by Fiona Lowe
His expression was neither open nor hostile but she suddenly felt like she was intruding. “Hi. I didn’t mean to interrupt. I just followed the music.”
He grimaced as he stood up and hauled the dust sheet back over the piano. “It was Rachmaninoff, not that you’d notice. I’m a bit rusty.”
Was he kidding her? “It sounded amazing. If that’s you being rusty, you must have been a concert pianist.”
“That was the aim once,” he said, slinging a satchel over his shoulder before walking toward the exit.
Intrigued, she hurried after him. “And it’s not anymore?”
He stepped back and allowed her to walk out onto the street ahead of him. She knew that as an independent woman she shouldn’t be affected by this display of good manners but despite the rational thought, she still got a crazy zip of feeling, as if she’d been singled out for preferential treatment.
He joined her on the sidewalk. “I’m a bit old for all of that now and what do they say? Those who can, do, and those who can’t, teach.”
The words should have sounded bitter but instead his melodic voice made them very matter-of-fact. All of it confused her. “But you’re working at the Udder Bar.”
“Shocking, isn’t it?” he said, answering her incredulous tone. His face broke into a teasing smile that stripped away his Mr. Clean-Cut-serious-and-boring to expose a wicked sense of humor. One that was making fun of her.
An unexpected tingle of sensation whizzed through her, surprising her, and she gripped her purse.
“I also teach piano.” He handed her a business card with his name and cell number printed above a piano keyboard. “If you know anyone who wants to learn, perhaps you can give them my card?”
“Sure. I’d be happy to put some on display in the store, if you have more.”
This time surprise crossed his face as if her offer was the last thing he’d expected. “Thanks.”
It made her self-conscious about their conversation two nights ago when she’d jumped to conclusions that he lacked career ambitions. Not that working in a bar and teaching piano counted as a career per se in her book but she was always ready to help out a fellow Whitetail businessperson.
She thought about her own piano that her mother had insisted Melissa take when she’d downsized the family home and moved into a smaller place. It taunted her with unfulfilled dreams every time she passed it. “Actually, I have a piano gathering dust and I could do with some lessons.”
He tilted his head, studying her as if he wasn’t certain if she was being serious or not. “I’d expect you to practice.”
“Why would you think I wouldn’t practice?” she said indignantly while trying to block out the voices of past teachers who’d always said, “Melissa could do better if she applied herself.”
“Just putting the expectation out there,” he said quietly.
This time the tingle intensified and shot straight to the apex of her thighs, and she stifled a moan. It wasn’t that she didn’t love the feeling because she did. She loved sex, but she’d made a pact with herself at the start of the year not to waste any time on men who didn’t have the qualities she wanted in a husband. The qualities she’d spent countless hours quantifying on her list.
She’d been absolutely true to her pact and, sadly, that meant the only action she’d had recently had been with her bright purple vibrator and, really, it had been quite a few weeks since she’d used it. Given the streak of pleasure tangoing deep down inside her right now, it was obviously time to get it out again because there was no way in the world that she was giving in to any urges with Scott. The only point he came close to hitting on her list was the fact he was male.
He paused outside the Udder Bar, his hand on the door. “Call me.”
“I’m not interested in dat—”
“I meant call me about the piano lessons.”
Fool! “Oh, right.” She wished she could vanish on the spot.
He gave her a smile which managed to combine an element of smugness with open delight. “Catch you later, Missy.”
“Melissa,” she heard herself call out to his retreating back, instantly hating herself for having done so.
Damn it. She shouldn’t be bothered by what he called her. He was just some guy new to town without an income stream worth a damn, and if she did take piano lessons, she’d be the one helping him out. So why did the fact he so obviously didn’t want to date her bother her so much?
* * *
Despite the size of the house, Ben had cabin fever. For months he’d been living outdoors, spending his days on Red, camping under the stars and only checking into a motel or B and B on Sundays so he could do laundry and kick back in a comfortable bed.
He was into his third day of sitting around and he was going stir-crazy. The attraction of the home theater had worn off after the sixth movie and he’d watched so much on the sports channel he now knew more than he ever needed to know about Canadian curling and unicycle polo. He needed exercise and for some reason he wanted conversation too. He found Amy on the veranda staring at her phone.
Today she wore shorts, a knit top decorated with intricate beading that looked suspiciously like evening wear and to offset it all, she had hiking boots on her feet. As outlandish as it was, he had to admit she looked good. The shorts showed off her long legs, which were in pretty good shape, and the scoop neck of the top revealed the first glimpse of her breasts he’d seen since the night they met. He enjoyed the reunion more than he cared to admit.
“Great, you’re sort of dressed for a walk. Let’s go and explore that trail that leads off the beach path.”
“Okay.”
Her easy agreement surprised him. “You’re in a good mood.”
“I am.” With sparkling eyes and excitement dancing on her cheeks and bouncing her curls, she slid her phone into her pocket and almost skipped down the steps. Her cheery body language was in stark contrast to the tense and edgy look she’d worn yesterday just before lunch when she’d come back from the beach. “I just got a job.”
