He turned his hand up, lacing his fingers through hers. “Tell me, then.”
She nodded, and squeezed before letting his hand go. Padding over to the sideboard, she pulled a stack of documents out of a drawer.
Fletcher couldn’t take his eyes off her. God, she’s beautiful, he thought. She walked with the grace of a dancer, and she didn’t even realize how sexy she looked when she flipped her hair back, which she did all the time.
She turned the light switch on as she came back to the table, setting the papers in front of him, one hand resting on his shoulder and her breast just inches from his cheek. If he turned his head ... no! He needed to get a grip!
He forced his eyes to the papers, and his own signature staring back at him. Jesus! Good thing he was sitting down! Thank God he was known by his middle name—everything he signed was as G. F. Graham. He swallowed hard.
Tess didn’t seem to notice. “Now, these are the letters I’ve gotten from Mayor Graham when I wrote to him from New York. I’d already set up a job with Coop when I sent him a download of a demo I’d done. I was thrilled that he has a state-of-the-art system, and I was able to audition via the Internet.”
“Tess ...” He was going to lose patience before long.
“Right. Sorry, I got off track. Anyway, when I told him that my grandfather was Roy Braeden, he gave me a little information when I asked him why there was the lien and a deadline on paying off my house. The lawyer tried to give me a song and dance, but he only handled the estate, and he’s not from Justice, so none of the gossip had reached him.”
Fletcher took a deep breath. Wouldn’t interfere with my love life, my ass! Coop is neck-deep in the middle of this!
“I know he’s a busy man, but I thought that once I got to Justice, the mayor would make time to see me. I don’t know why he’s avoiding me exactly, but if he’d hear me out, then he’d know that I can solve his problem with his father and the historical society and landmark committee all together.”
“How do you figure that?” Fletcher asked. The heat of her body seeped into his back as she leaned over him to look at the documents, but it was the fact that she knew a lot more than he thought that had him sweating like a condemned man on death row whose number just came up.
“Well, Mayor Graham’s father is the fire chief here, and he wants to tear down the house to build a new firehouse on the property. And while Justice needs one, according to Coop, what Chief Graham wants in design and structure is awful, and will ruin the charm that Justice prides itself on.”
That was true. Fletcher and his father had been going round and round on the issue for months. And he was his father’s son—he’d lost his temper a few times. But there was no way he’d allow that monstrosity to be built on this land. It was too modern, and it would be the first thing anyone entering the town would see. He wasn’t willing to let his constituents down. They expected him to make decisions that were beneficial for them and their town. “If he changed the look of it, and the location, like behind the schoolyard, then maybe it would be approved, but you’re right. This isn’t the place for a fire station. He’s just not willing to budge, and he’s biding his time, hoping that the house won’t be granted historical status.”
“It won’t be.”
His head popped up, his cheek pillowed on her breast as his eyes met hers. “Come again?”
She snickered.
Fletcher rolled his eyes, wishing he’d chosen a different turn of phrase.
She ignored the comment and explained. “They can’t have it if I pay off the monies owed on it,” she said, her excitement growing as if she were telling a fascinating story, full of twists and turns.
Oh, if she only knew! Fletcher thought. He found her enthusiasm catching; he wanted to know exactly how she could get him out of the tug-of-war he’d found himself in. “Tell me,” he said quietly, turning his head a fraction to rub his cheek softly against her breast, needing the contact like air.
Her breath caught, and her nipple, so close to his lips, tightened as his hot breath fanned over it through her robe. He knew it was lunacy, but he wanted her again, all naked and slow this time, a leisurely exploration of her body. His cock hardened painfully under the table.
Fletcher was just about to reach for her again, thoughts of foreclosures, back taxes, liens, and disputes fading fast from his mind, but Tess pulled out the chair next to him, wisely sitting down and putting a bit of distance between them.
Her knowing grin was too much. He laughed out loud. “Sorry, honey. I lost my train of thought.” Trying to look sheepish didn’t work. She knew he wasn’t a bit sorry.
