by Dawn Atkins
Sex had been all-consuming back then—a desperate need, an undeniable force, a bonfire that had to be quenched or they’d die.
What would sex with Dylan be like now?
The instant the idea crossed her mind he walked through the door, his father behind him. She’d thought of him and he’d appeared. The old magic again. Afraid if he saw her, he might read her mind, she turned and nearly ran for the kitchen.
Stop this. Grow up.
It wasn’t just the sex that was making her think of him. It was the relief of belonging, of being understood, of fitting in at last. That had meant so much to her back then. And now, her emotions were churned up. Who wouldn’t want to escape into a time when all that mattered was being in the arms of the one person you loved above all else, who loved you the same?
But it wasn’t true even then.
Let it go for good.
Here she was, hiding from him in the kitchen. Ridiculous. She decided to see how they were fixed for crab puffs.
CHAPTER FOUR
“QUIT STALKING HER and go talk to her.”
Dylan’s ex-wife’s voice made him turn. He hoped his face didn’t look as red as it felt. “I will when she’s not busy.” He had been tracking Tara since they’d arrived at the reception, catching sight of her as she raced for the kitchen on some urgent errand. The sight of her retreating back had been enough to set his heart pounding. He knew her shape from all sides. The way she moved—quick and graceful as a dancer—was a dead giveaway.
Since then he’d watched her slide from group to group, talking, fetching drinks, motioning waiters over with food. She was gracious and kind, with a smile for everyone, but he knew she was hurting. Even from a distance, he saw the same haunted look she’d had at the hospital.
“We do look a little alike,” Candee mused. “Same hair color, same height, same build, but she’s better proportioned.”
“Don’t do this.” Candee had been convinced their short marriage had failed because Dylan had still had a thing for Tara.
“She’s more...striking. That’s it, isn’t it? She has a celebrity aura. She totally rocks her clothes. That suit is tight, but not slutty, and those heels are quality. Expensive, but restrained.”
“Now you sound like the stalker,” he said, trying to joke her out of this comparison, which he feared would upset her, though they’d been divorced for eight years.
“Anyway, I get it,” she said, a flash of hurt in her eyes. “I see why.”
“You’re beautiful and striking and you have an aura, too.” Dylan hated how she underrated her own attractiveness.
“I do have bigger boobs,” she said on a sigh. “You always liked my boobs.”
“I did. I do. I mean...your boobs are great.” These conversations never went well for him. Candee had moved to Wharton a year after Tara left for college and dragged Dylan out of his lonely cave with her energy and sense of fun. Things progressed quickly and they’d married. He’d been determined to make it work. He’d watched his parents’ marriage fall apart. He wouldn’t let that happen to him.
But it had. Candee became convinced he was still in love with Tara. You built a shrine to her in your head. I can see the candles glowing in your eyes. I can’t compete with a dream. She can’t possibly be as great as you remember.
He’d done his best to change her mind. He loved Candee. Tara was gone. Maybe he was still shell-shocked, still numb from the cascade of troubles—his parents’ divorce, the breakup with Tara, the ongoing strain of helping his father get back on his feet.
To this day, he still regretted that he’d hurt Candee. He’d fought like hell to stay friends. Mutual loneliness had put them in bed together a few times. The last time she’d dropped by to see Duster—Candee code for wanting sex, since she barely looked at the dog, he’d gently declined and driven her home, making her swear to stop drinking beer and looking through the wedding album. At least not on an empty stomach.
“How’s your dad doing?” Candee asked him.
“Not great. He’s on his third whiskey.” Abbott always had the good stuff, his father had said, downing the first glass of Pinch in one swallow, holding out the glass for a second while people behind him waited to be served. A few minutes later, he’d gone after the drink he now held. His father rarely drank, so this was proof of his deep distress at the loss of his friend.
“I wanted to skip the reception, but he insisted.” I’m not running off with my tail between my legs. “I’m afraid he’s going to get into it with somebody from Wharton.” During the service, his father had fumed when the mayor mentioned Abbott’s integrity and generosity. Integrity, my ass, he’d muttered. He’s a robber baron. And generous? He stole my company for a song.
“He needs to eat something,” Candee said. “I’ll fix him a plate.”
“That’d be great. He listens to you. See if you can talk him into leaving. His car’s at Auto Angels.”
“Will the shop be open?”
“Tony gave him a key, since he’s always tinkering on something or other.”
“I’ll do my best.”
“Thanks, Candee.” He watched her head for the dining room.
When he turned back, he saw his father was talking to Joseph Banes, leaning in, intent. Joseph’s face was bright red.
Dylan headed over, arriving just as his father said, “You don’t know a thing about it, Joe,” jabbing a finger at Joseph. People around them fell silent. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Rachel approach, Tara behind her.
“Don’t expect us to hold to an unreasonable contract with a company about to fall apart,” his father said.
“You are speaking out of turn,” Joseph said. “In fact, you’re in no condition to be speaking at all.”
“That’s enough.” Rachel said in a low voice. “I will not have you squabbling like children at my husband’s funeral.”
Dylan’s father looked stunned by the reprimand.