They’d entered a grove of birch and beech trees and the slight breeze created a confetti of autumn leaves. “I thought you had a job?”
Her eyes widened for a fraction of a second. “I do...I...um...I mean a vacation job.”
Nothing about Amy was clear-cut and he guessed he should have known from her general uptightness that she was a workaholic. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but doesn’t the word vacation mean taking a break from work? Not taking on pro bono.”
“I don’t mean as a lawyer. I’ve been asked to make a wedding gown.”
His intake of breath caught at the back of his throat and he started coughing.
“Are you okay?” She thumped him on the back with bruising force, which ricocheted across to his shoulder. “Did you swallow a bug?”
He gasped at the pain but it stopped the coughing and as it faded, he managed to steady his breathing. “No. I’m fine.”
She didn’t look convinced. “You’ve gone white just like the time you cut yourself.”
“That’s because your excellent first aid hurt like buggery,” he said, hating how observant she was. There was no way was he admitting that the words wedding gown were enough to make him choke. “You should come with a general warning that says, ‘beware all men: avoid at all costs,’” he joked, keeping the conversation well away from weddings.
She stiffened and all the joy drained from her face, quickly replaced by a look that actually made him ache.
“Hey.” He reached out his left hand, skimming his palm along her upper arm and wanting to banish the desolation that lingered in her eyes. “I was just teasing, Amy.”
Her brows rose, disappearing under auburn curls. “Many a true word is spoken in jest.”
“Don’t quote Chaucer at me,” he said, tucking a recalcit
rant curl behind her ear. “Of course men don’t need to avoid you. Hell, you were supposed to slap a hand on your hip, slice me with one of those quelling looks you specialize in and say, ‘if you can’t hack getting physical, don’t waste my time.’”
A gorgeous blush bloomed on her face and her right hand flew to her mouth. She looked delightfully innocent, slightly shocked and sexy. Incredibly sexy.
“As if I could say that,” she said, her tone a combination of critical assessment mixed in with naughty wonder.
His fingers didn’t seem to want to leave her and he toyed with the curls that brushed her nape. “I dare you,” he said softly.
Her eyes widened to black pools and then, ever so slowly, she tilted her chin and fixed her gaze on his. “If...if you...” She swallowed.
Mesmerized, he followed the movement down her alabaster throat.
Her tongue flicked out, moistening her lips and then the words came out in a rush. “If you can’t hack getting physical, don’t waste my time.”
Like the strike of lightning on sun-parched grass, her husky words lit through him, igniting need. Primal need he’d suppressed for months. It tore through him, torching all reason and he leaned into her. His lips brushed against hers and he groaned at the decadent softness that greeted him again like a long-lost friend. Her tropical mango scent swirled around him, binding him to her like silk ties and enticing him to stay. Then he tasted chocolate. Not the heady taste of exotic dark chocolate, which would have matched her scent, but the surprisingly sweet, ingenue flavor of milk chocolate.
Sweet Jesus, he wanted to taste more.
She stilled, rigid under his touch and for a brief moment he almost pulled back but then the tip of her tongue caressed his top lip. It was the barest stroke, a minimalist touch but it was all the encouragement he needed. She wanted this kiss as much as he did.
He captured her mouth with his, inhaling her taste, her heat and every contradictory thing about her.
Jonathon’s betrayal started with a kiss, Amy’s mind screamed at her, but she already knew Ben was nothing like that snake in the grass. Just moments ago he’d been so kind to her and she let her body silence her concerns.
She opened her mouth under Ben’s delicious onslaught, welcoming him in. God, he tasted amazing. As his fingers splayed across her scalp, holding her head firmly so he had easy access to her mouth, she wanted to say, “it’s okay, I’m not going anywhere.”
Are you insane? Talking would break this incredible kiss.
She gloried in the heat rushing through her as his tongue gently explored her mouth. His caressing touch showered her in addictive tingles that shimmered in wondrous streaks starting at the tips of her hair and finishing in her toes. Each one built on the last until she was quivering with the intensity and still she craved more. She couldn’t get enough of his touch and his divine kisses.
Her knees threatened to buckle and she moved into him, gripping his good shoulder for support. The solidness of his chest pressed against her and she immediately felt his injured arm between them and his hand pressing against her breast. Her nipples peaked with a sizzling tingle and she groaned, sagging against him and wishing the material could just vanish so she could feel his skin against hers. Feel his fingers working the magic she instinctively knew they could.
His mouth was playing hers like a bow against strings and she loved it. She could stay here for hours, passively receiving his touch but she wanted to explore his mouth, his body. Him. Using her tongue, she deepened the kiss.
His shudder thudded through her and then cool air streaked between them, shocking her. She opened her eyes to see him pulling away.
His chest heaved as fast as hers and with a grimace, he ran his good hand through his hair. “My shoulder’s not quite up to this.”
But he wasn’t gripping his upper arm like he usually did when it caused him pain. And he wasn’t looking at her.
Sex with you was a huge disappointment.