“So I noticed.”
Fletcher shifted in his chair, and cleared his throat. “Okay, I’m back with ya. I promise. So, if you have the money, then why haven’t you paid off the debts already and put it on the market to make the profit?”
“Because I don’t have the money yet.”
Fletcher cast her a sideways glance. If she didn’t have the money, then ... “You’ve lost me again.”
“The only thing I can afford to buy right now is time.”
“So where are you planning to get the money? Everyone in this town knows Roy died without a plug nickel to his name.”
“Yeah, and I only found that out when the lawyer came to settle the estate. I’ve tried to get a loan the regular way, but since I don’t think I’ve ever had more than a hundred dollars in my checking account at one time, and no savings to speak of, they won’t give me a penny. The highest limit on my credit card was five hundred dollars, and since I was going out of town so much, I was late on the damn payments more often than not.” She sighed, then shook it off, saying, “But I got a job offer to open for a well-known artist in Vegas. And if I sign the contract, I can arrange an advance on what they’ll pay me.”
“Las Vegas? Sin City? As in Nevada?”
Tess sneered at him. “Yes, Sin City. I’ve worked there before, at one of the casinos on the strip. Believe me, I don’t want to go back, and it’s a one-year gig. But if I can get my foot in the door, then I stand a better chance of doing what I really want.”
“And what might that be?” Fletcher’s throat closed, and his voice sounded gravelly to his own ears. His skin chilled, despite the heat of the small kitchen. She was going to tell him that she wanted to be a singer, making money hand over fist, and giving her status, prestige, recognition. Of course, the reason he’d avoided her all this time was because forfeiting the house would leave her free of legal obligations. And she’d be able to use that fantastic voice to be the star he knew it would make her. He could remind her of that, but he wasn’t going to help her screw up his life when it was becoming obvious that she didn’t want a role in it.
It wasn’t the fact that his life was about to get more complicated by having to make some decisions he’d put off these months. He knew the time would come for that, sooner or later. No, he thought. It was the fact that it was Jane all over again; he wanted to stay, and she wanted to go. And that made his chest squeeze. From the minute he’d seen Tess, he’d actually imagined this woman as part of his future.
How could he have been so wrong? He’d awakened Coop at the crack of dawn to force him to spill his guts about their newest resident. And after the few details that Coop was willing to divulge, he’d confided in his friend that he would be careful, that he didn’t want to blow his chances with Tess. He’d even admitted that he could see himself falling in love with this woman. Coop maintained that he wasn’t getting involved, but damn! They were best buddies. Coop was supposed to warn him when he was about to be blindsided!
There was no way he was going to be fooled again, he determined.
“Earth to Fletcher?” Tess snapped her fingers in front of him, and he was pulled back to the reality he didn’t want to face.
“I have to go,” he said angrily, getting up and putting on his boots. Looking ridiculous in the sweatpants, he picked his tool belt up off the floor. “I’ll stop by The L
ast Call on Monday night to get my clothes.”
She appeared crestfallen at first, but her face turned hard, and she sneered at him. “Oh, I see. I’m okay to nail against the wall, but the minute you find out that my ultimate plan is to settle in Justice, you’re as skittish as a snake.”
Fletcher was pissed, but he barely hid a grin. He wanted to tell her that if she was going to lambaste him, she should get her euphemisms straight. Then the last part sank in ... settle in Justice—? “Wait. Say that again?”
“Never mind, Fletcher. You can go. I can see that outsiders aren’t as welcome as I thought. No wonder the mayor won’t see me. He probably thinks the city girl might bring lawlessness to Justice. I—”
Fletcher wished he’d paid attention instead of letting his bitterness drown her out a minute ago. Then he’d know where the hell that nonsense she spouted was coming from. But he knew his ears weren’t playing tricks on him; she wanted to stay, and that was all he needed to hear.
