Swearing beneath his breath, he pushed the fantasy aside and focused on the headlights cutting through the darkness beyond the windshield. As the winding mountain roads gave way to the gentler slopes leading into town, he glanced over at the woman beside him. “Debbie?”
No response.
“Look, I know you’re angry, but you have to understand...” His voice trailed off, at a loss to explain something he couldn’t figure out for himself.
The silence from the other side of the SUV continued, and he leaned forward for a closer look. Okay, so she wasn’t pissed off and ignoring him. She was sound asleep.
Drew sighed and dropped his head back. Great. Just great.
He didn’t want to leave her alone like this, but he couldn’t stay if he took her back to her place. Debbie lived in the apartment above the bakery right on Main Street. Someone was bound to notice his truck parked outside her shop all night.
That made his place the better choice, though he doubted Debbie would think so.
Drew lived just outside of town. The Craftsman-style homes in his neighborhood would be hitting the century mark soon, but all were well cared for with nicely maintained yards. Columns and pillars bracketed wide porches marked with front swings and whiskey barrels and hanging pots filled with mums and pansies and petunias.
He’d rented the house for the past several years, liking the consistency of knowing the people who lived around him in the established neighborhood, but he’d always known it was temporary. His dream home had existed in his mind for years, and before long it would be a reality.
Debbie hadn’t stirred by the time he’d parked in the driveway and circled around to open the passenger door. The dome light glowed from behind her, illuminating her blond hair and giving her an almost angelic halo. He smiled wryly when he thought of how she might take that comparison. Why she wanted to make a break with the person she was and try to be someone else, he didn’t know. Not when she was already perfect.
God, she was pretty. Her dark eyelashes fanned against her cheeks and, even without her bold and sassy smile, he could see the faint hint of the dimple that flashed every time she laughed. The smell of her sweet and spicy perfume tempted him to lean closer, to find the exact spot of ivory skin she’d touched with the scent. Whatever lipstick she’d had on earlier that night had worn away, leaving her mouth a natural pink he hadn’t been able to resist.
How was it that he’d known her all her life without really knowing her at all?
She stirred suddenly as if roused by his stare—or maybe even by his earthshaking thoughts—and blinked those bright blue eyes at him. “Wake up, Sleeping Beauty,” he murmured.
“Drew— What—” Her gaze focused over his shoulder. “What are we doing here?” She sat up straight, and he could see the moment all that wine went to her head. Her eyes closed again, her face paled and her throat moved as she swallowed hard.
“Are you gonna be sick?”
“If I am, you might want to step back.”
Drew laughed even as he leaned closer to unhook her seat belt. She needed someone to look after her, and that was a role he felt comfortable with—even if the idea of Debbie sleeping under his roof did send a pulse of heat through his veins. “Come on. I’m not leaving you alone like this, and I’ve got a Pirelli family secret recipe, thanks to Sam, guaranteed to take away the worst of a hangover.”
He helped her inside, figuring he could judge how poorly she was feeling by her total lack of resistance. It struck him then that Debbie had never been to his place even though she was a common fixture at family gatherings at his parents’ house. Now wasn’t exactly the time for a tour, not that there was much to see. The living room, with its man-cave style furnishings of oversize recliners and couch, well-worn coffee tables and wall-mounted flat-screen TV, branched off into hallways on either side. One led to the master bedroom, the other to the secondary bedrooms and guest bath.
He guided Debbie through the arched doorway to his tiny dining room. She sank into the chair he pulled out for her and sat with her head in his hands. A short peninsula countertop separated the dining nook from the rest of the kitchen, so he could easily keep an eye on her as he proceeded to fix what really amounted to watered-down hot tea mixed with some lemon and honey. The drink was ready within minutes and he carried it over to her.
She looked miserable, a far different girl from the one who’d tied his guts into knots as she laughed and flirted through the night. A very small part of him was enjoying her discomfort as payback for what she’d put him through, but at least now it was over. Certainly after tonight, she’d have learned her lesson and this would be the end of her ridiculous search for some stranger to come along and sweep her off her feet.
“Careful. It’s hot,” he said as he set the mug in front of her.
Okay, that warning at least earned him a glare, but she did blow on the surface of the steaming liquid before taking a sip. “Hmm, this is good. Thanks.”
“You’re welcome,” he said as he leaned back against the counter. “As soon as you finish that, I’ll get you some more comfortable clothes to change into, and you can crash in the guest room.”
“You really don’t have to do all this, you know.” She lifted her chin to a stubborn angle even as she laced her fingers around the warm mug—like holding on with both hands would somehow keep her steady. “I’ve been taking care of myself for a long time.”
And she’d taken care of her mother for many years before she’d been on her own. A pinprick of guilt stabbed him. Despite his earlier thoughts, Debbie deserved to go out and have a good time. Why did it bother him so much that she wanted to? She was perfectly capable of taking care of herself. That independent streak was something she had in common with Angie. But unlike with his last girlfriend, Drew was having a hard time fighting his own protective instincts.
“I know. Your mother would be proud of you.”
