by Alison Kent
He grew stiff, and she knew she’d caught him unawares, but then his arms came around her gently and he returned the show of affection—just with a little less show. And that was fine, she mused, stepping back as she released him. The exuberance making her feel like she was floating through the house in a bubble was enough show for the whole town of Hope Springs.
“Listen, Kaylie,” he said, moving to the end of the buffet. “I want to thank you for this. I really wasn’t interested in taking on another job when I had a good one—”
“But Luna made you come.”
“She did. And I was curious. But this thing you’ve done…” He swept his arm in an encompassing gesture to indicate the whole of the room…the furnishings and the food and the tongue-and-groove walls whitewashed to look like a general store, the decorative license plates and old milk bottles and gas station signs Dolly had hunted down. “I couldn’t be prouder of y—of how this turned out had I done it all myself.”
What had he stopped himself from saying? I couldn’t be prouder of you? Did he think she wouldn’t welcome his pride?
She circled the table to where he stood. “We’ve done this together, Mitch. I would never have pulled it off this beautifully without your input and Dolly’s just so. You’ve been vital to the planning every step of the way. I’d thought from the very beginning that it would be a good idea to have my cook on board early, but having you here has been absolutely crucial.”
“I don’t know about that—”
“I know about that,” she said, reaching for his wrist and squeezing. “Please don’t ever doubt how much it means to me having you here.”
“If you’re sure,” he said, his hands going into his pockets when she released him. “Doll can do most of what I can, so if it turns out you don’t need the both of us, keep her. Let me go.”
That sounded like he was making plans to leave. She scrambled for something to say to convince him otherwise, but Dolly returned then. Humming beneath her breath, she took in the table once more, adjusting the fold of the napkin covering the hot rolls, lining up the slotted spoon in front of the casserole, doing the same for the salad tongs, and earning another roll of Mitch’s eyes and Kaylie’s laugh.
When the front door chime rang moments later, Kaylie circled her two cooks to answer, giving both a smile and a pat on the back. Dolly returned her smile reassuringly. Mitch seemed agitated, which Kaylie, her own anxiety rising, could totally understand.
The next two hours were a madhouse of food and laughter. Kaylie walked between the tables, talking to everyone, watching to see who returned for seconds, who for thirds, what dish went the fastest, how many hot rolls everyone ate. She kept an eye on the floor space, the elbow room, checked the lighting, the room’s temperature. Refilled iced tea and coffee like a proper hostess, and had the time of her life.
“Kaylie, aren’t you going to eat?”
The question came toward the end of the meal from Jessa, and had all heads turning toward Kaylie, where, taking a break, she leaned against the door to the dining room. Rick’s gaze searched her out, as did his mother’s and Carolyn Parker’s and her husband Wade’s. Will was the only one who didn’t stop eating, but when he looked up it was straight at Indiana.
She was looking at Kaylie, too, as were Peggy Butters and Maxine Mickels and their spouses. And Manny Balleza, who sat next to Ten. And Max and Josephine Malina. And Mitch, who watched her with his hand around his tumbler of iced tea, waiting.
All of these people…her café…after so many years…“I’m actually not very hungry. And besides, y’all are my focus group, so I’ve got to see if you’re focused.”
Her sixteen guests sitting at four tables of four laughed as one, Carolyn saying, “Well, it seems hardly fair that we’re having all the fun.”
Kaylie met Ten’s gaze across the room. He had done this for her. Yes, it had been her idea, her dream, but Ten had made it happen. And yet…there was something in his expression that led her to believe he was less than happy. It made her think of Mitch’s earlier agitation as the guests had arrived, and the tension in the room had her suddenly feeling the need to escape.
“I’m going to check on the food, see how everything is faring on the buffet.” She turned, an overwhelming pull of emotion leaving her struggling for balance, and for the life of her she didn’t know why. This was what she’d wanted, what she’d planned for and worked for. But she’d never expected to feel so…empty.
It didn’t make sense, she mused, frowning as she tested the heat of the hot rolls and tucked their linen covering closer. None of what she was feeling made sense. She should be pleased, content, full of the joy she’d seen on the faces of her friends. And she did feel all of that. She did. But something was wrong. Something was missing.
She had her dog, her café, her three-story Victorian on the corner of Second and Chances. But she didn’t have Winton or May, and that loss, one she’d thought she’d come to terms with, one that had been a part of her past now for years, suddenly crushed her, and she stumbled into the corner, dropped to crouch there, and stayed.
Ten was the one to find her no more than a minute later, as if whatever he’d seen in her face had led him to her. He swore beneath his breath, came down on one knee, and wrapped his arms around her, pulling her against him, holding her until the worst of her shaking subsided. When she nodded, he helped her to her feet and guided her through the buffet-room door into the kitchen.
Once there, she eased from his embrace, uncomfortable to have been found so weak, equally uncomfortable at the possibility of one of her guests seeing her so. Most of all hating that he was the one who had found her. He’d said that he thought her the strongest woman he’d known. She didn’t want to give him a reason to think otherwise.