His mouth covered hers before she could sputter any more absurd notions. He smiled against her lips. She was as glad as he was that he’d stopped her barrage; she melted into his arms, her whimper of need filling his mouth. He pulled away slowly when he’d had enough of her taste to sustain him for a few minutes. Or at least until he’d unraveled the mystery of this woman and her role in his life, personally and politically. He concentrated on catching his own breath, her kiss as potent as a shot of whiskey to his gut.
Sweeping a hand over the soft curve of her buttocks, he tapped a finger to her lips with the other, hushing her. “Cease fire, honey,” he murmured quietly. “I was wrong. Okay?”
She nodded, her eyes glazed over, but still, a spark of distrust lurked in their depths. If the desire weren’t eclipsing it, he’d be worried. By rights, she shouldn’t trust him at all, but she didn’t know that. He felt like a sneaky bastard.
Her nipples were hard pebbles of arousal, the pulse in her neck pounding a rapid beat. He kissed the tip of her nose and took her hand, walking back to the table, but instead of guiding her back to her own chair, he sat in his and pulled her into his lap. “And never insinuate that you’re cheap again. I wouldn’t ever think that. In fact, all I can think about is how you’ll make me work for it.”
Tess chuckled under her breath, relaxing in his arms. Good. He didn’t ever want her to be uncomfortable around him. Especially since he was seriously contemplating ways to help her to stay here in Justice. Here with him. “Tell me again about you wanting to settle here?”
She wriggled, getting more settled on him, easily forgiving him, which he didn’t deserve. And if she didn’t start talking soon, her little lap dance was going to distract him again so that no matter what she said, it wasn’t going to register past the rush of arousal. He growled warningly, “You were saying?”
A sultry, devious grin spread across her face. “Are you ready now?”
He clamped down on the urge to grind her down on his cock. “I’m getting there, honey.”
Her soft, musical laugh washed over him. Even when she didn’t try, she got to him. She kissed his neck, but slid from his lap, resuming her seat in her own chair before he had the sense to get a firm grip. He felt the loss immediately, wanting her back in his arms, where she belonged.
He’d gone home last night, painfully aware of her sexual lure, gotten up this morning admitting to himself that Tess was like a warm, fresh breeze blowing through his life, one that he wanted to feel over and over again. Just now, he was picturing himself with her exactly like this thirty years from now, sitting in this very kitchen, teasing her and trying to coax her onto his lap for some early morning play. With Jane, he never saw beyond the end of the week. He focused on Tess, determined to find a way to make that vision a reality. She was the one. He knew it as sure as he knew his own name.
“I want to stay in Justice, but that’s not possible unless I can cough up the cash. I sent demo tapes to some record companies, but I haven’t heard anything yet. I’ve been a pain in the ass to some of them, and I think they’ll have me arrested if I show up in person.” She arched her brow and tipped her head.
He knew that would never come to pass. One look at Tess, and they’d be scrambling to sign her before the next guy. A friend of his from college was in the business, and they’d talked about work once. Though he knew Tom was a great agent, he’d told horror stories about colleagues who cared more about the money and less about the welfare of the people they represented. “So by going to Vegas, someone will hear you sing, you’ll get exposure, and you’ll get a record deal that way.” This was where Fletcher left off a minute ago; he couldn’t hide the acrimony in his voice this time, either.
“No, that’s not it at all.”
He pinned her with his stare, determined to get to the bottom of this before he got up again and left behind that absurd home-and-hearth visual of the two of them, once and for all. “Then what is it, Tess?”
Her eyes shone as she held his gaze. She placed her hand over his again, and her robe gaped just a little, but Fletcher was locked onto her face.
“I’m not being conceited when I say that I know I can sing. I’ve been doing it in clubs all over the country since I was a kid. My dad was a drifter, always moving to some new town or city, singing his songs. It’s the only life I’ve ever known.”
Fletcher watched her body language. It didn’t take a genius to know that they weren’t happy memories for her.
