by Sarah Hegger
“Sure it is. You call when you can. The little gifts you send her all the time that tell her you’re thinking about her. She shows them to me.”
“You take care of your family.” The waiting for him to move churned through her tight belly.
“We’re not talking about me.”
“What are we doing?”
His other hand took her beer and placed it in a cup holder. “Not sure about you, but I was getting ready to make my move.”
“You’re taking a long time.”
“Just setting the scene, smoothing the way.” A slight pressure on her nape brought their faces closer. His breath stroked warm and yeasty over her lips. “I forgot to add something to your list of finer qualities.”
“What’s that?” He had a beautiful mouth, the top lip fine and clearly etched, the bottom plumper and made for sinking your teeth into. “You’re so hot, you make me ache.”
Oh dear Lord, aching like she was? Not possible. His mouth brushed hers. Soft, seeking. Pippa increased the pressure, opening her mouth beneath his.
With a groan, he cupped the side of her jaw with his free hand and angled her head, taking the kiss deeper. His tongue brushed into her mouth, firm and demanding.
Heat shot straight between her legs at the silky glide of his tongue against hers. She tasted the slight tang of beer and male musk. Shit, she’d almost forgotten how great a man tasted. He exploded through her senses, nipples tight, moisture flooding her core. Raging, unsatisfied, and, yes, aching need. Her breasts swelled, between her legs a pulse pounded to get closer. She fisted her hands in his shirt and held on.
Her knee hit the gearshift but she kept on going. He had what she needed wrapped in denim and cotton and she was getting close to it. Her ankle banged against the driver’s door, but she got it around him. Tucked her legs in between hard bits of plastic and metal and Matt. All of Matt, hot and hard beneath her thighs.
Her core grazed his erection. Her sweatpants thin enough to feel how hard he was beneath his jeans. Shit, she did this to him. And he made her so wet it was nearly embarrassing. If she could give a crap about anything else, but his mouth, his tongue, his hands fisted in her hair. The steering wheel pressed her tight to him, hard at her back. Matt even harder at her front.
His hands slid beneath her shirt, rough and warm on her back, his fingers digging into her skin and letting her know she did it for him, too.
The horn blared and Pippa leaped. Teeth scraped, and she nipped his lip, hard enough to bring the salty copper of blood to her tongue. “Shit.” Her breath came out in pants that mingled with his in the tiny space between them. “Sorry.”
“Totally worth it.” His tongue darted out and licked away the tiny spot of blood. “Pippa Turner, you were well worth waiting for.”
A warning bell tolled in her mind, but very softly. “Don’t get all sappy on me, Meat.”
“God forbid.” He nipped her bottom lip. “You’re too stuck up for that.”
She laughed. “Yeah, but I’m not easy. Second base and no further.”
He frowned and hummed as if in thought. “Okay. For the sake of clarity though, what exactly is second base?”
“Nothing under my clothes.” Pippa needed to slow this down. Kissing Matt could get out of control too fast, and she liked this. She could handle this much.
He cupped her breasts and she gasped as the heat shot through her. “So this is okay?”
“Uh-huh.” It came out as a breathy moan as he brushed her nipples with his thumbs.
“I can work with this.” His mouth slanted over hers in another drugging kiss.
Chapter Nine
Pippa woke up feeling like one of those mattress commercials where the girl opens her eyes, sits up, and stretches with a great sappy smile on her face. That girl was her, and the sappy smile froze on her face. What the hell did she think she was doing?
She hadn’t been thinking at all when she’d gone to sleep with the taste of Matt still on her lips. So horny her body had been alive in places she didn’t know she had. They’d made out like crazy kids until her lips chapped and she ached from pressing into him. Then, Matt had helped her clamber back over the gearshift and brought her home. He’d walked her to the door and stayed for one more blistering kiss on the porch. She’d floated up the stairs like Cinderella.
