Slow Dancing at Sunrise

by Jo McNally

  Her mouth slanted into a grin. “Aren’t you supposed to be patting me dry?”

  “Oh...yeah...” And damn if his hand didn’t trace another circle on her waist. Her lips parted.

  His hand slid around her back and flattened against her warm, wet skin. He tugged her against him, and she didn’t resist. Her eyes fell to his lips, telling him they were both on the same page. It was a very bad page, filled with very bad ideas. But he had no more control over what happened next than he did over the spinning of the planets. His head dropped, her face turned up to meet him and their lips touched. She made a soft, contented sound from deep in her throat, like she was purring. And Luke lost his mind and kissed her.

  He’d kissed plenty of women. It was the traditional preamble to more...vigorous...activities. Kissing was alright in general, but it had never been Luke’s end goal. It had never stopped him in his tracks and made him think he might want to slow down and spend an hour or two just kissing somebody. Until now. Until Whitney.

  A jolt of electricity shot from his scalp to his toes the moment his lips brushed against hers. Soft. Sweet. Warm. He brushed them again, almost afraid to do more. Whitney took the decision out of his hands, standing up on her toes to press the length of her body against his, pressing her lips firmly on his. He was still trying to understand what was happening when her tongue ran across his mouth.

  Sweet holy gift of God...

  His arms wrapped tight around her, and he growled when her fingers slid through his hair. Determined not to cede complete control, he pushed past her tongue to enter her mouth first. She made a little noise of surrender, and his world went white-hot when their tongues touched. How the hell could a kiss make him feel like this? She finally fought past him to return the pleasure, and the feel of her tongue inside him was nothing short of intoxicating. His fingers tightened on her, and...

  A truck door slammed right outside the barn. He tried to set her away from him, but Whitney was oblivious, murmuring a soft “don’t...” when he lifted his head.

  “Someone’s here.” He slid his mouth along her jaw, as reluctant as she was to stop. He repeated the words near her ear, as much for himself as for her. “Someone’s here.”

  Whitney jumped back once the words sank in, covering her mouth with her hands and looking around. Luke found it a little easier to breathe with some space between them. But he wanted to pull her back. To hell with breathing. To hell with whoever was out there.

  “Who? Where?”

  “Outside. Probably Steve Jenkins. He said he might stop today. He’ll probably head to the vineyard first.” Luke scrubbed his hands down his face. Blood was starting to flow to the places where it belonged. That was a close call. Too close. He never should have kissed her, and he never would have stopped if they hadn’t been interrupted. Her eyes reflected the same realization. She blew out a long breath and moved farther away. He was both relieved and filled with regret at the move. Damn, his brain was twisted—none of this made any sense.

  “Okay. Okay.” Her voice was brisk, as she started patting herself down with the towels again. She carefully avoided looking his way. “I don’t know what that was, but it is not going to happen again.” Was she talking to him or herself?

  He nodded. “Agreed.” She was right, of course. That couldn’t happen again. But acknowledging that left a sharp jab of regret in his chest. He swallowed hard. “Go out the side door and down to the house. I’ll go catch Steve. No one will be the wiser.”

  She gave a jerking nod of her head and turned for the door. He still hadn’t seen her eyes. He needed to know she was okay. He called out her name as she grabbed the doorknob, then waited until she looked reluctantly over her shoulder. Her eyes were clouded. Troubled. Uncertain. He couldn’t let her leave like that. He gave her a sly smile.

  “Just because it can’t happen again doesn’t mean I regret it. That was one hell of a kiss.”

  Her face softened from its panicked state. The corner of her mouth lifted.

  “It really was, wasn’t it?”

  And she was gone.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  A FEW DAYS LATER, a small patch of tiny blisters on her forearm was the only visible result of Whitney’s poison ivy adventure. The chalky pink calamine lotion kept the itching under control. If only there was a magic lotion she could apply to her lips to erase the memory of kissing Luke Rutledge.

  She’d kissed him. He’d kissed her. They’d kissed. Her and Luke. Kissed.

  How the hell had that happened? And now what?