“I really am okay,” she said, crossing the room to stare out the window above the kitchen sink. Her guests were parked in the small lot accessed from Second Street. All but Ten. His truck sat in her driveway, behind her Jeep, as if he belonged there with her. As if this was his place as much as it was hers.
She closed her eyes at the thought, let it infuse her like amaretto into a fresh strawberry cake. He did belong here, with her, to her, and she to him. Her limbs tingled with the realization and with wanting him, her belly, too, and then he was there behind her, his hands on her shoulders, squeezing as he leaned forward and nuzzled his nose to her ear.
“You stay here,” he said, his voice deep, a vibration that lifted the hair at her nape. “I’ll play host, make sure everyone gets their fill, then clean up. I’ll say you’re not feeling well—”
“Dolly will never believe you.” Though being alone with him was the only thing she wanted, and it sounded like heaven, and she couldn’t wait. “She’ll insist on helping.”
“And I’ll insist on her doing what I say if she wants to keep both her jobs.”
“You wouldn’t dare,” Kaylie said, staring into the window at his reflection.
“Watch me,” he said, and then he was gone.
“I’m sorry,” Kaylie said a half hour later, once they had the house to themselves. “I’m fine, really. I promise.”
“I know you’re fine,” he said, his voice soft, his words for her ears alone. “You’re exhausted, excited, I doubt you’re sleeping. You’re running on empty. But I know you’re fine.”
She looked up at him, the circles beneath her eyes like bruises marring her tender skin. “If I could just get a full night’s sleep, it would help.”
He wanted to hurt everyone responsible for the nightmare that kept her awake. “What if I stay? I can camp out down here. You won’t have to worry about…whatever it is that has you sleeping with a knife.”
“That’s not how it works,” she said, stepping into him and cuddling against his chest. “I’d still wake up.”
His arms went around her, tightened, absorbed her trembling until they both stood still. “You don’t know that. You haven’t tried.”
“But I know me.�
� And then she leaned back to look him in the eye. “It might work if you were in the same room…”
The tension that had been floating around them like ground fog rose along his limbs. Ten felt it in the tightening of his muscles and skin, in the way he forgot how to breathe, in his clothes that felt heavy and damp, in his urge to shed them, to rid her of hers, too. “I can stay. In any room. Wherever you want me.”
“I think I want you to stay in mine.”
Desire gripped him, and he battled a rising groan. “Uhuh. Not if you think. You’ve gotta know.”
“I want you to stay in mine,” she said, no question, no doubt, no fear. “Will you please stay in mine? Will you please stay there with me?”
His jaw tight, he took her by the hand and tugged her behind him up three flights of stairs to the bedroom where she slept.
And where tonight she wouldn’t.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
“Are you sure?” Ten asked, still fully clothed and stretched out beside her on top of her quilt-covered queen-sized bed.
She was nervous. He could have no idea how nervous she was. But he could know how happy his being here made her. How ready she was for him. That she’d been waiting for him longer than even she could believe. And no matter how the night went, it would be perfect.
“Very. Are you?” She rolled toward him, slipping one leg between his, hooking her ankle behind his and winding their feet close.
He rubbed his knee along the inside of her thigh, the friction of the denim on denim warming her skin. She wanted to take off her jeans, but she didn’t want to move. His weight on the mattress, his heat, the scent of sunshine and sawdust and spice…She shivered and nuzzled close.
“Very very,” he said, though it took him a minute to respond, and his breathing shifted with the wait, growing ragged as if his racing heart was slamming into his lungs.
She reached up and brushed his hair from his forehead. She’d known him now for two months, and she didn’t think he’d cut his hair in all that time. She liked it long. She loved how it curled over his collar, how she could tuck it behind his ear. She loved his ear, and got a shiver out of him when she tugged on the lobe. She loved his jaw, how defiant the line, sharp and strong, and the stubble he always wore, she loved that, too.
“Your eyes are closed,” he said.
“I know,” she replied.
“Are you falling asleep on me?”
“Not a chance.”
He laughed at that, a deep, full-bodied growl that she felt with her leg between his. “Good, because I don’t plan for either of us to think about sleeping for a while.”
She liked that, his confidence, that he would make such a threat, and that he meant it, because she knew he did. “I never mind missing sleep for a good reason.”
He moved his hand to her throat, trailed his fingers to the hollow, then lower, to the top button of her rose Henley tee. “This will be a good one. I promise.”
She opened her eyes because she wanted to watch, to follow the shifts in his expression as he touched her, to see his fingers, his hands, his skin against her skin, which was lighter than his, pale where his showed his time in the sun. He freed a second button, then the third, and pushed aside the fabric to slide beneath, sweeping his fingertips over the swell of one breast, then the other. Her nipples tightened and she shuddered, shuddered again when he slipped into her bra to feel for himself.
“I like that,” he said, his voice gravelly.
“I like it, too,” she whispered. “I like it a lot.” She thought she would really like it if he used his mouth, but she wasn’t ready to say that. She spoke with her hands instead, mimicking him, releasing the snaps of the work shirt he wore, two, then two more, then another two until she’d bared most of his chest. He was fit, his muscles solid when she pressed her palm there, his hair soft, silkier than that on his head, a pleasure to her fingers.