Looking up from the mug of tea, her eyes widened—big and blue and beautiful. Drew felt a moment’s panic when they started to fill with tears. Debbie never cried. Or at least, not that he’d ever seen—except that one time.
Nearly the whole town had turned out for her mother’s funeral, and everyone who attended had taken the time to speak to Debbie and offer their condolences. Drew wasn’t sure what had made him slip away from the crowd or why he’d gone to the bakery later that evening. But he’d taken one look at Debbie’s face and the tears she was trying so hard to hide and pulled her into his arms.
They’d never talked about that day, but he had to wonder if she could see the memory reflected in his gaze. She blinked her eyes quickly as she pushed away from the table, her movements slow and careful. “Drew...”
She reached out toward him, and time seemed to stand still. He was caught in the moment, spellbound by the intimate silence of the late night. It was as though he was standing on the brink of two worlds. The one he knew where he and Debbie always had been and always would be friends and a new, uncertain world where anything—anything—could happen. His blood heated at the possibilities, and when she touched him, placing her hand against his chest, he felt as though she’d given him a violent shove. One that had him teetering on the edge of crossing that line between friendship and so much more....
She whispered his name again, the longing in the single word grabbing hold of a need inside of him and refusing to let go. He reached up, cupping her face in his hands, and his thumb brushed against a tear. Damp and salty between his rough, calloused skin and the softness of Debbie’s. Her eyes still had a watery cast, and he was taken back once more to the day of the funeral. A day when he’d wrapped Debbie in his arms to comfort her.
There’d been nothing sexual about it—one friend offering comfort to another.
But that wouldn’t be the case tonight. If he crossed that line, it may never be the case again....
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Reining in the desire raging through him took every ounce of the self-control that had deserted him earlier. Kissing her without thinking his actions through had been a mistake he wouldn’t repeat. He wouldn’t let himself rush into this. Not when Debbie might regret the decision in the light of day. She talked a tough game, but her guard was down right now, revealing a vulnerability her bright smile and smart mouth normally disguised.
Touching his lips against her forehead when he wanted the taste, the texture, the temptation of her mouth beneath his more than he wanted his next breath, he pulled away. Her pale eyebrows pulled together, her confusion a contrast to the flush of arousal coloring her cheeks and painting her parted lips. “Drew, what—”
“Time for bed, princess. I’ll go get those clothes.” He hurried from the kitchen, half expecting to feel the ceramic mug crash against the back of his head. The patronizing nickname might have taken things too far, but he needed to find his footing and the familiar teasing brought him back to solid ground. And he wasn’t moving from there until he’d given serious thought to the direction he was heading.
* * *
Debbie squinted against the early-morning sunlight and fought the urge to hide under the covers and sleep for a few more hours. Rolling to her side, her head spun in protest. Ugh, make that a few more days.
She tried to swallow, but her throat was so dry her tongue felt like sandpaper against the roof of her mouth. Oh, she was never going to drink again. Pushing aside the covers, she slipped out of Drew’s bed. Okay, technically it was his guest bed, and you’d think if she was going to suffer the physical effects of too much alcohol that she’d at least have the mental relief of not recalling everything that happened the night before. But no, there it was—the memory rearing its ugly, embarrassing head...
Lifting a hand to touch his chest.... Seeing the look in his eyes and foolishly thinking he wanted to kiss her as badly as she wanted to him to.... The way she’d practically begged him to....
And then the touch of his lips against her forehead before he shooed her off to bed like she’d been an eight-year-old guest at one of Sophia’s slumber parties.
Heat burned in her cheeks. How was she ever going to face him again?
It’s never too late to leave town, she thought grimly.
But one thing was for sure, she decided as she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror above the dresser. Her blond hair had turned corkscrew wild from all the tossing and turning the night before, and what was left of her makeup was smeared beneath her bloodshot eyes. And she was wearing his clothes—the dark blue, sinfully soft T-shirt and black drawstring shorts he’d left for her outside the bathroom where she’d taken refuge after humiliating herself in the kitchen.
She was not facing him like this.
Cracking the bedroom door, she listened for a moment. She didn’t hear any sounds from the rest of the house. Biting her bottom lip, she stepped out into the hall. If she could make her escape while Drew was still sleeping, she could save at least the tiniest bit of her pride. Yes, that would mean doing the walk of shame through town to get back home since her car was still in The High Tide parking lot, but she couldn’t think of anyone she’d rather see less at that moment than Drew. And, of course, it wasn’t a real walk of shame since that expression was reserved for slipping away the morning after sleeping with someone and she hadn’t slept with Drew...which made the whole thing...that...much...worse.
Mentally calling herself and Drew every name she could think of and longing to be in the bakery where she could bang cookie sheets and baking pans as loud as possible, she tiptoed into the bathroom where she’d left her clothes and purse the night before. She eased the door closed behind her, careful not to make even the slightest sound, then hurriedly glanced around for her things. The neatly folded pile sitting on the vanity caught her eye, and Debbie swallowed. In her best moments, she didn’t fold her clothes once she’d already worn them. She certainly wouldn’t have done so on a night where she was hungover and humiliated.
