Harlequin Special Edition November 2013 - Bundle 1 of 2

by Lilian Darcy

  When Jeremy called her again, she’d ignored her reservations and agreed to another date. Over the next few months, there were several more dates until she finally decided she was ready to take the final step. The next time he’d invited her back to his place, she’d accepted. She had sex with him, and after she went home, she’d cried herself to sleep.

  He called her the day after, but she admitted that she was still not completely over her ex. It didn’t seem to matter that Sutter had been gone for almost two years. He was still firmly entrenched in her heart.

  She felt horrible about what had happened with Jeremy. She’d liked him and enjoyed spending time with him, but she hadn’t cared about him as much as she’d cared about proving that her relationship with Sutter was firmly in the past. She’d thought that sleeping with someone else would make her forget the only man she’d ever loved. Instead, it had proved to her that physical intimacy without real emotion was cheap and meaningless.

  After that, she’d vowed that she wouldn’t fall into bed with another man until she was sure that she genuinely cared about him and could imagine a future for them together. Alex Monroe was supposed to have been that man, and she’d honestly thought they were heading in that direction—until Sutter came back to town.

  She was twenty-seven years old and she’d had only two lovers. She wasn’t sure if that was admirable or pathetic. Was her limited experience a reflection of discriminatory taste or simple disinterest? And what did it mean that her formerly dormant libido was humming whenever she was around Sutter?

  Thankfully, Courtney returned to their table, saving Paige from further introspection.

  The nachos were heaped on a platter and layered with spicy ground beef, melted cheeses, diced tomatoes, sliced black olives and jalapeños, with bowls of sour cream and salsa on the side. Sutter’s eyes widened when the waitress slid the platter into the middle of the table.

  “Still think you’re going to need more than this?” Paige teased him.

  He shrugged. “I guess that depends on how much you’re going to eat.”

  She lifted a chip heavy with meat and cheese from the top of the platter. “As much as I can.”

  He grinned and gestured for Courtney to bring them a couple more drinks.

  They both dug into the chips, eating more than talking until they’d devoured half of them. The nachos were salty and spicy, and Paige downed her second draft fairly quickly. She’d never been a heavy drinker, but she was thirsty and the beer went down easily, so when Courtney asked if she wanted another, she nodded. Sutter shook his head in response to the same question but ordered a soda, no doubt conscious of the fact that he was driving.

  “I almost forgot how much you liked Mexican,” he noted.

  Paige wasn’t eating with as much enthusiasm now, but she continued to pick at the chips. “My second favorite kind of food.”

  “What’s the first?”

  “Anything sweet,” she admitted.

  “I’d love to take you to Seattle sometime,” he said. “There’s a little restaurant tucked at the end of a residential street that serves seriously authentic Mexican. The menu is written in Spanish, the tamales are homemade and the margaritas are icy and tart.”

  Her brows lifted. “You don’t strike me as the margarita type.”

  “I’m not,” he admitted. “But Jenni guzzles them down like water.”

  She didn’t want to ask. His life in Seattle was none of her business, but he’d dropped the name so easily, her curiosity was undeniably piqued. “Who’s Jenni?”

  “Jenni Locke—the head trainer at my stable.”

  “I thought most trainers were men.”

  “I’d say the majority probably are,” he agreed. “But there are increasing numbers of women in the field and I have to say Jenni is one of the best I’ve ever known.”

  She traced the ring of condensation on the table with her fingertip. “How long has she been with you?”

  “Since the beginning.”

  “You must know her pretty well, then.”

  “You work closely with someone for three years, you get to know them pretty well,” he agreed.

  “Are you...involved?”

  He paused with a nacho halfway to his mouth. “What?”

  She shook her head. She hadn’t meant to ask the question and wasn’t sure she wanted to know the answer. “Forget it.”

  Of course he didn’t forget it. Instead, he said, “Do you mean romantically involved?”

  “I shouldn’t have asked. It’s none of my business.”

  He dropped the nacho onto his plate. “I would have thought you knew me better than to think I’d be kissing you if I was involved with someone else.”

  “Five years is a long time,” she reminded him. “I’m not sure I know you at all anymore.”

  “I haven’t changed, not that much. And to answer your question—no. Jenni and I are not, and never have been, romantically involved.

  “She is, however, one of my best friends in Seattle. In fact, she and Reese, my stable manager, are probably my two best friends. Although that might be simply because we spend so much time together,” he admitted wryly. “But we also have a lot in common, including a vested interest in the success of Traub Stables.”

  She hesitated on the verge of asking another question to which she might not like the answer, but decided that she had to know. “Do you miss being there?”

  “I miss the routines,” he admitted. “I miss looking around and knowing that everything I see is mine.” He held her gaze across the table. “But right now, I don’t want to be anywhere but exactly where I am.”

  And right now, that was enough for Paige.

  * * *

  Paige nibbled on a few more chips, then pushed the platter closer to Sutter. “I’m done.”

