Marina Adair - Need You for Keeps (St. Helena Vineyard #6)

by Unknown

  Even though they had never spent any significant length of time together, she knew he took pride in his ability to protect and serve. He showed it every day in the way he cared for his family, his house, his town, and its people—even when it came to pain-in-his-ass neighbors carrying suspicious brown paper bags. And the other day he had cared enough about Shay and her dogs to look the other way when she’d messed up, then he sat with her while she mourned the loss of one of her babies, as though he understood her struggle in saying good-bye.

  She wanted to acknowledge that and say thanks.

  “You didn’t have to do that,” he said quietly.

  “I wanted to. I mean, it isn’t a big deal. It’s . . .”

  Shay didn’t know how to finish that statement. In fact, it was becoming increasingly difficult to speak, period. Jonah had focused all his attention on her, patiently waiting for her to continue. Being on the receiving end of that kind of intensity, and what she thought looked a lot like caring, made her heart do crazy things. Then he took a step forward and her breath caught.

  “It’s sweet,” he said softly, his smile faltering as the last word played off his tongue.

  Hers disappeared altogether. Not because she was shocked that he found her sweet, but because she was suddenly aware of just how close they stood, and how badly she wanted him to lean down and kiss her. How badly she wanted him to think she was sweet.

  Shay knew she was a lot of things, but sweet wasn’t one of them. Yet something about the way he said it, the way he was looking at her, made her want to be just that. At least for tonight.

  “Hang on,” he said, looking in the bag. “What happened to the rest of the six-pack?”

  “Nothing. It is the perfect amount,” she said, taking the bag and pulling out the first one. She handed it to him. “This one is to say thank you for not ticketing me for giving away alcohol without a permit.”

  He laughed—and it was a great laugh. “Your thanks for overlooking your illegal possession of alcohol is to give me alcohol?”

  “Legal alcohol,” she corrected. “I learn from my mistakes. Now take the beer and say, ‘Thank you, Trouble.’”

  He did as told, making a big show of popping the top and taking a big swig. He wiped the back of his hand over his mouth. “Thank you, Trouble.” Only he wasn’t being a smart-ass, he was being serious.

  She pulled out the next bottle. Same brand, different brew. “This one is for buying a calendar. Your being supportive meant a lot.”

  “To be clear, no money actually exchanged hands, and the calendar was for my Aunt Lucinda. If my brothers hear any differently, we are going to have problems.” He eyed the next beer in her hand. “Let me guess, that one is for not busting you for selling calendars without a retail license?”

  “No it’s for . . .” Shit! “I have to have a license to sell my calendars?”

  “Forget I said anything.” He took another long pull.

  “Already forgotten,” she said and handed him the third one. “This one is to say thanks for bringing me coffee and listening to me whine over Tripod.”

  “I didn’t think you were whining,” he whispered. “I thought you handled it with an amazing amount of strength and grace.”

  Grace.

  That word, with regard to her, was a compliment in itself. Coming from Jonah? It made all of her insides turn to mush.

  Afraid she might kiss him after all, she quickly pulled out the last bottle. “This one is to apologize for the quote in the paper. I had no idea what the article was about or how it would make you look.” She took a deep breath and looked into his deep blue eyes until she wanted to fall in. “I didn’t think that—”

  Not wanting to cheapen this experience, she stopped before she made up some lame excuse. He deserved more and so did this moment.

  “I didn’t think. Period. I was so focused on selling my calendars and I didn’t think of how it would affect you or anybody else. And I am sorry.”

  He was silent, just staring at her. She confused him, which was fine by her since she got flustered every time he looked her way.

  “So you stood out here in the pouring rain to apologize? To me?”

  Unable to hold his gaze any longer, she leaned her head back to look at the rain, which was coming down pretty hard, and put her hands out to the side. “I like the rain.”

  “Me too.”

