Something Sweeter

by Candis Terry

  “If he doesn’t like it, or you need them for the shop you and Charli are opening, I promise to put everything back in your barn the following day. If he does like it, I’m more than willing to pay for the items. It would be my gift to him for allowing us to take over his house for the event.”

  “I’m very moved that you’d want to do that for him. Don’t worry about anything you use. Charli and I aren’t opening our store for several more months, and we haven’t even taken a look yet at what we want to include. You’re welcome to take whatever strikes your fancy. If my son will allow everything to stay, it’s all his for the asking.”

  Allison stopped at the bottom of the stairs inside the barn and looked at the woman’s gentle features and ever-­present smile. “You have a very generous heart, Jana.”

  “That’s kind of you to say so. And I’ll allow you to retract the statement whenever I meddle in your life.”

  Allison laughed. “Are you a meddler?”

  “Oh, you have no idea.” Janna patted her on the back. “But I’m sure you’ll learn. And hopefully you’ll forgive. Now come on, let’s go see what I’ve got that you might be interested in.”

  When she opened the locked door with an old skeleton key, Allison stepped inside. One look around the collection of antiques and collectibles that were packed to the rafters and all she could say was, “Wow.”

  Jesse barely made it home from the clinic before he collapsed in his favorite chair and kicked off his boots. Even Dinks’s and Rango’s usual silly escapades couldn’t hinder the exhaustion that grabbed him by the throat or the sadness that lay heavy in his heart. Most days, he loved what he did for a living. Other days simply broke his spirit.

  Today had not been one of his favorites.

  He wanted a shower to unwind but didn’t even know if he could make it to the other room. He needed to eat, but the thought of another microwave dinner or frozen pizza left him cold. Even the refrigerator was too far away to grab a beer to relax. So he remained glued to the plush leather chair with his feet kicked up on the ottoman while he closed his eyes.

  He’d just cleared his mind and drifted off when someone knocked on the door. Briefly, he opened his eyes, saw the lock was open, and said “Come in” in the strongest voice he could muster. At that moment, he didn’t care if an army of thieves came through the door, he was just too tired and too down to care.

  When the door cautiously opened, he couldn’t have been more surprised to see Allison standing there looking like something he’d dreamed up in a white sundress with strappy little sandals, which were, to his surprise, flat. Her long hair floated around her shoulders in big loose curls. That toffee-­colored streak was tucked behind her ear, revealing hoop earrings that matched the silver chain around her ankle.

  She gave him a cautious smile. “Hey.”

  Without warning, her little dog bounded into the house. Rango hissed and darted upstairs. Dinks gave a happy bark. The little terrier took off, and the chase commenced.

  Allison stepped through the entry, shut the door, and came around to stand in front of him with a worried wrinkle to her brow. “Are you okay?”

  “Bad day.”

  She sat on the edge of the ottoman, so he didn’t have to move his feet. “Want to talk about it?”

  “Not really.” Air pushed from his lungs as he laid his head back and closed his eyes. He wanted to keep looking at her, but he was just so tired.

  “You look exhausted.”

  “Bingo.”

  “And upset.”

  “Daily double.”

  “And hungry.”

  “Triple play.”

  “Is it work-­related?”

  He gave her a slow nod.

  “You ever have anybody you can talk to at the end of a particularly bad day?”

  Eyes still closed, he shook his head.

  “Then talk to me,” she said in a tone that was soft, sweet, and compassionate. She reached out and gently rubbed her hand over the top of his and sealed the deal.

  “Can’t tell you the details,” he said. “You’ll cry.”

  “I’m tougher than I look.”

  “You’re a marshmallow.”

  “I’m pretty sure no one has ever called me a marshmallow before.” She chuckled. “Most names I’ve been called have started with B and ended with itch.”

  He opened his eyes and drank her in. “Well I think you’re kinda soft and wonderful.”

  “And I think you’re kinda evading the subject.”

  “Kittens,” he said, remembering he’d previously told her about the kitten incident that had made him want to be a vet.

  “Oh no. What happened?”

  “Something that made me determined to lobby for stricter animal-­protection laws.” She held his hand while he told her the story of the mother cat that had been mistreated and malnourished. In his office that afternoon, she’d delivered three adorable kittens. And though he hadn’t thought any of them would survive, by some miracle they were hanging on. Abby had immediately found them a loving foster home. And though it was a threat to the loss of his man card, he admitted to Allison that when he handed them over to their foster family, he’d cried like a baby.

  Allison didn’t seem to think any less of him. Tears filled her eyes as she squeezed his hand and gave him a smile of encouragement.

  “I don’t know how you manage to deal with that,” she said. “But I thank God you do. At least those animals found some compassion.”

  “I wish I could give them more.”

  “Because of you, they’ll survive, and they’ll find homes.” She squeezed his hand again. “I kind of like that you’re just a big softy beneath that alpha-­male exterior.”

  He lifted his head from the back of the chair. “I’m an alpha male?”

  “Oh yeah.” A laugh that lifted his heavy heart bubbled from her luscious lips. “And from the grumbling in your stomach, you’re a very hungry alpha male.”