But that was last night, and the good feeling was dissipating faster than the drops of condensation on her window. She couldn’t get involved with Matt. Matt was Mister Small Town, Mister Family Guy—in as much as he took care of his mother and siblings. And she was out of here as soon as she could get her life back on track. Relationships weren’t part of her future, and certainly not the sort of connection a guy like Matt would be looking for.
There was a damn good reason they’d danced around each other for all these years. There wasn’t any future in it, and never could be. What if he developed feelings for her? That would make her the worst kind of bitch, to use him to get her mojo back and then blow him off. For the first time in twelve years, she didn’t know exactly where she was going next. The future terrified her, looming like a black, amorphous blob of what-the-hell. Building a career took the kind of time and energy that didn’t include a sexy man with a load of responsibilities. Rebuilding that career might take even more out of her. God, was it worth it? To start all over again?
Of course it was! Pippa St. Amor was making her comeback, and that meant flying solo. That’s how she rolled. Ending up like her mother, bitter and angry at a man who’d walked out on her, wasn’t in the plan. She liked Matt a whole hell of a lot too much to do that. She liked him a whole hell of a lot too much, period.
Her planner sat beside her bed and she grabbed it. This was her life. Time to get this train back on the tracks. She needed a refresher on her life goals or she could end up spending the rest of her life in Ghost Falls.
Twelve years in television had to count for something. She had pages and pages of contacts. People who owed her, people who said all she had to do was call. Time to find out who her real buddies were. She checked the time in LA. Shit, she’d slept late. LA was already bustling. She grabbed a quick bath and pulled on a pair of dress pants and a cashmere sweater. She took the time to do her makeup and her hair. This was Pippa St. Amor and she was back.
Downstairs, Phi bustled around the kitchen, doing something heinous to bread and eggs. Cooking was never Phi’s thing, which made it damn lucky she had June to keep her fed and alive. It didn’t stop Phi from experimenting, however, and trying to rewrite the laws of cuisine all on her own.
“What is that?” Pippa peered over Phi’s shoulder at the smoldering lump of blackened bread.
“Italian toast.” Phi prodded the mess with the edge of her spatula.
“Italian toast?”
“Yes, I used olive oil instead of butter and I mixed some pasta sauce in with the eggs. Like French toast, only Italian.”
At least she’d gotten over her fetish with Thai fish oil. In theory, the Italian toast didn’t sound so bad. “How much olive oil?”
“About a bottle. I thought I could use more, being as it’s healthier for you.”
And there you had it, the problem in a nutshell. “Why don’t I make us some eggs?”
“Good idea.” Phi grinned at her. She settled her banana yellow self at the table and folded her hands in front of her. “So, how was your date?”
“It was nice. I like him.” Pippa whisked the remaining eggs and got the toast started.
“But?”
She moved the destroyed pan to the sink. June was an old hand at dealing with Phi on a culinary tear. “Phi, you know how I feel about getting involved.”
“Because of your ridiculous father.”
“Because my career is more important.”
Phi blew a raspberry and cut the air with her hand. “Did Matt ask you to get involved with him?”
“No.” He totally hadn’t. Matt had been as into making out as her, but he’d never even sai
d the obligatory “I’ll call you” at the door.
“Maybe he only wants sex.” Other people might think it strange to have these sorts of conversations with their grandmother. They wouldn’t if they had Phi for a grandmother.
“Matt is not that type.”
Phi made another rude noise. “He is so that type. Do you think he’s not married because the other women in this town are blind and stupid?”
No, and hadn’t she had that exact thought? “Are you saying he’s a player?”
“No.” Phi pursed her vermillion, sparkly lips. Where the hell had she got that lip thing she was wearing? “Matt takes care of Matt, and he’s no dummy about doing it.”
Pippa turned back to her eggs. The dummy here was cooking eggs. She’d all but talked herself into a gentle scene where she let Matt go. At least her ego wasn’t completely broken. “So you think I should carry on seeing him? In a casual sort of way.”
“I think you should have a conversation with him. Underneath all that outrageous hotness is a brain and a man capable of using it.”
“You make a good point.”
