth. She nudged him out of the way so she could spit and the moment hit him like a sucker punch to the gut.

It was so…domestic. They were acting like a married couple. Or like a couple who’d been living together and would be getting married in the near future. And didn’t that just confuse the hell out of him, because that’s what they were supposed to be. But not really.

He followed her to bed, his mind reeling as she tucked herself against him like she did every night. Like she belonged there. And he pulled her even a little closer because he did every night.

“Penny for your thoughts,” she whispered.

“I’m beat. Haven’t ridden in a long time, especially like that.”

Her hand stroked his chest. “Starting things in the shower you can’t follow through on, soldier?”

“The last thing your body needs right now is more action.”

She sighed, still stroking his chest. “I don’t know if I’ll be able to sleep.”

He rolled toward her a little so he could cup her breast. “I know a great cure for that.”

“I thought you were beat.”

“I am.” And he wasn’t so sure about being
fully
involved with her while still processing the domestic moment in the bathroom. “And you don’t need any more rough-housing, but I know a little trick to take care of that.”

As he spoke, he slid his hand down her stomach and between her legs. His own body heated up along with hers, but he willed his libido into submission. She had bruises in enough places so he wasn’t going to go groping at her.

Instead he stroked, watching as her eyelids fluttered closed and her teeth bit into her bottom lip. Her breath quickened as her hips moved against his hand and she whispered his name. Then she opened her eyes and stared into his with such intensity he kissed her just so she’d close them again. He wasn’t sure what she’d see.

She moaned into his mouth as she found release and then he wrapped her in his embrace and she sighed in happy contentment.

He shouldn’t hold her, he told himself. He should pat her on the ass, roll over and go to sleep. Instead he nuzzled her hair and closed his eyes. Maybe tomorrow night he’d work on putting some distance between them.

Emma pulled the covers over her face, mentally bargaining with her subconscious. If she could have another hour of sleep, she wouldn’t hit Snooze for a whole work week. Or at least not on Monday.

When Sean climbed onto the bed and stretched out next to her, though, she gave up and rolled over. And…
ouch.
There was that hit-by-a-Mack-truck feeling she’d been waiting for.

She opened her eyes, and then frowned. “Why are you dressed?”

“Because I got up and got dressed so I could find some coffee, but I changed my mind and I’m coming back to bed.”

“Fully dressed?”

“Yes. No shoes, though.”

It was too early to follow along with his crazy bouncing ball of logic. “Did Gram put a pot of coffee on yet?”

He groaned and threw his arm over his eyes. “Not exactly.”

“What is
wrong
with you this morning?”

“I just ran into your grandmother. She was sneaking into the house…in the same dress she wore last night.”

“What?” Emma sat up, aches and pains forgotten. “You caught Gram doing the walk of shame?”

“Yes, and it was awkward and now I’m going back to bed.”

She pushed his arm off his face. “What did she say?”

“She said good morning and told me she was going to take a quick shower and then start breakfast.”

“And what did you say?”

“I muttered something about taking her time and then ran like a girl.”

Emma flopped back onto her pillow and stared at the ceiling. “Wow.”

“I probably should have broken it to you better, but I’m not sure how I could have.”

She didn’t know what to say.
Go Gram,
a part of her was thinking, but another part wanted to hide under the covers with Sean and not deal with the fact her grandmother was currently taking a shower after doing the walk of shame. That was obviously the same side of himself Sean was currently listening to.

“We have to go down eventually,” she said. “I need coffee. And food.”

“I’ll wait here. Bring some back.”

She laughed and slapped his thigh. “If I can face her, so can you. She’s not
your
grandmother.”

“It was awkward.”

“I’m sure it’s awkward for her, knowing we’re having sex, but she’s an adult about it.”

That just made him cover his face with his arm again. “That’s different.”

“Why? Because she’s sixty-five?”

“No. Because, as you just said, she’s a grandmother.
Your
grandmother.”

“Come on. We’ll go down together.” She slid out of bed and walked toward the bathroom. “Stop making it such a big deal.”

Gram was still in the shower when they went past the bathroom on their way down the hall. They could tell because she was whistling a very cheery tune that made Sean wince.