Candee lunged into the group with a loaded plate. “Wait until you taste the crab puffs, Sean.” She thrust the food under his nose. Humbled by Rachel’s sharp words, he took the plate. “Let’s go sit and eat.”
Dylan mouthed thank you to Candee as she led his father away. When he turned back, Rachel was gone and Tara was taking a crab puff from a waiter. “You need to control your father,” Joseph snapped.
“Abbott’s death has been difficult for him,” Dylan said, wanting to ease the moment, but feeling protective of his father.
“That’s no excuse for unprofessional conduct in a room full of my employees. As to the contract, rest assured we’ll be taking another look.”
“Excuse me?” Was that a threat?
He opened his mouth to say more, but Tara said, “She’s right about the crab puffs. Yum. Here.” She thrust one at Joseph and shot Dylan a look. Chill.
He chilled.
Joseph frowned, but her move had flummoxed him and he took the puff and ate it.
“Good, huh?” she said. “Judith made me a plate or I’d have passed out. Go fill one for yourself. You have to be starving. Your nerves must be shot.” She half turned him and he walked toward the dining room, clearly not certain how that had happened.
“Thanks,” Dylan said. “I was about to make it worse.”
“He’s been at the hospital every night late, so he’s edgy.”
“Understandable. Though the man’s edgy period. I’m not sure how he stays upright with the size of the chip on his shoulder.”
“He’s got a home gym. That way he can carry the weight of the world, too.”
He laughed, feeling the old rapport click in. “Good to know.”
“What were they arguing about anyway? What contract?”
“Ryland Engineering makes the drive assembly for the new Wharton batteries.”
“You’re kidding! Our fathers made peace?”
“They were getting there. I wish they’d had more time.”
A silence fell between them as she absorbed his meaning.
The feud had troubled them both. For that moment, he and Tara were old friends sharing a sadness that went back years.
Abruptly her eyes widened at something over his shoulder. “Was that your ex-wife who kept your dad from slugging Joseph?”
“Yes. Her name’s Candee.” The topic change startled him.
“She wants you.”
“Excuse me?” He jolted at Tara’s conclusion.
“Behind you.”
He turned to see Candee motioning toward the door where his father was already headed. She made her fingers walk, miming leaving. He nodded and mouthed his thanks.
“Nicely done,” Tara said.
When he turned to her, he caught a glimpse of pure exhaustion before she slapped on her smile.
“You look worn out,” he said.
“I feel that way. Too much smiling and nodding, too many back-in-the-day tales. I feel like I can’t catch a breath. I need a hummingbird break.” She put a hand to her mouth, realizing she’d used their code for making out on her back terrace where hummingbirds crowded the flower trellis. “I mean a real break, not a...” She blushed, which made her look more beautiful than ever.
“I know what you meant,” he said, his body flooded with lust all the same.
Her lips parted and she took a quick breath, feeling it, too, he guessed.
“Just say the word,” he said. “Need me to run interference?”
Tara looked around the room, her gaze pausing at her mother, standing with their housekeeper. “No. Mom’s okay. The guests are content. I can duck out. Ask the bartender for the bottle of Patron Silver and meet me.”
Tequila had been their drink—usually shots or over ice, once in a while in a margarita. Maybe it had been Tara’s drink and he’d grown to love the bitter tang and kerosene burn because he loved her.
When he got to the terrace, Tara lay on a chaise lounge in just her blouse and skirt, the blouse open low, sleeves rolled, her arms folded behind her head.
“You look...comfortable.” She looked sexy as hell. Her skirt ended mid-thigh, exposing long, tan legs and bare feet, toes painted as red as the flowers that lined the trellis before them. One tug on that slippery-looking shirt and it would slide right off her shoulders.
“I am.” She gave him a lazy smile.
He made himself stop staring and sat at the table, setting the glasses, lime and tequila on the wrought-iron table.
“You always knew what I needed,” she said, sitting sideways on the lounger to reach the table, her knees bumping his and staying there.
“This was your idea, not mine, remember?” he said, pouring tequila over the ice and lime, the smell alone taking him back.
“Yeah, but I was reading your mind.” She grinned and picked up her drink.
“You think so?” He tapped her glass with his. If she had read his mind, she’d have slapped him or kissed him, he wasn’t sure which.
Their eyes met over the drinks and he felt a flash of connection, like heat lightning slicing a summer monsoon sky. Just like that, ten years evaporated. They were together again.
They both dipped into their drinks and sipped. The sharp taste filled his mouth, his throat, burning a path to his stomach, bringing back the heady excitement of being with Tara, anticipating her naked body against his, the pleasure of knowing that she needed him, that he made her happy, the glory of sinking into a place that consisted of the two of them alone.
That was a lot to get from one sip of tequila, but those months with her had been branded into him, vivid as an acid etching in his head.
“Yum,” she said, licking her lips in a way that almost stopped his heart.
“Yeah,” he said. “I haven’t had tequila in a while.” Ten years to be exact. Too many associations. Stupidly sentimental of him, he realized, but he’d done it automatically.
“Me, either.” Had she done the same thing? He doubted that. She’d cut all ties with him. That had to include the pleasant memories.