“Of course I do.” Phi tossed her head, nearly unseating her turban. “When you’ve had as many men as I have, you learn a thing or two.”
“Don’t want to hear it, Phi.” Pippa kept her eyes on her eggs. Phi would tell her, as well. In great, gory, and skin-crawling detail.
“You’re such a prude, but you make good eggs. Now where’s my breakfast?”
June came in as they were finishing up. She looked at the pan in the sink and rolled her eyes. “You don’t pay me enough for this shit.”
“Of course I do, you silly old cow.” Phi poured herself more coffee and got settled in for her morning gossip with June.
Pippa took herself into the library. What would be called an office or study in anybody else’s home was Phi’s library. God, Matt must have sweated and sworn getting all those wooden bookcases in, and that silly little windy stair with all the curved bannisters. Just turned nineteen, his dad recently died and Matt had built this house for Phi. Phi could have chosen any contractor she wanted, even brought one in from a bigger city. Typical Phi, she’d chosen Matt, and tossed him the rope he so desperately needed. He said she loved her grandmother, and he was right. How could you not?
Damn, she needed to call her mother and make a time to go and see her.
Emily answered on the first ring. “Hello, Pippa.”
“Hi, Mom. When can I come and see you?”
“I was expecting a call yesterday.” Emily paused, left it hanging in the air for a moment. “I kept this afternoon free in case you did.”
“So, this afternoon then?”
“Yes, I can make that work.”
“Great, I’ll see you then.” Okay, hardest call of the day over. The rest, the favor-begging ones, would be a cinch.
Hours later, Pippa got ready to go and see her mom. She dressed carefully, feeling all the while like she was being called into the principal’s office. To say Emily had rigid standards would be like saying Genghis Khan needed anger management. Even as she put on the right sort of blouse, Pippa wondered why the hell she bothered. It’s not like she’d ever managed to gain her mother’s approval. Something Laura seemed to get right without even trying.
The show debacle was bound to come up, and she still had no solution. She’d made over fifty phone calls. Got voice mail or an assistant every single time. It got more depressing the further she went down her list. Apparently, years in the business didn’t count for much. She’d made the list with her most likely people to give her a hand at the top. One by one she’d gone through them. Of course, they might call back. Slim as it was, she clung to that hope. Twelve years had taught her this; they always took the calls they wanted to take.
Time to quit stalling and go and see Emily.
June was vacuuming when she got downstairs. “You going out?”
“Yes, I’m going to see my mother.”
June pulled a face, never Emily’s biggest fan. “Diva is upstairs, I’ll let her know if she asks where you are.”
June had one of those faces that had looked old at forty, and faded over the years since then. Not so much lined as careworn, the corners of her mouth turned down and etched into permanent lines of disappointment. June’s brown eyes carried a world of secrets and life. She’d also been Phi’s housekeeper since her early retirement almost twenty years ago.
“June, can I ask you something?”
“You can ask.” June made a business of shutting down the machine and standing straight.
Not the touchy-feely type was their June, but you could always get the truth as she saw it out of her, whether you wanted it or not. “Have you noticed Phi getting forgetful?”
June snorted, and moved a chair out of her vacuuming path. “The Diva does things her way, wouldn’t notice if she was. Why?”
“It was just something Nate said the other day.”
“Our hot sheriff? What’s his business with Phi? Has Bets been making trouble again?” June crossed her arms over her skinny chest and thrust her chin out. “I’ve a good mind to go over there and set her straight.”
“It’s just that some of Phi’s things have disappeared.”
June’s eyes narrowed. “I’ve worked in this house for eighteen years, and I’ve never taken so much as a cup of coffee I didn’t ask for.”
Pippa stepped back from the vehemence on June’s face. The fact that June routinely helped herself to the pantry and both she and Phi pretended it didn’t happen was neither here nor there. Pippa hadn’t meant to get her back up. “I wasn’t suggesting you did.” She gave June her most conciliatory smile. “I spoke to the sheriff about it and he said Phi sometimes wanders off.”