  She glared at her reflection in the bathroom mirror as she jammed her hairbrush through her hair Friday morning. Now nothing. That could not happen again. Not ever. Even if Luke had accurately declared it “one hell of a kiss.”

  The kiss was...amazing. Delicious. Shocking. Indulgent. Riveting. Intoxicating. She’d thought about it nearly nonstop since Wednesday, but she still couldn’t pinpoint how it happened. One minute she’d been somewhere between angry and frantic. Angry that he’d dragged her down the hill and doused her with cold hose water. Frantic because she knew he was right about the poison ivy—she’d have ended up with a rash head to toe if he hadn’t acted. And then, somehow—they were kissing.

  She yanked a white cotton top over her head. Was it the warm water that had mellowed her into letting her guard down? Or maybe the fact that they’d gotten way too close to each other without realizing it? When she’d looked up to see his coffee-colored eyes looking down at her, with his fingers brushing her stomach...was that the moment? She’d probably had the same surprised expression on her face that he did. But the surprise hadn’t stopped them from moving even closer. It hadn’t stopped Luke from lowering his head and briefly touching his lips to hers. It hadn’t stopped her from going on her toes to meet him.

  Who’d have guessed Luke Rutledge could kiss like that? She shoved her feet into a pair of sneakers. Sure, the guy was built like sex-on-a-stick for any woman who might be interested, but Whitney was not interested, not even for a one-night stand. And if his kiss was any indication, a one-night stand would never be enough.

  Giving in to her attraction to the man was not only unprofessional, it was pointless. It’s not like she was staying in Rendezvous Falls. And there were still unanswered questions in the paperwork piled on the dining room table. To be honest, she was having a hard time suspecting Luke anymore, though. He might be a grumpus, but he clearly cared deeply about Helen and worked hard to run this place single-handedly. She stomped her way down the stairs. See? This was why you didn’t get personally involved with someone during an audit. It was clouding her judgment. She needed to stay away from...

  “Good morning, Whitney! Look who decided to join us for breakfast.”

  And there sat the man she’d just vowed to avoid. His eyes raked over her as he raised his coffee to his mouth. That mouth that had kissed her so well. A wave of heat crawled up her neck.

  “Good morning, Whitney.” His voice was morning rough, and it moved across her skin like flames. Oh, damn, she was in trouble. Best to make it clear that nothing had changed between them.

  “Good morning.” She gave Luke a narrow look. “Shouldn’t you be working on getting that siding repaired instead of lounging around eating free food?”

  Helen started to protest, but Luke’s sharp bark of laughter cut her off. He made a point to slather strawberry jam on another slice of toast.

  “So that’s how it’s gonna be, huh? I was actually thinking about finishing the job you started a few days ago, clearing all those weeds. Unless you want to do it?” He bit into the toast with way too much humor in his eyes.

  “Luke!” Helen scolded. “You know those weeds are full of poison ivy and poison oak. She got an awful rash working in there Wednesday. You should spray that stuff with weed killer after breakfast.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry. You got a rash?” One brow arched high, his
voice oh-so-innocent. “You have to be careful with poison ivy, you know. Did you wash it right away?” Fake concern dripped from his words. “I’m sorry I missed it. Must have been when Steve stopped by. That guy is always interrupting something.”

  Helen looked back and forth between them, confused. “Steve Jenkins? What are you talking about—interrupting?”

  Whitney made the mistake of locking eyes with Luke. He was thinking the same thing she was. If that Jenkins guy hadn’t interrupted their kiss, who knew how far they would have gone? And what would that have been like? No. It was a One. Time. Thing. If he thought they had some kind of bond between them now, he was mistaken. She knew how to set him straight, turning back to Helen.

  “Kyle called yesterday, Helen. We’re all set for our date tonight.”

  Her aunt beamed. “That’s wonderful! You’re meeting for dinner, right?”

  Whitney nodded. Luke scowled. Message delivered.

  “Yes, I’m meeting him at the Psychedelic Grape at seven.”

  Luke cleared his throat, standing to put his dishes in the sink. “Dinner at the Grape? Hope you like greasy burgers. I thought you only did coffee dates?”