Reaching out, she touched the cashmere, her heart skipping a beat when she thought of Drew running his work-roughened hands over the soft fabric. But then she remembered he hadn’t wanted to run his hands over her and she tossed the borrowed clothes aside and jerked the sweater on with far less care than the delicate material deserved.
It took some doing, but thanks to the tiny brush, compact and mini tube of lipstick she carried in her purse, she managed to look halfway decent. Now she just needed her shoes. She had a vague recollection of slipping them off as she sat at the kitchen table. Pressing her feet flat against the cool tile had been a relief after standing around in heels all night.
Another peek through the doorway confirmed Drew was nowhere in sight, and she literally tiptoed down the hall and into the kitchen. Yes! Spotting one of her beige heels beneath the table, she ducked underneath to pick it up. She was glancing around for its mate when she heard Drew’s voice coming from outside.
For a split second, she froze. Good Lord, who was he talking to? She’d thought he was still sleeping, but that was definitely his voice coming from the porch. In the next moment, she heard the front door open and sprang into action. Scrambling backward, she tried standing too soon and cracked her head on the underside of the table. Her eyes stung at the sharp pain, but she ignored it as she glanced around wildly one more time for her missing shoe.
Drew spoke again, but she was in too much of a panic to pay attention to the words. There was no way she could slip by and hide out in one of the bedrooms, so she took the only escape route available.
Holding tight to her lone shoe, she ducked out the back door and onto the porch overlooking the backyard. Her pulse was pounding in her ears even as she tried to hear what was going on inside. She’d probably been fooling herself when she thought she would walk home in the early-morning mist, and she couldn’t even pretend like she’d be able to make the trek barefoot. She heard Drew’s voice again, and this time the words penetrated.
“Hey, Debbie?”
Her heart slammed against her chest. What was he thinking? Didn’t he know what anyone would assume after finding her at his house first thing in the morning? She didn’t have time to formulate any kind of excuse before the back door opened, and Drew was gazing at her in confusion from the doorway.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
“What am I doing? What are you doing?” she demanded, her voice a harsh whisper. “Why would you bring someone into the house? What if they figure out that I’m here?”
His expression cleared, a slight smile tilting his lips. “Oh, she already figured that out. She’s got a really good sense of smell.”
Smell? The absurdity of the conversation made Debbie question whether or not this was real. Maybe she was still asleep in her bed at home, and none of this had ever happened.
Drew stuck his head back inside the door and called out, “Come here, Rain!”
A second later, a black streak of fur darted out in a beeline for Debbie’s bare toes. This was who Drew had been talking to? Relief and reaction to the puppy’s sheer cuteness soon had a wry smile tugging at her lips. The exuberant licking tickled, and she tried not to do some ridiculous dance to escape the puppy’s quick-moving tongue. She’d already made a big enough fool of herself in front of Drew this morning. Never mind her humiliating behavior the night before.
Focusing on the dog was much easier than focusing on the man standing in front of her, looking good enough to eat in faded jeans and a red sweatshirt. The early morning breeze had ruffled his dark hair and brought out a ruddiness in his cheeks. His dark eyes sparkled, and he looked awake and energized. Unlike Debbie who felt tired and rumpled and, yes, hungover.
“Dog-sitting?” she asked as she bent down to rub the puppy’s silky ears. Rain gave up on Debbie’s toes and jumped on her back legs, trying to reach her
face with that warm, darting tongue.
“Nope,” he said. “This one’s all mine.”
“Really?” Debbie asked as she glanced up.
She knew Darcy had taken in a stray a few months ago, unaware the dog was about to give birth. She’d called Nick, the local vet, and that had been the start of their relationship. The last Debbie had heard, Maddie, Nick’s daughter, had been pushing to keep the mama dog and the four puppies, much to Nick and Darcy’s dismay.
“Kara and Sam took one of the boys for Timmy,” Drew said, referring to Sam’s recently found four-year-old son who also happened to be Kara’s nephew. “A friend of Maddie’s took the other girl. I think Maddie’s going to get her way, though, and they’ll end up keeping the last boy. Unless you’re interested?”
“Oh, no, not me!” Debbie straightened abruptly as if she expected him to try to foist the other puppy on her right that minute.
“Why not? You clearly like dogs.”
“I do. What’s not to like? They’re cute and cuddly and loving, but they’re also a lot of work.”
“Yeah, but it’s worth it,” he said with a grin as Rain turned her attention toward him. The puppy was clearly smitten with her new owner, and not just because of her fascination with the laces on his tennis shoes. The affection was mutual as Drew picked up the squirming puppy and held her in his arms. His big palm just about covered her small back, and as he rubbed her silky fur, the puppy groaned in bliss.
Smart girl, Debbie thought, figuring she’d do the same if Drew buried his fingers in her hair.
Goose bumps rose on the back of her neck at the very thought. Debbie wished she could blame the reaction on the cool breeze and overcast fall morning, but she knew better. It was all Drew—the memory of his kiss and the unfulfilled promise of his caress the night before.
Small-Town Cinderella (The Pirelli Brothers) Page 6