She learned what he liked, playing beneath his shirt, listening to the sounds he made, feeling his temperature rise. Beneath his hair, his skin was smooth, and she lifted up onto one elbow to taste him, lowering her mouth to kiss him, flicking her tongue over the hard center of his nipple the way she wanted him to flick hers, circling, drawing on him with her lips, biting softly until he growled and pushed her to her back. He hovered over her, delivering on his earlier threat and thrilling her.
His eyes were bright and flashing when he said, “My turn,” and lifted her shirt by the hem to bare her, slipping a hand around her back to release the clasp of her bra. He pushed it out of the way and leaned down, wetting her, sucking her, lapping at her with the flat of his tongue before moving his mouth to hers and slipping inside. It seemed she’d been waiting hours to kiss him again.
She brought both of her arms around his neck to hold him close, slanting her head to meet his, bumping his nose with hers, laughing and then finding him again, his lips, his teeth. His breathing grew harsh and hot on her cheek, and she wondered if he felt the same warmth from her exhaled breath.
And then he was gone, sliding down her body, finding her nipple again. The contact had her arching her back, pressing into him. She wanted more. Oh, so much more. And she used her hands on his back to tell him, her nails scraping him lightly through the fabric of his shirt.
She wiggled her hips, working her way underneath him, feeling the hard bulk of his erection first at her hip and then at the juncture of her thighs. It was a glorious sensation, having him there, knowing she was responsible for that thickness and weight. She lifted into him, and he ground down, rubbing her just right so that she thought she might die.
She shivered, felt the hairs on her arms flutter, and her belly grew heavy and tight, and it fluttered, too. “Do that again.”
He growled out a laugh, kissing his way down her torso, stopping when he reached her waistband to deal with the button there, to unzip her fly. On his knees now and bracketing her thighs, he told her, “Raise up,” and when she did, he worked her jeans down her hips and off. He tossed them to the floor, his gaze on the damp fabric of her panties striped in lilac and white.
“You’re so beautiful,” he said, still staring below her waist, a focus that brought a smile to her mouth, then brought a laugh. “What?” he asked, looking at her then, and she swore she saw a flush stain his cheeks.
“Nothing.”
“You laughed. It’s not nothing.”
“My laughing bothers you?”
“I’m about to get naked. And I am nowhere near as gorgeous as you are. Yes, your laugh bothers me.”
“Don’t let it. It’s a happy laugh. I’m glad you like what you see.”
“I’m not sure like is a strong enough word. You’re just…amazing.”
“So…get naked.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said, and this time he laughed, though she wasn’t sure he was amused as much as trying to stave off the shift from playful to intense. He straightened and shrugged out of his shirt, baring his shoulders and chest and the flat, flat plane of his abdomen where a strip of dark hair left her mouth dry.
Another part of her, a part that was already damp, grew wetter, and ached. She clenched her muscles there, slid a hand down her belly to her panties that were in the way. But before she could push them down, Ten shook his head and said, “Wait.”
Leaving her hand where it was, she gave in, her gaze following as he stepped off the bed and out of his jeans. He wore boxer briefs, black or navy, she couldn’t tell, and the fabric clung to his thickly muscled thighs. Clung, too, to the head of his penis where it bulged atop his erection. She swallowed, nervous, hungry, anxious, but hungry most of all.
She didn’t know this side of him, but she was certain he’d be as focused and exact as he was with everything he did. The idea of having all of that for herself…she was about to burst with the want, she was consumed with anticipation, and she was so, so ready.
As if reading her mind, he removed her panties, used his knee to spread her legs, and cupped her sex with his p
alm. His fingers were deft and clever as he parted her where she was slick, dipping lower to ready her, to stretch her…
She dug her fingers into his biceps. “Ten?”
He didn’t answer except to stop, going stiff above her.
“I think I should tell you something.”
“I think you just did.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
“You’re a virgin.” It was such an oversimplification that it sounded ridiculous, but it was the only thing Ten could think of to say.
“I know.” Her grip on his arms lessened. “I’m the one who hasn’t had sex.”
He wasn’t going any further until he understood what they were doing here. This was major. A big, big deal. But when he tried to pull his hand from her sex, she tightened her muscles and held him. That, of course, sent a new surge of blood to where he was already thick with it.
So all he could ask was, “Why?”
She looked up at him, her gaze smoky, her smile sure. “Is that really what you want to ask me?”
No. What he wanted to ask was, why him? “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I just did.” She moved her gaze to the side of his face, his hair, brushing her fingers through it to tuck it behind his ear.
He couldn’t think for the way she was touching him, with purpose, with design, distracting him, luring him in, lingering. “I mean before.”
“Before I took my clothes off?” she asked, and her hand stilled, her gaze returning to his.
“Something like that,” he said, wishing they weren’t having this discussion with their clothes off. He was having the worst time staying on track, what with her thighs so smooth where they rubbed against his, and her breasts plumped like cushions for him to rest on.