  He had a point. That was her policy. But Kyle Sanders seemed like such a nice guy when he’d called—even if he did keep bringing up his ex-girlfriend—that she’d agreed to meet him for dinner. To be fair, kissing Luke may have had something to do with it. Maybe she was trying to prove to herself she was so unaffected by their kiss that she’d gladly have dinner with a stranger. She gave Luke a flippant shrug.

  “I never said I only do coffee dates. I’m a free woman, Luke. I do what I please.”

  His mouth curled into a smile as he brushed past her on his way out, popping the last of the toast into his mouth.

  “Yes, I’d say you do.”

  She barely resisted the urge to flip both middle fingers at his back.

  Helen handed Whitney a mug of coffee. “Okay, what am I missing?”

  “Not a thing.” She filled a bowl with cereal and pulled the milk from the refrigerator. “I’m going to work on Evelyn Rosario’s business statements today. I’ll leave the poisonous plants to the hired help.”

  Helen chuckled. “I heard Bridget from the Purple Shamrock might become a client, too. And Vickie said the wine festival committee needs an auditor after the event wraps up. Pretty soon we’ll have to hang a shingle for you.”

  Yeah, and wasn’t that just a kicker? Evie’s mom asked for Whitney’s help with the diner’s books. They were in decent shape, not a mess like Helen’s, so she’d agreed to set up a system for them to track revenue and inventory more easily. Then Mrs. Rosario talked to the woman running the bar Luke worked for, but they’d been playing phone tag so far. It was only filler work while she was in Rendezvous Falls. Nothing long-term.

  “No shingle necessary, Helen. It’s just a few temporary accounting gigs while I’m in town.”

  “Would it be so bad if it wasn’t temporary?”

  Stay in Rendezvous Falls? Was that an option? Sure, she could probably pick up some small jobs. Maybe even do some higher-level consulting via the internet. Of course, that meant never being a partner in a prestigious firm like she’d dreamed of. But maybe owning her own firm would be better. If only she and Luke hadn’t kissed, the decision might be easier. Staying would mean remaining in his orbit permanently. Not a good idea.

  “I’ve already started sending résumés, Helen. My career may be toast in Chicago, but I’ll find a firm that’s more open to female partners. That’s always been my goal, and I don’t see any point in changing it now.”

  Helen turned to face Whitney with her arms folded. “Don’t write off small-town life yet, girl. Life changes. Goals change. Who knows? Tonight might be the night that changes everything.” She winked. “A good man would be a great reason to stay.”

  “A good man?” Whitney scoffed, trying to forget the feeling of being in Luke’s arms. “A man of any kind would be the last thing that would make me want to stay anywhere!”

  “Uh-huh. Easy to say until the right guy comes along.” Helen patted her shoulder as she walked by. “You’ll never know what hit you.”

  Whitney finished her breakfast in silence. That’s how she’d felt when Luke kissed her. Like she didn’t know what had hit her. No way was he the right guy, though. She’d have a nice greasy burger with nice-sounding Kyle tonight, and put all those kissing thoughts straight out of her head.

  * * *

  WHITNEY’S HANDS CLENCHED and unclenched the steering wheel as she drove up back to Helen’s house that night. It was a miracle there wasn’t actual smoke coming from her ears. She was officially done with this blind date business. No more matchmaking from that merry band of conspirators in that so-called book club. She parked the car and slammed the door shut. Mr. Nice Guy stood her up!

  She never should have broken her rule about having a broad daylight coffee date first, but Kyle Sanders had sounded harmless on the phone. And Evie gave him her thumbs-up of approval, so Whitney agreed to meet him at the Psychedelic Grape in town. First, the place was a dive, packed with twenty-somethings dancing to techno-something. Then Kyle sent her a text twenty minutes after the time they were supposed to meet, saying he was still in love with his ex-girlfriend and couldn’t “cheat on her memory.” Perfect.

  She thought the night might be saved when Doug Canfield stepped up and offered to buy her a drink. Doug looked normal enough. He even looked familiar, although she couldn’t remember from where. She’d accepted his offer of a drink. What the hell—she’d put on makeup and was wearing high heels, even if it was with skinny jeans rather than a dress. Why let it go to waste?