“Is that all?” June got her vacuum hose in her hand again. “That old girl couldn’t find her way out this house some days, but that ain’t new. Every time I’m here she’s lost something or can’t find her way somewhere. It’s Philomene.” June tapped the vacuum into life with her foot. Clearly, they were done with the conversation.
“But anything out of the ordinary you’ve noticed?” Pippa had to yell over the roar of the vacuum.
“Seriously?” June bellowed back. “You want me to tell you if anything is different? In this house?” And she was off, pounding the vacuum against the baseboards. June cleaned well, if not gently.
* * *
Pippa groaned as she pulled her rental up beside Laura’s minivan. She should have known her mother would invite Laura. Ever efficient, Emily never let an opportunity to kill two birds with one stone pass her by. The house looked great, like it always did. A neat two-story ranch house with green gutters marching in precision across its eaves. The yard could have been vacuumed by June on a rampage. Not a stick or leaf out of place, and all the flowers neatly contained to their beds. After the sperm donor’s disappearing act, Emily had redecorated any sign of his existence out of the house.
Pippa walked up the central path to the porch. Pansies bordered the walk, one blue, one white, one blue one . . . what? Oops, was that a pink one? Nope, trick of the light, white and as it should be.
Two beautiful carved rockers flanked the porch on either side of the door. Throw on the left one, perfectly coordinated with the scatter pillows on the right, tonal but not matching, a tasteful sense of balance between them. Even if the placement would mean yelling the length of the porch to have a conversation with the person on the other side. Pippa had inherited her sense of style from her mother. She adored Phi, but restraint did not even enter the Diva’s lexicon, not in any aspect of her life.
Pippa rapped the fox-head brass knocker, central and conveniently placed at eye level.
Her mother opened the door. “Pippa.”
A lovely smile split Emily’s face. A brief moment of being glad to see her that Pippa grabbed on to. Her mother drew her into a light floral-scented hug and kissed both her cheeks. She set Pippa away from her, green eyes cataloging every fe
ature. “You look tired.”
“It’s been a difficult time.”
Her mother loved her, Pippa knew that; it was sometimes hard to keep that in mind when Emily got judgmental or did the perfect thing.
Emily cupped her cheek. Silk and roses and Mom. “I’m sure it has. Come on in, tea is ready and I need to be at the Women’s Auxiliary by five.”
And that love often came sandwiched between Library Committee and Rotary Club.
“Hello, Pippa.” Laura sat on a sand linen sofa, reigning over a tea tray of fine china. Emily had been baking. Vanilla-scented air teased Pippa’s taste buds.
“Hi, Laura. How are you?”
“Well, and you?”
“Fine, thank you. Sam and Daisy good? And Ian?”
“Everyone is fine, thank you. Do you still take your tea black?”
“Yes, no sugar.”
“Isn’t this nice.” Emily took her seat on a coordinating floral armchair. Faded cabbage roses gave a pop of color against a background echoing the sand of the couch. “All of us together.”
Pippa hunted for a topic not guaranteed to light the smoldering fuse. “Is the sofa new?”
“I told you she would notice.” Emily accepted her cup from Laura and laid the linen napkin across her knees. “I had it reupholstered. I liked the old shape but the fabric was so dated.”
“I suppose it’s her job to notice things like that.” Laura sipped her tea. “Or, at least, it was her job.” First blood to Laura. A rapier thrust straight to the heart. “What is happening with your job?”
Emily dabbed carefully around her lips, not smudging her discreet lip color.
“I don’t have it anymore.” Pippa took a cookie and bit into it. Almond, vanilla, and sugar exploded across her tongue. “These are wonderful.”
“Yes.” Emily sipped and dabbed. “But wickedly fattening. I tend to stay away from them.”
“Well, it’s not like I have to worry about the camera adding pounds for the moment.” Pippa got it in before Laura could take another cut at her.
“I have been thinking about that.” Emily laid her cup on the table and waved Laura and the teapot off. “Perhaps if you wrote a letter to the media and explained what happened?”