  Before he could grab her, she was gone. The sound of the refrigerator door’s opening came next, followed by the freezer door.

  “What are you doing?” he called out, closing his eyes again.

  “Making you something to eat.” A short pause was followed up with a long sigh. “You are such a bachelor. All I see in here are beans, weenies, beer, and . . . jalapenos.”

  “And the problem with that is?”

  No response. He cracked open one eye when he heard the patio door open, then close.

  “Good to know you keep the good stuff in the outside fridge.”

  “I spend more time out there.”

  “Apparently.”

  She came back into the living room and poked him with a finger. “Eat this while I scrounge up something relatively healthful for you to eat.”

  In her hand she held a small plate piled with crackers and slices of sharp cheddar cheese.

  “You don’t have to do that,” he said, taking the plate before she changed her mind. “But it’s appreciated.”

  “No worries. I’m actually trying to butter you up.”

  “Mmmm.” The wheat crackers and cheddar roused his taste buds. “I’ve done vegetable oil but never butter.”

  She came out of the kitchen with a cooking utensil in her hand.

  “Or a spatula,” he said around a mouthful of cracker.

  “What are you talking about?” she asked with half a smile curling those lips he very badly wanted to kiss.

  He lifted his head and stopped midchew. “Weren’t you talking about sex?”

  She laughed. “No.”

  “Oh.” He dropped his head to the chair again. “My bad.”

  “Vegetable oil?” He heard the curiosity in her voice, and he smiled.

  “I’ve got all kinds of tricks up my sleeve. You should give me a test drive.”r />
  “Right now, I don’t think you could even manage to start the engine.”

  “You’d be surprised.” His eyes drifted closed again.

  “How about you hold that thought while I whip up something.”

  “Not into whips,” he muttered. “Or chains. But I’ll give some thought to silk ropes while you go to work.”

  Just before he dozed off, he thought he heard her low chuckle and a sigh. He was exhausted, but that sexy sound was enough to send him off to dreamland with a smile.

  Not only did the man not have any home décor accents, he barely had enough in his kitchen to get by. How someone could spend so much time and money on the candy-­coated shell of a house but not the essential core was beyond her. Lucky for him, she’d stopped by with a truckful of most everything this place needed—­with the exception of groceries and some serving fundamentals.

  When the dogs ended their chase and collapsed on the floor by her feet—­just in case she dropped a juicy morsel, the living room grew silent. She peeked around the corner and found Jesse fast asleep. His big bare feet were crossed at the ankles on top of the leather ottoman. His large hands were folded together on top of those rippled abs currently hidden by a blue plaid shirt. And his jeans were worn in places that made her go hmmm.

  No question the man was a complete knockout. And while she could stand there all day and just gawk at him, she realized that her feelings for him went deeper than just the amazing exterior. She really wanted to wipe away the troubles that marred his forehead and compressed his lips.

  He may have a very large family, but it seemed he kept a lot to himself. And for a man who appeared to have it all, she could tell there was something deep inside that needed letting out.

  She went back into the kitchen and pulled together a reasonably healthy stir-­fry with a frozen pack of vegetables, some chicken strips she’d found in the back of the freezer, and thank heaven for five-­minute rice. She stuck his plate in the preheated oven to keep it warm while she faced the challenge of waking him up.

  Tiptoeing into the living room, she stood there and watched him for a moment. Unfair, she knew, and didn’t care. Allowing her eyes to roam over him again was like looking at a decadent chocolate window display. Unfortunately, the same problem existed. Just as she couldn’t reach through glass to touch all those forbidden sweets, neither could she reach out and touch him.

  She called his name in a quiet voice and got no response. After several seconds, she moved a little closer and called him again. With still no response, she bent down and whispered close to his ear, so as not to startle him.

  Somehow, she ended up in his lap, looking up into those dark blue eyes that made her stomach do a masterful flip. A squeak bubbled from her throat, and he smiled.

  “You should have checked with my mother first. I’m great at playing possum.”

  “You were awake?”

  “Not the entire time.”

  “That’s not very nice,” she said from the comfy spot on his lap. Pressed against all that hard muscle and warm, masculine skin, she had to have a little tête-­à-­tête with her girl parts, who were singing “Girls Just Want to Have Fun.”

  “I beg to differ.” He stroked a finger slowly down her arm. “I think it’s very nice.”

  “What about your rule?” she asked.

  “My rule?”

  “Short-­term memory loss?”

  His brows dipped together. “Apparently.”

  “After the movie, you invoked the keeping a good distance rule.”

  His gaze lowered to her mouth, then slowly climbed back up to her eyes. “Proof that you should never listen to me when I won’t even listen to myself.”

  “So you’re revoking the rule?”

  “Revoking?” His big strong hand came up and gently caressed her cheek. Then those long fingers curled over the back of her neck and drew her face closer to his. “I’m blasting it all to hell.”

  His mouth brushed across hers, then he pulled back, just slightly, as though giving her a chance to push him away and run like hell.

  She did neither.