“It’s nice out here,” she said, looking out at the terrace. The marble fountain splashed peacefully, the arbor was thick with flowers—bloodred with dark green leaves, the stamens stabs of gold.
She settled her eyes on him. “You look good. More, I don’t know, filled out, I guess.” She dipped into her glass, as if embarrassed she’d noticed.
“You look the same. Still beautiful.” He cleared his throat, hoping that hadn’t been too sappy.
“The same? No way. It’s been ten years.”
“Your hairstyle is new. You seem more...mature.” He wasn’t about to mention her being curvier. No telling how she’d take that.
“Is that a polite way of saying older?”
“More confident. Like you know what you want...and how to get it.”
“I do. I do know what I want.” Her tone made his mind go straight to sex. He caught the flare of it in her eyes, too.
They watched each other. He remembered them together—the heat, the love, the hurt and loss. It flowed through him in a rush. He thought he saw something similar in her eyes.
A hummingbird suddenly darted between them, wings shivering, flashing metallic green and gold in the light.
“You think they remember us? The birds?” Tara asked. “How long do hummingbirds live?”
“No idea,” he said, caught up in the pleasure of being with her again.
“I think I recognize that one. See that little fleck of black on his chest.”
“Yeah?”
“He probably wonders why we’re doing so much talking,” she said softly.
They’d spent hours making out on the chaise where she sat. One push and she’d be on her back and he’d be on top of her.
At her father’s funeral? Really?
“I’d offer you a penny for your thoughts, but I think there’s probably a couple dollars’ worth in there,” she said, sexual interest blurring the bright blue of her eyes.
“At least,” he said.
The hummingbird zipped away, breaking the tension, and they both watched it go.
“I wanted to thank you for getting the auditorium for the funeral,” she said. “I know you went to some trouble.”
“I used the town’s cultural exchange fund to bus the band competition to another school. We were supposed to bring in a Balinese dance troupe, but they canceled their tour. A band competition is cultural, right?”
“In this town, you bet.” She glanced at him. “No offense.”
“None taken.” He knew she despised Wharton. Small town, small minds, she used to say. She likely despised him for staying, for settling. She’d said so when they broke up, calling him a coward, afraid of the world, using his father as an excuse to hide from life.
“You needed every seat in the auditorium,” he said to change the subject.
“Of course. The funeral was mandatory attendance for Wharton employees, no doubt.”
“That’s pretty cynical.”
“Old habits die hard.” She grabbed her glass and gulped it down, blowing out a breath, clearly upset, her eyes wet—from emotion or the liquor, he couldn’t tell. “It’s confusing. My mom tells me everyone loved my father, but he wasn’t exactly Mr. Warm and Fuzzy. He was respected, I’m sure. Maybe feared. He could be fierce. I remember that.”
Dylan shrugged. He’d hated how coldly Tara’s parents had treated her. Her father barely acknowledged her, her mother did nothing but criticize, and that was long before she started raising hell.
Growing up like that, it was no surprise she was hypersensitive to rejection. At least he’d known his parents loved him.
“I couldn’t believe the mayor saying all that about the hundreds of turkeys he donated and the pancake breakfasts on New Year’s Day and all the charity crap. It sounded like a campaign speech.”
“It was all true. Your father funded the day care at Wharton. He’s been on the school board. He paid for the playground in the park. Both your parents have done a lot for the town. Your mother’s a tireless fund-raiser
for—”
“Please.” She raised her hand. “Don’t hype my parents to me. Don’t.” Her eyes brimmed with tears. “Don’t you dare tell a soul I broke down,” she said.
He hated to see her in pain like this. He put his hand over hers. “It’s okay, Tara. It’s me.” His voice was rough with emotion.
The tears slid down her cheeks and her face crumpled. “I didn’t expect to miss him so much, you know.”
“He was your father, for all his flaws.”
She nodded. “I guess I had this fantasy that one day we’d have a real heart-to-heart and he would tell me that he was proud of me, that he knew all along that I would be a success.”
His heart went out to her. She’d left Wharton to prove herself to her parents, the town and, most of all, herself.
“Too late now,” she said. She grabbed the tequila bottle, crashing it into her glass in her hurry to pour.
“Tequila’s got a slow fuse, remember?”
“You’re right.” She set the bottle down. “I don’t drink much anymore. Not like high school, for sure. You used to look out for me.”
“I did.”
“What an uptight pain in the ass you were.” But she was smiling. She would pretend to resent his concern, but there’d been relief in her eyes. He cared about her. That was the point. Even now he felt the urge to protect her, look after her.
She pushed the glass of tequila away, watching the birds dip and flit. “I’m sure Abbott was proud of you,” he said to be kind.
She shot him a look. “Please. I doubt he knew what I do for a living.”
Wouldn’t surprise me. “Human resources, right? You opened your own consulting firm?”
“Corporate culture. Heard of it?”
“Of course.”
“Really?”
“You don’t believe me?” She was talking down to him, as she had in the hospital, amazed that he worked for the town, as if he were an ignorant hick. “I have a business degree, Tara. I did an accelerated online program for working professionals. At Ryland Engineering, I’m the business manager. Second in command.”