  Shay’s body gave a little shiver—but not because of the rain. The heat between them was so tangible it made it difficult to catch her breath. He didn’t help the situation, letting his gaze purposefully fall to her shirt—her pastel blue, incredibly wet shirt that was as practical as tissue paper in the rain—taking that shiver to a full-blown zing of anticipation. And when she realized he wasn’t trying to hide his interest, she knew she was in trouble.

  “Are you flirting with me, Sheriff?”

  “Jonah,” he corrected and Shay swallowed. Not Deputy but Jonah. It felt intimate, personal, like he was giving her something in return. It was silly, but with him dressed like a regular guy telling her his name, it made him seem more approachable. It was as if he was sharing part of himself with her, the real part of Jonah who sipped microbrews on the porch, and that Jonah she found incredibly appealing. “And I’m not sure what I’m doing.”

  “Me either,” she said and rolled up on her tiptoes, promising herself that she was just going to give a peck on the cheek, a sincere token of thanks between two friends. Only her lips touched his skin and the last thing she felt was friendly.

  His skin was rough with stubble and tasted like a summer rain and sexy man. And okay, her lips may have lingered a little longer than necessary, making her heart feel like it was going to pound right out of her chest, which was the only excuse she had for doing something epically stupid.

  Like moving her mouth just enough to brush his.

  In her defense, he did groan what sounded a lot like her name. Then again the blood was pounding so hard in her ears it could have just been a groan. Whatever it was sounded needy and hot and like he wanted more. So she did it again, and suddenly she felt air whoosh from her lungs as the cold bottles trailed from her hips around to her lower back as he pulled her to him, taking her mouth in what had to be the most thorough kiss in the history of kisses.

  Jonah was slow and languid, taking her mouth again and again, as though he was gearing up for an all-night-long slow kiss.

  Never one to be rushed, he took his sweet time to explore every inch of her, gently taking what she offered and nothing more. He wasn’t demanding or controlling, which surprised her. He seemed content to let her set the limits. Problem with that was Shay didn’t do limits all that well.

  In her mind, they were nothing more than recommended guidelines set for the sole purpose of being tested and crossed. And she had a feeling that crossing this particular line with this particular man was either the best idea she’d ever had or the worst mistake she’d ever make. And that was saying a lot.

  Thankfully her cell vibrated—the buzzing a reminder to feed the kittens.

  “What’s that?” he asked against her lips, then tilted his head to look at her butt, which was vibrating and blinking a rainbow of colors.

  Not wanting to explain that she had added five more pets to her now over-the-county-limit household—which would undoubtedly lead to her being fined—Shay turned off the alarm and repocketed the phone. “Nothing.”

  His gaze rose to her lips and he said, “That was a lot of bells and whistles for nothing.”

  “Yeah?” she whispered, knowing they were no longer talking about her phone.

  “Yeah,” he said as their gazes met. His was heated and guarded and she knew what he was thinking. This kind of chemistry could only end in disaster. A hot, steamy, life-altering disaster. But a disaster all the same.

  She touched her fingers to her lips and shook her head. “I don’t know what happened. I just wanted to give you a little kiss on the cheek.”

  That earned her a smile
. “You missed.”

  “I got distracted by your mouth.” Just saying the word had her gaze zeroing in on his lips again, had her breath sticking in her chest, and that zing picking up power and moving south—way south.

  His finger, chilled from the beer, traced along her jaw to her lower lip, making every nerve ending inside of her light up. “I know the feeling.”

  She looked up into his eyes, surprised at the hunger she found there. She placed a hand over his, bringing it to her mouth to deliver a gentle kiss. “This won’t work.”

  “I know that too.” Unfortunately their bodies didn’t, because even as they dropped their hands, the rest of them swayed closer.

  “Then I’ll just say my thanks so we can pretend the rest of this didn’t happen.”

  He laughed low and husky. “If you say so, Trouble.”

  Nope, but she was going to give it her best. “And I wanted to say thank you for fencing in Domino’s yard.” But giving him a beer for this one just didn’t seem right. Didn’t seem enough.