  He was close to being done himself but unwilling to admit defeat. He picked up a nacho and dunked it in salsa.

  “How about you?” he asked her. “Do you love teaching as much as you thought you would?”

  “Even more,” she said, then stifled a yawn.

  “Tired?”

  She nodded. “It’s been a long day.”

  “And a busy one,” he agreed.

  “But it’s starting to look like we might actually make our target of having the school ready for the new year.”

  “Which means you’ll get your living room back.”

  She smiled. “I don’t mind so much. It beats the alternative of not being able to hold classes at all—I can’t imagine the kind of mischief some of my students would get into if there wasn’t any structure to their days.”

  “That would be their parents’ problem, not yours,” he pointed out.

  “Says the man from the big city.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Just that maybe you have forgotten how things work in towns like this—any problem is everyone’s problem, whether it’s a natural disaster or a kid who goes around causing trouble because he’s got too much time on his hands.”

  “What about a kid who swipes a red licorice rope in a misguided attempt to impress a pretty girl?”

  “Usually a parent’s reprimand is sufficient to ensure that kind of delinquent behavior doesn’t become a habit.”

  “I was reprimanded by my father’s hand on my butt,” he reminded her.

  “And I kissed your cheek to apologize for getting you into trouble.”

  “Not the one that hurt.”

  She smiled. “I’d almost forgotten about that.”

  “I didn’t,” he told her. “I was ten years old, and it was my first kiss.”

  “And I still have a weakness for red rope licorice,” she admitted.

  “I’ll keep that in mind.” He leaned back in his
seat and picked up his soda. Looking around, he noticed the empty stage at the back of the room. “Do they ever have live music here anymore?”

  “Maybe two or three times a year. Rosey figures the jukebox is all she needs to provide in the way of musical entertainment—and it’s already paid for.”

  “Then she hasn’t changed at all in the past five years,” he mused.

  “The only thing that’s changed is the menu,” Paige told him. “Although wings and burgers are probably still the most popular items, she did upgrade the nachos and added wraps and even salads.”

  “Salads?”

  “Not standard cowboy fare,” she acknowledged. “But it has brought more women here at lunchtime.”

  The jukebox Paige mentioned had been eating up quarters all night with a standard assortment of country-and-western tunes playing consistently in the background, so he was pleasantly surprised to hear one of Shania Twain’s biggest hits start up.

  “Do you remember this song?” Sutter asked.

  Paige nodded but kept her gaze firmly fixed on the glass she held between her hands. “It was a huge hit when we were in high school.”

  “And the first song we danced to at your junior prom,” he reminded her.

  She just nodded again.

  He glanced toward the center of the room, where a few couples had ventured onto the dance floor. He tipped his head in that direction. “What do you think—want to hit the dance floor for old times’ sake?”

  This time, she shook her head. “No, thanks.”

  “Why not?”

  “People started talking as soon as we walked through the front door—imagine how the goship would spread if we stepped onto the dance floor together.”

  “I’m not afraid of a little gossip.”

  “’Cuz you don’t live here.”

  “Was it really that bad when I left?”

  “No,” she said. “It was worse. And not jus’ ’cuz people talked about our breakup, but ’cuz they all felt sorry for me. ‘Poor Paige—dumped and abandoned by her boyfriend.’”

  He winced. “You should have told them the truth—that you dumped me.”

  “I didn’t dump you. I wanted you to stay.” She picked up her glass again and frowned when she discovered that it was empty.

  “Did you want anything else? Soda? Coffee?” He didn’t suggest another beer because he’d noticed, even if she hadn’t, that she was starting to slur her words just a little.

  “No,” she decided, shaking her head. “I’m ready to go.”

  He paid the bill, then stood up. She slid out of the booth, ignoring the hand he offered to her. He figured it was like the dance floor—she didn’t want to give the locals anything to talk about.

  The rusty hinges of the screen door protested when she pushed it open. She paused on the porch to draw in a deep breath of the cold night air.

  Sutter stopped beside her. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m not sure,” she admitted. “My ears are buzzing, and my head’s floating—” she held a hand about six inches over her head “—somewhere around here.”

  “You never were much of a drinker,” he remembered.

  “I’m still not.” She drew in another breath. “I prob’ly shouldn’t have had the shecond beer.”

  “I think it’s more likely the third that you’re feeling.”

  She turned her head to look at him, her brow furrowed. “I didn’t have three.”

  “Yeah, you did.”

  “Well, that would ’splain the buzzing in my ears.”

  He led her to his truck, helped her into the cab and made sure she was buckled in before he went around to the driver’s side.

  She didn’t say much on the short drive back to her house. When he pulled into her driveway, he realized it was because she’d fallen asleep. He opened her door and nudged her awake.

  “Come on, sleeping beauty. You’re home.”