Emma grabbed his arm and tugged him toward the stairs. “Coffee.”

They got a pot going and sat at the table in silence until enough had brewed to sneak two cups from it. Emma put the kettle on and dropped a tea bag into Gram’s mug.

The woman of the hour appeared just as it whistled, looking refreshed and cheerful. “Good morning.”

“Morning,” they both mumbled.

“Thank you for making my—what happened to your arm?”

Emma looked down at the angry-looking scrape and then tucked her arm behind her back. “I took a little spill yesterday, that’s all.”

“I told you to be careful.”

“I was. There was a chipmunk.”

Gram cast an accusing glare at Sean and he held up his hands. “Hey, don’t look at me. You’ve been in the truck with her. You know how she drives.”

“Yes, my husband taught her to drive, unfortunately.” Emma saw the fleeting shadow cross her face. “I was thinking omelets today. Maybe broccoli and cheese?”

Sean’s head slumped over his coffee cup and Emma knew she had to say something…without telling her grandmother she’d fed her own fiancé a food he hated her first night home. “Um…how about mushrooms instead?”

Gram rummaged in the fridge. “I don’t see any mushrooms. We still have broccoli, though.”

“Sean only eats broccoli once in a while, like for special occasions,” Emma said in a rush. “He loves it, but it…it makes him gassy.”

Since Gram still had her head over the crisper drawer, Sean was free to give her a
what the hell
look and she gave him an apologetic smile. After three weeks of living a lie—or two different lies—she should have been better at thinking on her feet.

“We can’t have that,” Gram said. “We still have some leftover ham. How do ham-and-cheese omelets sound?”

“That sounds wonderful,” Sean said, still glaring at Emma.

She set the table while Gram cooked, and then refilled the coffee cups. At this rate, they’d need the caffeine.

“So, Sean,” Gram said, dropping diced ham into the pan, “how do you like this old house?”

He looked startled by the question. “It’s a nice house. Big and homey.”

“Lots of room for children.”

Emma barely managed to swallow her coffee before it went down the wrong pipe. “Gram. We’re not ready to have kids yet.”

“No, but you will soon, I’m sure. We’ll have to get the calendar out after breakfast and start looking at possible wedding dates.”

Sean shifted in his seat and Emma put her hand on his knee so he wouldn’t be tempted to go back to bed again. “We haven’t even figured out if we want summer or winter. There’s no rush.”

“Don’t you want to get married in the garden? You always did.”

Emma shot a desperately pleading look at Sean and he cleared his throat. “If we get married in the winter, we can honeymoon at my family’s lodge and…snowmobile and stuff.”

“You can do that any winter,” Gram insisted. “But it’s up to you two, of course.”

She used the spatula to cut the omelet and slid pieces onto their waiting plates. Emma wasn’t surprised when Sean wolfed his down and then excused himself before disappearing like a superhero blur.

Since the women were eating at a normal pace, Emma was left with her grandmother. “Did you have a nice time? At the dance, I mean?”

Gram smiled at her plate. “I had a lovely time at the dance. And after the dance, as well.”

“Oh. I’m happy for you. Really.”

“Don’t go making more of it than it is. We’re just enjoying each other’s company for a little while. I’ll be going home at the end of the week, so…like I said, we’re just enjoying each other’s company.”

That sounded familiar, Emma thought, moving egg and cheese and ham bits around on her plate. Just temporarily keeping each other’s feet warm, as the case may be.

They talked about inane things while they cleaned up and then Emma went in search of Sean. When she didn’t find him downstairs, she went up to their room, but he wasn’t there, either. There was, however, a sticky note on the mirror.

Gassy? Payback’s a bitch, honey.

She laughed and dropped the note into the bottom drawer with the others she’d collected. They amused her too much to throw away and sometimes she’d pull one out and reread it. But that made her feel like some kind of lovesick teenager, so she closed the drawer and continued the search.

When she looked out the living room window, she finally found him. He was sitting in one of the rockers, his head back and eyes closed. Probably looking for a short reprieve from the craziness she’d dragged him into, so she dropped the curtain and left him alone.