  Maybe she could do better at this dating business than that stupid book club. Sadly, she forgot how lousy Foster women were at picking men. It didn’t take long for her to realize Doug was well on his way to being drunk. She didn’t do drunks. She especially didn’t do drunks like Doug who stood much too close and purposely brushed against her breast as he reached over to pay for the drinks. Loser.

  She drank her gin and tonic as quickly as she could, nodding as he told her how close his family was with the Russos. Doug went on and on about how successful his family’s local flooring store was. He definitely wanted to make it clear he was a “big man” in town.

  It wasn’t until she was trying to leave that she remembered why he seemed familiar. This was the same guy Evie warned her away from that first night at the Purple Shamrock. Said he was nothing but trouble. Sure enough, as soon as she said she had to go, he got pushy, pressing her to stay for one more drink, and maybe a dance, and maybe they could find somewhere else to go together. Yeah, right.

  When she’d firmly declined and walked away, the guy had the nerve to wrap his arm around her waist and try to pull her back to the bar. She’d shoved against his chest, hard, and called him some choice names before storming out. A perfect freaking night.

  The sound of crunching gravel interrupted her mental rant. A dark red pickup truck pulled to a perpendicular stop behind her car. Son of a...

  Doug Canfield got out of the passenger door. Some other guy was behind the wheel. Doug held his hands up as soon as he caught Whitney’s furious glare.

  “I know! This looks shitty. I’m sorry. I couldn’t let you leave thinking that I was ‘that guy.’ I’m not some creep. I wanted to apologize and see if we could start over.” He stopped rambling long enough to glance up at the house. “It’s not like I didn’t know where you lived, right? I didn’t follow you, okay? I knew you’d end up here.” His eyes went wide, as if he’d just surprised himself with his own brilliance. “And I was right! Here you are. And I didn’t drive, because you were right, I’ve had a few drinks. So I’m showing responsibility, okay? I asked my buddy Frank to drive. Smart, right?”

  The slight slur to his voice, combined with his nonsensical conversation and slight weav
ing motion, confirmed his level of inebriation. He’d probably had a few shots since she left the bar. Perfect. Handling a handsy drunk in a bar was one thing. She’d had plenty of practice at that in Chicago. But getting this guy and his pal—she didn’t like the idea of being outnumbered—to drive away without disturbing Helen would be a challenge. If she told him to fuck off, he’d get pissed, and possibly create a scene. The fact that Whitney was perfectly justified in saying it didn’t matter. She didn’t want Helen upset.

  “I appreciate the apology, Doug.” She walked toward him, stopping a few safe feet away and giving him her most sincere look. She was skilled at using her neutral “I hear you” expression with clients and coworkers. “And I accept it. Let’s chalk it up to having an off night, okay?”

  He nodded for longer than was really necessary, his head bobbing up and down rapidly. Had he heard her? Did he know where he was? Was he about to face-plant in front of her? He weaved to the side and she reached out to steady him. It was a rookie mistake and she knew better. Doug’s eyes lit up at her touch, and he grabbed her hand. He gave her a sly grin and put on what he probably thought was his sexiest voice. He sounded like a lecherous drunk.

  “We got off to a bad start, but that doesn’t mean we can’t have a great finish.” He tugged on her hand. “Why don’t you hop in the truck and we’ll go back to the bar? You never gave me that dance I asked for.”

  And she never would. Whitney settled her weight back so he wouldn’t be able to budge her. If he let go right now she’d fall on her ass, but no way in hell was she getting anywhere near that open truck door. Frank was showing plenty of interest in what was happening, and no interest at all in stopping Doug.

  Whitney felt her first shiver of apprehension. The guy’s fingers were locked tightly around her wrist now. Her worry about upsetting Helen vanished. She opened her mouth and Doug jerked on her arm, causing her to stumble forward against him. She planted the heel of her hand on his chest and shoved, but he twisted her around and slammed her back against the side of the truck. Shit.