  He walked her to the door to make sure she got inside safely. He didn’t intend to go any farther, except that she squinted at the key she pulled out of her pocket and couldn’t quite slide it into the lock. He covered her hand with his own to help guide her movements. The deadbolt released, and he turned the knob.

  “Do you have any acetaminophen?”

  “D’you have a headache?”

  He smiled. “Not for me—for you.”

  “I don’t have a headache,” she told him.

  “You might in the morning,” he warned.

  She went to the kitchen, poured herself a glass of water and shook a couple of tablets out of the bottle she located in the cupboard.

  “You want me to take you up to your bed now?”

  She looked up at him, her solemn gaze considering him. “Yeah,” she admitted on a sigh. “But I don’ think thatsa good idea.”

  Chapter Eight

  Sutter had to smile, not just at her erroneous interpretation of the question but her unexpected reply to it.

  “I was only asking if you wanted me to help you upstairs and get you settled,” he clarified, though his own thoughts had now shifted in a very different direction.

  “You can’t help me get shettled—you make me unshettled.”

  “Not nearly as unsettled as you make me, I’ll bet.”

  “D’you ever lie awake at night thinkin’ ’bout me and wishin’ I was there?”

  “Every night,” he admitted.

  “D’you dream ’bout me?”

  “Every night,” he said again.

  “Good,” she decided. “’Cuz I dream ’bout you, too.”

  “What do you dream about?” he asked, because he was curious and she seemed to be in the mood to talk.

  Her lips curved as her eyes drifted shut. “I dream ’bout you kissing me, touching me. And it’s so real.... I can almost feel your hands on my body.” She took his hands now and moved them to her breasts. “I want to feel your hands on my body.”

  Oh, damn—he had not anticipated this, and his own body’s response was immediate and undeniable. As all the blood in his head migrated south, he knew he should pull his hands away, but hers held his immobile, and he felt her nipples bead beneath his palms.

  “Touch me,” she said.

  He couldn’t seem to help himself. His fingers gently kneaded the tender flesh; his thumbs brushed over the tight buds. She moaned low in her throat, a sensual sound of appreciation that made his whole body ache with want.

  “Kiss me.”

  There was no way he could refuse. Not that she gave him much choice in the matter. Even before the words were out of her mouth, her hands were linked behind his head, urging his mouth down to hers.

  She might be feeling some effects from the alcohol, but it hadn’t affected her coordination at all. She fastened her mouth on his in a kiss that was soft and warm and incredibly sweet. Then her tongue slid between his lips to dance with his, and the flavor changed to something hotter, spicier and infinitely more dangerous.

  In some distant part of his brain, it occurred to Sutter that one of them should think about this rationally—and he didn’t think it was going to be Paige. With sincere reluctance, he eased his mouth from hers.

  “It’s late,” he said.

  Her only response was to take his hand and start up the stairs.

  Since Sutter was pretty sure she was heading toward her bedroom, he tried to hold back. “I really have to be going.”

  But his resistance made her stumble on the next step. With a muttered oath, he scooped her into his arms and carried her up.

  “First room on the right,” she told him.

  He stepped just inside the door and set her back on her feet. She slipped her hands beneath the hem of his T-shirt, slid her palms over his chest. She pushed t
he fabric up and pressed her lips to his chest, where his heart was beating a frantic and desperate rhythm.

  He tugged her hands away. “Honey, you’re just a little bit—” Topless, he realized, his jaw on the floor. Before he’d managed to get a complete sentence out of his mouth, she’d tossed her shirt aside and her bra had immediately followed.

  She’d asked him to touch her, to kiss her, and he wanted to do that and a whole lot more. But he was a grown man with at least a tiny bit of self-control, and he managed to restrain himself. At least until she took his hands and brought them to her breasts again. His eyes closed, but he didn’t know if he should swear or pray for forgiveness, because when she drew him back to the bed, he let her. Then he lowered his head.

  He laved her nipple with his tongue, tasting, teasing, then drew the turgid peak into his mouth and suckled. She gasped and arched against him, her fingers threaded through his hair, cupping the back of his head, silently urging him on. He complied, using his lips and tongue and teeth until she was panting and squirming.

  He wanted to make love with her more than he wanted to take another breath, but it wasn’t going to happen tonight. Not when he knew that Paige didn’t really know what she was doing. He might curse his conscience, but he couldn’t ignore it.

  He pulled away and tried to catch his breath and cool his blood. Her pajamas were neatly folded on top of her pillow. He picked up the top and tugged it over her head.

  She blinked at him, apparently confused as to why he was suddenly dressing her instead of undressing her. As he tugged the long-sleeved shirt into place, he kissed her again, because he was afraid that if he gave her a chance to say anything else, he might forget all the reasons that making love with her tonight was a bad idea.

  Her hand slid between their bodies to rub over the front of his jeans, where his erection was straining painfully. “You do want me,” she realized.

  “Wanting isn’t the problem.”

  “Wha’s the problem?”

  “Three beers,” he muttered, and moved off of the bed.