  It was the deputy’s turn to blush, which meant that he’d had zero intention of telling her what a wonderful, sweet thing he’d done for her. Well, for Domino, but it felt good all the same. “It was no big deal.”

  “To me it was. You promised you’d fix it and you did.”

  He took a step back and looked at her as though she’d somehow offended his entire sex. “I gave you my word.”

  He had given her so much more.

  Few people in Shay’s life had come through for her, which was why she didn’t want to mess this up, or complicate things.

  “Most people would have looked into it and maybe followed up, but you went to Mr. Barnwell’s on your day off, helped him build the fence, even bought some of the supplies.”

  He shrugged off her words, and for the first time Shay saw a different side of the confident and together deputy. She saw that he didn’t do well with praise, and she wondered why.

  “You’re a good man, Jonah,” she whispered, then walked away without another word. Across the street, up her front steps to the porch, and only when she was inside with the door securely closed did she allow herself to breathe. Because that kiss wasn’t a kiss. It was the start of something.

  “Should I go with the crotchless or red lace?”

  Under different circumstances, with a different woman, Jonah would have asked if she had a pair of crotchless red lace. But since he was on the job responding to a call, and Ms. Clovis Owens was the woman asking, he waved vaguely at the red pair. “I’d go with those.” He had tried several times in vain to direct Clovis to the point of her call, but she somehow kept distracting him.

  “Hmmm,” Clovis chuckled, her stare unyielding. “I would have taken you for a crotchless kind of guy.”

  Clovis dropped the red lace and picked up the crotchless, then relying heavily on her cane, waddled over to slip them on the half-dressed mannequin in the front window display.

  With a round face, an even rounder body, and enough aged cleavage to have Jonah shuddering, Clovis looked more like a madam than a shop owner. Granted, she ran the Boulder Holder, a lingerie store on Main Street that specialized in the curvier woman. And this curvy woman, who’d been rumored to have roamed the earth with the dinosaurs, loved to flaunt her wares, which today included a teal-and-black corset—whose seams looked one chuckle away from snapping due to the extraordinary amount of weight—and a button that said LET’S GET INTIMATE.

  “I’m spicing up the shop, trying to give customers a reason to wander this far down Main Street,” she explained. “Ever since I moved locations, I’ve had a hard time moving merchandise. I still have my regulars, but the lack of walk-ins is hurting business.”

  Two years ago, Clovis had purchased one of the five renovated Victorian storefronts on the far end of Main Street with the hope that the luxury live-work-play community breaking ground across the street would bring in high-end customers and raise the price of real estate. The project was nixed by the planning commission before they even broke ground, and the store owners had been floundering ever since.

  Satisfied with her display, Clovis walked back through the store, stopping midway to look at her hands, as though just realizing she no longer held her cane.

  “Sorry to hear that.” Jonah walked over to the window and, eyes averted, carefully extracted it from underneath the mannequin and handed it to her.

  “Aren’t you a gentleman,” she said, and when Clovis sat back behind her counter and thumbed through a box of glow-in-the-dark G-strings as though they were quilting squares, Jonah busied himself retrieving his notebook. “My granddaughter warned me against moving. Said I was counting my bills before they were in the strap.”

  On that note, Jonah cleared his throat. “You called about a discrimination claim.”

  That phrasing finally got her attention. “It isn’t a claim,” she said, her voice firm. “It was an act of discrimination pure and simple, and I want the culprit arrested.”

  “Why don’t you explain what happened.”

  “I was on that Pinterest, pinning me some pictures of those Cuties with Booties, when I saw that Giles Rousseau had opened him an account.” The older woman looked horrified. “The man makes me mail him a paper catalogue every season because he refuses to sign up for my e-mail mailing list, but he’s got a Pinterest account! And he pinned pictures from our swim class at the senior center on his Sexy and Single in St. Helena board.”