  Heat and desire licked over her as she curled her fingers into his shirt, leaned in, and inhaled his warm, masculine scent. He spoke her name in a rough whisper, then covered her mouth with his and took possession.

  A hot flame of urgency burned at her core, but Jesse didn’t seem to be in as big a hurry. His kiss was tender. Slow and languid, like he had all day and just wanted to take his time to explore. He tasted like passion and sex as his tongue stroked hers in a hot, sensuous rhythm that verified he’d never be a selfish lover. While one of his large hands gently caressed the sensitive skin along her neck, the fingers of his other slid beneath the strap of her dress and slipped it off her shoulder.

  Yes.

  A storm of need and lust whipped through her body. She wanted him to touch her. To strip her down and take control. She wanted to lose herself in him. Wrap herself around him. She wanted to touch all those firm muscles. To find out exactly how he liked those muscles to be touched. She wanted her greedy mouth and hands on all that warm, sexy skin. More than she wanted air, she wanted him deep inside her body, giving and receiving pleasure.

  Hunger danced up her spine as his warm fingers dipped below the edge of her dress and covered her breast. Her nipples peaked against his palm, and liquid heat pooled between her thighs.

  Someone moaned.

  Her?

  Him?

  Both?

  And then the oven timer dinged.

  When he broke the kiss and lifted his head, she’d never felt a greater loss.

  “Time’s up?” he murmured against her lips.

  Somehow, she managed to maintain a semblance of composure as she sat up and he withdrew the warmth of his hand from her breast. She cleared her throat. Licked the taste of him from her lips. “Are you ready to eat?”

  The smile that curved his mouth left no doubt about the type of meal he had in mind—­one where eating utensils weren’t necessary. And while she was about two seconds away from stripping off his clothes and climbing on top of him in that leather easy chair, she forced herself to reason that he’d had a long day, was tired, and needed nourishment.

  Especially if there was any chance she could put her hot-­and-­bothered ideas into action later.

  “Let me rephrase that,” she said. “Your dinner’s ready.”

  His long, dark eyelashes swept down in a slow blink. “Other than my mom or the local restaurants, I can’t remember the last person who cooked for me. I appreciate it.”

  Adding to the sexual chaos in her body, the sincerity in his tone made her heart do a little flip. “It’s just a quick stir-­fry. Nothing special.”

  “It is to me.” He captured her hand and kissed the backs of her fingers.

  Well, what did a girl say to that?

  She wiggled off his lap and held out her hand to help him from the chair. “Come on. It’s getting cold.”

  “Not from where I’m sitting.”

  Not from where she was standing either.

  Before she climbed back into his lap, she wiggled the fingers of her extended hand. “You’re tired and hungry. And I plan to put you to work before you pass out.”

  “Exactly what did you have in mind?” With a cocky grin, he let her pull him to his feet, which put them breast to pecs. Her skin tingled, her nipples hardened again, and the entire front half of her body went into meltdown mode.

  He followed her into the kitchen, pulled out a barstool, and sat down. She removed a steaming bowl of stir-­fry from the oven and set it on the kitchen bar in front of him. His eyes widened. “Is this all for me?”

  “Yes. You’re going to need your strength.”

  He dug his fork into the meal, took a bite, and moaned with pleasure. “Damn that’s good.” H
e dug his fork in again as though he hadn’t eaten in days. “So now you’re going to throw out the innuendoes? Not fair.”

  Completely aware she was giving him an eyeful of cleavage; she leaned into the island and rested her forearms on the cool granite. “No innuendo intended.”

  “Damn.”

  “Your mother allowed me up into her barn loft today.”

  “Uh-­oh.”

  “I brought over a few things to spice up your house for the reception, so it doesn’t look so barren.”

  He lowered his fork. “You mean the lack of artwork and knickknacks and all that girly kind of stuff? Darlin’, this is a man’s house. You’re lucky I didn’t grab my dad’s old black velvet John Wayne painting when my mom tossed it out. It would look great over the fireplace mantel.”

  “She didn’t toss it out. It was in the loft.”

  “Are you shitting me?” At the shake of her head, he dropped his fork in the bowl. “We’d better get over there and grab it before the brothers find out.”

  “Actually . . . now it’s in the truck outside.”

  He stared as though she’d spoken Martian.

  “I think with a different frame, it might be kind of fun to put it somewhere,” she said. “Do you have a family room? Or an extra bedroom?”

  “You mean you wouldn’t want to burn it like every other woman who’s ever seen it—­including my mom?”

  “Wouldn’t that be sacrilegious? I mean, it is the Duke after all.”

  “I think I may love you,” he said.

  “You won’t say that after I’ve had you drag in all the other stuff I found.” She looked again at the exhaustion that slumped his shoulders. “I’m sorry. I had no idea you’d be so tired.”

  “No problem.” He took another bite and grinned. “You don’t look like a John-­Wayne-­loving kind of girl.”

  She folded her arms. “And exactly what kind do I look like?”

  The way his gaze roamed her face, then traveled slowly down the front of her white eyelet sundress sent a tingle through those wild-­and-­crazy girl parts. His heavy-­lidded eyes said she looked like the kind he’d like to take to bed.