Jonathon’s voice instantly taunted her. God, maybe it wasn’t just sex she sucked at. Now it seemed she had the evidence in front of her that she couldn’t kiss worth a damn either. The moment she’d actively entered the kiss had been the moment Ben had pulled away.
“I think I’ll head back,” he said without an invitation for her to join him.
Mutely, she nodded and watched him walk away, feeling part of her shrivel. She pulled her phone out of her pocket and called Melissa. “Can you bring everything I need to make this gown over to the house now?”
If she was going to survive sharing a house with Ben after this humiliating experience, she was going to keep herself busy. So busy, she wouldn’t have time to think about the fact he’d walked away.
* * *
Al was reversing out of his driveway when he saw Ella Norell lugging a cooler out to her car. He threw the truck into Park, pulled on the hand brake and jumped out. “Let me get that for you, Ella.”
“Thanks, Al.” She popped the lid of the trunk for him.
He’d known Ella Norell since he’d arrived from Minnesota forty years ago as a newly minted husband. From the day they’d moved in next door, she and his beloved Alice had become firm friends and he’d enjoyed sharing a beer with her husband, Ron.
Their kids had all grown up together and each summer they’d treated both the Norell and Swenson homes as one, moving easily between the two. He still missed the noise since they’d all moved away to college and established their lives farther south in Madison and west in Saint Paul. This past weekend, with his family visiting, had been fun but once again, the house was empty.
Ella had co-mothered his kids and had been a good friend to him when Alice had died suddenly from a heart attack five years ago. He tried to return the favor now that Ron had finally lost his long battle with cancer, but often Ella didn’t make it easy.
He swung the cooler into the trunk. “So who are you feeding this time, Ella?”
“Amy Sagar.”
The name wasn’t familiar. “Who?”
“I’m not sure you know her. She and her family used to rent our lake cottage years ago, you know, the one Ron bought as an investment but all it did was drain his time.”
“Ron was never happier than when he had a project flipping houses.”
Ella laughed. “And yet he was never as keen to fix up our house. Anyway, Amy arrived the other night looking bedraggled and worn out. Like she needed a good vacation.”
“Oh yeah? And of course you’re gonna feed her, eh?”
Ella fed everyone. Well, almost everyone. “You know, Ellie,” he said, giving her a wink, “you could always feed me.”
She clicked her tongue in disapproval. “You’re quite capable of cooking for yourself, Al Swenson.”
“That I am,” he said, swallowing a sigh. The fact he’d been looking after himself for five years didn’t lessen the fact that he enjoyed being cared for every now and then. He slammed the trunk closed. “You drive safe.”
“I will.” She glanced at his tow truck and her hand stalled on the door as if she’d just remembered something. “Oh, Al, what with the weekend’s wedding, I keep forgetting to tell you. If you’re heading out by the Rasmussens’ to service their vehicles, Amy’s staying there.”
He stared at her in surprise. “Since when?”
“Friday.”
“I gave my set of keys to a young Aussie on Friday night when the town was booked solid.” He laughed. “No wonder he hasn’t been at me about fixing his bike or returning my chopper.”
Ella’s eyes danced. “Is he a good-looking young man?”
“Not a patch on me.”
She rolled her eyes. “You’re sixty-five years old, Al, and a grandfather of five.”
“That’s right, Ella, but I’m not dead.” He leaned into the car and popped her trunk.
“What are you doing?” The pink tips on her short, spiky hair bristled as did the rest of her.
He sighed. Trying to help Ella Norell was often an impossible task. “I was just on my way out there to find out what was going on with my chopper so I’ll take out your casseroles, eh? Save you a trip.”
“Oh, no, I’m coming with. I want to meet your Aussie.”
“He’s thirty years too young for you, Ella.”
“Just drive, Al.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Chapter Eight
An hour after Ben had kissed Amy, he was clumsily polishing the intricately decorated gas tank of Al’s chopper, wishing he could just jump on the bike and ride. Ride long, far and fast, letting the wind and the road take him far away from this town, this house and Amy.
Amy.
Gorgeous, frustrating, sexy Amy. He groaned. He’d successfully stayed immune to women for months but he’d come undone with Amy of the fathomless gray eyes, lush bee-stung lips, pillow breasts and curves that would have earned pinup status when his grandfather had been fighting in Korea. She’d felt so deliciously soft and pliant against him and he’d consumed her with his mouth like a starving man rips into food. It had felt amazing right up until the moment she’d kiss him back. Kissed him like she, too, was starving and that had been enough to freak him out.
Goddamn it, Lexie. Leave me the fuck alone.
He threw the rag to the ground and picked up the spray bottle of wax, squirting it jerkily. He hated that Lexie was still in his head when he was nine months and ten thousand miles away from her. The whole point of this trip had been to get as far away as possible from her, forget her and everything he’d believed to be real about them as a couple and move on. What sort of screwed-up son of a bitch did this make him if he’d allowed thoughts of Lexie into a kiss with another woman? He wasn’t supposed to be that guy. He hated the very idea of being that guy.
The crunch of gravel thankfully broke up his thoughts and he glanced up to see Al’s truck pulling up on the circular drive. He gave a wave and waited for Al and his passenger to get out.