  Ah, Christ. Jonah knew where this was going. Warren was supposed to handle Giles, get him to hand over the photos, or at least scare him into not making them public.

  “I’m sorry about this, Ms. Owens. I will stop by his place on the way back and have him take your photos down immediately.” Then he was going to rip Warren a new one. Competitor or not, Jonah was tired of cleaning up his messes.

  “I’m not in the photos,” Clovis whispered on a sniffle, and Jonah wanted to head for the door. “That’s the problem, don’t you see?”

  No, he did not see. In fact this entire conversation was starting to make him sweat. Or maybe it was the banana hammock display to his right. Either way he wanted to take the report and get the hell out of there.

  “They’re all of the new swim teacher, Celeste, and her inflated floaters.” The woman looked so distraught Jonah did something he rarely did—he placed his hand on her meaty shoulder and gave her a few awkward pats.

  “If you’re not in the photos, then why did you call the sheriff’s department?” Jonah asked, his patting keeping pace with her sniffles, leaving him feeling completely at a loss as to how to handle this situation.

  Not a new feeling. He’d felt displaced and disconnected ever since he’d left San Francisco. Staying there hadn’t been an option. Dealing with kids killing each other over the wrong ball cap had slowly taken its toll, until Jonah had started making shit decisions. Decisions that made dealing with, well, pretty much anything impossible. So he’d quit, come home hoping to find a sense of peace. Instead being surrounded by his family and the town he loved only left him feeling more isolated. Lost, even.

  The truth was Jonah had felt lost ever since his dad had passed, leaving behind boots Jonah just couldn’t fill. Wasn’t sure he wanted to. David Baudouin was a complicated man who’d loved his family, yet often confused control with love.

  “He cut me out of them. Me!” She placed her hand on her chest with such force it caused a rippling effect that had Jonah looking elsewhere. Only elsewhere was worse, because his gaze fell on a basket of colored coins by the register and, aw hell, the woman who used to hand out popcorn balls at Halloween now handed out tropical-flavored condoms. “Clovis Owens, owner of the sexiest shop in town, isn’t sexy enough to be pinned on his Sexy and Single board. And that, young man, is discrimination, and I intend on pressing charges!”

  And so went his day.

  Giles refused to either take down his board or add Clovis to it, claiming his First Amendment rights. And Clovis, heartbroken o
ver not being considered sexy and single, hired a lawyer. Later, Jonah caught a couple of teens stealing spare tires from Stan’s Soup and Service Station, ticketed a tourist who’d mistaken Main Street for a raceway, and spotted Shay parading a litter of dogs in nothing more than a pair of shorts and a yellow tank top that said WOOF ME across the chest, the WO and ME straining to be seen around her curves.

  He couldn’t tear his eyes off her as she ran past, the little necklace she always wore bouncing up and down. It was more the ring that hung on the chain that caught Jonah’s attention. Or maybe it was the other bouncing that had him missing his green light.

  When Jonah got back to the station he found Warren, who was supposed to be working the front desk, out front signing calendars for a group of ladies in Booty Patrol T-shirts. Which meant that Jonah spent the last hour of his shift fielding calls while trying to get caught up on the mountain of paperwork he’d been putting off all week.

  Not that he got all that far, since all he could think about was Shay and how much he wanted her. It took him over an hour to write up one report because he was replaying that kiss over and over in his head until somehow the kiss led to Shay in his bed wearing nothing but panties—red ones.

  The sheriff walked over to Jonah’s desk, taking a seat across from Jonah. He leaned back, making himself at home, then smiled. “Got a call from the judge a few minutes ago. Seems his wife’s all riled up over something about her neighbor.”

  “What’s Estella claiming now?” Jonah asked, going back to his report and promising himself he was asking because he liked to be informed, not because he was going to get involved.

  “Says the neighbor is running a puppy mill. Says there is barking all hours of the night.”

  “I live across the street from her,” Jonah explained. “Sure, there is barking at times, but not any more than coming from Estella’s place.”