“When he passed away, I stuck to the familiar, and followed the same path. I’d gotten used to sleeping in motels, or the car, going from town to town, but I never liked it. In fact, I hated it.”
He listened and began to see things clearly. And his admiration for her grew as she mapped out her game plan.
“I can get by on my voice. But what I really want to do is write songs. Exclusively. I only sing for my supper right now because it helps keep a roof over my head.”
“Don’t you want to be rich and famous? Singing would do that for you, because you’re right, honey—you have an incredible set of pipes. You’d get a contract in a heartbeat.”
“Rich, yes—famous ... no. And the fact that I may be asked to ‘hum a few bars’ of my music and my voice will only hinder my chances.”
One brow rose, and Fletcher wondered if he was really understanding her. “Hinder you how?”
“I auditioned once in New York. The guy was ready to pull a contract from his attaché that minute! But when I told the guy I had no interest in pursuing a singing career, you’d think I’d just kicked him in the gut!”
Fletcher could relate to the poor bastard. Every time he remembered what her voice had done to him last night, he felt his manhood grow heavy and insistent. Even now, as she sat there, animated and energized, her speaking voice was having an effect on him. He had to get up, do something, or he’d be in trouble. He wasn’t concentrating on the things she said; instead he was drowning in the way her voice nearly sent him into a frenzy of need, and that was going to be his downfall.
The washer stopped and Fletcher used the opportunity to put some distance between them. He switched the clothes over to the dryer, and the task kept his back to her for a moment, enough for him to get his resurging appetite in check.
A hairbrush lay on the surface of the dryer, and the thought of touching her, even in that simple way, was a temptation he couldn’t resist. “So you want to be a songwriter?” he asked, fighting down the flicker of hope he felt. He didn’t want it to matter so much, but he wasn’t going to start lying to himself, too; it mattered a whole hell of a lot.
When he knew he’d be able to trust his own restraint, he sauntered back across the room.
He was grateful when she took the brush from him and carelessly tugged it through the strands, pulling the snarls out until her hair shone, falling long and heavy over her shoulders. He didn’t want to harm a hair on that head. And he would have—it was a mess—but if he envisioned her after a bout of lovemaking, the mussed look would
be it. She hadn’t combed it when she came back downstairs, but she’d taken the time to brush her teeth. She wasn’t obsessed with her looks. Fletcher found her gorgeous no matter what she looked like. Man, he was easy!
She handed the brush back to him. His heart squeezed. Women never let men mess with their hair, but Tess trusted him, sat with her back to him, answering the question he’d almost forgotten he’d asked. “Oh, yes. I love to compose music, write lyrics. But I don’t want to sing. I want other artists to sing my songs.”
God! Fletcher thought. If there was anything that could send a jolt of sensation shooting up his spine, it was the sound of Tess sighing yes, while he was so close, breathing in her scent. He was concentrating on what she said, he had to, but he couldn’t help just enjoying her company. Something he contemplated doing for a long time to come.
He ran the bristles gently through the dark reddish-brown tresses, and she lazily continued, her body responding to his ministrations. “Justice is my last call, Fletcher, the end of the road for me. It’s where I want to stay. Forever.”
His hands stilled on the silky crown of her head. “Why?” he asked, and realized he was actually holding his breath, waiting for her response.
“I told you. I’ve been traveling all my life. I want a place to call home. Thanks to my grandfather, Justice is the place. I’ve only been here a short time, and I already love it.”
She spoke with such surety that Fletcher was convinced. But the other—
She must have taken his silence for uncertainty. “Don’t you see, Fletcher? If I became a singer, they’d want promotions, tours, publicity, and it would never end if listeners like my voice and style. A year in Vegas to make the contacts I need is worth the reward of never having to uproot myself again, and never having to perform when my heart’s not in it. I love singing at Last Call, but it’s not my dream to be a star.”
Bad Boys In Black Tie Page 20
