“That’s all hype and bullshit and you know it. Popularity isn’t the measure of a man.”
“Yes,” she said, “but I didn’t realize you were aware of that.” Hmm, Pierce Hollister humbled? Something was most definitely off about this. “Malcolm told me you’d gone to see your doctor in Dallas. Did you get bad news?”
“You spoke to Malcolm?”
“Ignoring that last part?”
“When did you see Malcolm?”
“You’re ignoring the bad news question? Must be serious.”
“It’s fine, everything’s fine.” He winced.
“I’m a good listener,” she offered, not knowing why she did so.
“Malcolm?” Pierce prodded.
“He came by the gardens and asked me to go to a symposium with him in El Paso this coming weekend.”
Pierce straightened. “He did, huh?”
“Does that bother you?”
“Are you going?”
“Only if it bothers you,” she couldn’t resist teasing.
“Why would it bother me?”
“You and your brother have a bad case of sibling rivalry. I have a feeling Malcolm was asking me to the symposium just to gig you.”
“Alternately, he could have a mad crush on you.”
Lace snorted, folded her arms over her chest.
“You don’t think that’s possible?” Pierce asked.
“I’m not the type of woman that men get mad crushes over.”
Pierce’s eyes took such a long, leisurely look down her body that it was all she could do not to shiver. “Now where did you ever get an idea like that?”
“I’m too cerebral. It scares men off.”
“You got a lot more going for you than just your brains, Lace Bettingfield.” His voice rumbled from his chest, dark and thick.
“What’s with the full-court press from the Hollister boys?” She threw her arms in the air. “I don’t want either one of you.”
“Are you sure about that?”
“Positive,” she said weakly. That smile of his should come with a skull and crossbones icon. Warning! Deadly!
Pierce lowered his voice, his intelligent eyes sharp. The man didn’t miss a thing. “What do you want, Lace?”
It was all she could do to meet his seductive eyes. A kiss. I want you to kiss me! The crazy thought ran through her brain, unbidden and unwanted. Well, mostly.
His gaze was on her. Not just on her, but searing into her, burning her up.
She notched up her chin. “I want to teach this class before all the students get up and walk out.” She put her hand on the doorknob. “I’ll let you stay for a while, but if your celebrity status keeps disrupting the class, you’re out on your ear.”
“Who’s going to throw me out?”
“I am,” she blustered.
“All by yourself?” He took a step toward her.
Lace tossed her head, held her ground. Every raw, achy cell in her body cried for her to plant a big wet kiss on his lips, but she wasn’t about to give him the satisfaction of letting him know how much he affected her. “Sorry, but that alpha male, I’m-gonna-invade-your-personal-space-until-your-knees-crumple-from-the-sheer-force-of-my-masculinity crap doesn’t work on me.”
“Is that right?” he murmured huskily.
“Absolutely.”
He rested his arm on the door facing above her head, leaned in so close she could smell the moneyed scent of his cologne mingling with the fragrance of sandy Cupid soil, underplayed by the smell of high school. “Not even a tiny little bit?”
“Not one iota.”
“Not a scintilla?”
“Not even a micro particle.”
“What about an atom?”
“Not even a quark.”
“Quarks, huh? Now that’s an interesting topic. Did you know that there are six quarks but they come in pairs of three. Up/down. Charm/strange. Top/bottom.” “Don’t forget the antiquark,” she challenged.
“Opposite and equal charges. You looked surprised that I know this.”
Lace raised her brows. “The Discovery Channel?”
His grin widened. “Hey, I’ve been convalescing. Not much else on TV when it’s not football season.”
“You surprise me. I would never have thought you could flip past late night Cinemax.”
“If we were a pair of quarks which one would we be?” His voice went down another octave. “I vote for top and bottom, although charm and strange does have an intriguing appeal.”
“Yes, in that case you’d be the charm, wouldn’t you? But you’ve got it all wrong. We’re not quark pairs.”
“No?”
“If you’re the quark, I’m the antiquark.”
He dipped his head so low that his lips were almost touching hers. “You like being the antagonist, don’t you?”
“You’ll soon find out if you don’t step off,” she said, far more feisty than she felt.
He raised both arms and took a step back, but as he did, his left leg gave out and he stumbled sideways.
Instinctively, Lace put out a hand to catch him.
Mistake!
Instant heat jumped from his body up her arm. He regained his balance and she quickly dropped her hand, but it was too late to stop the rush of sensation spreading through her. Was she still breathing? Her chest seemed to be moving up and down in the regular way, but if that was the case, why was her head spinning?
She turned away, fumbled frantically for the doorknob, but her palms were so damp that her hands kept slipping on the knob.
His big hand was on hers now, closing over it to keep her from turning the knob. “Stop a minute,” he murmured. “Take a deep breath. Collect yourself.”
“I’m perfectly collected,” she said, her words coming out thin and reedy.
His hand was so big! It swallowed hers right up. But his touch was incredibly gentle. She never suspected he could have such a gentle touch.
“Lace,” he said in that tone that sounded like straight-up sex. His back was against hers, his hip brushing her fanny. He had half a hard-on!
She closed her eyes and fought against the impulse to arch her back into his erection. God, she was losing it. All this time she’d told herself he no longer affected her and that she would be completely composed around him. What a liar she was! There was no deception like self-deception, right?
“Please,” she begged in a shaky voice. “Get your hand off mine.” If he didn’t obey, she couldn’t be held responsible for what she might do next.
He let go, raised his palms, and stepped back. “As you wish.”
Oh great, now she was thinking about Westley from The Princess Bride, her all-time favorite romantic movie. Come to think of it, Pierce looked a bit like a more rugged, cowboy version of Westley—same hair color, same cocky attitude.
Do not romanticize him!
Easy to say, but here, trapped by the mesmerizing power of his scent and his big body, she was helpless against the onslaught of female hormones surging through her in response to his total maleness. Was she ovulating? Could that explain the reckless urges rising inside her?
Somehow, she finally got the door opened and stepped across the threshold, only to find the entire class rushing back to their seats with grins on their faces. They’d all been gathered around the door spying on her and Pierce. In a moment of sheer déjà vu, Lace was fourteen again, and instead of her students, she saw her peers sniggering at her for having the audacity to be in love with the quarterback.
The urge to flee gobbled her up, but she was not going to let those memories do her in. She was a grown-up now. She walked to the front of the room, took command of the class, and launched into the lecture.
For the remainder of the workshop, she did her best not to look at Pierce and allowed her love for botany to sweep her away. She talked about growing zones and how to choose a location for a garden. She told them that the ideal growing soil consisted of the right mix of minerals, sand, clay, an
d organic matter. She touched on composting—they would have an entire lesson on that later—introduced them to irrigation systems, and dug into how to plan a garden.
Her mouth moved, she said the right things, but mentally she was cataloging everything about Pierce without really looking at him—the slight crook of his nose, the nonchalant way he slouched in his chair, long legs extended out in front of him, the fall of honey brown hair over his forehead, the masculine set of his firm jawline. The top two buttons of his blue-and-white-checkered Western-style shirt were unbuttoned, revealing tanned skin and a light tuft of chest hair. She soaked up the details, absorbed him, saturating herself to make up for all the years of not seeing him.
With a sinking heart, she realized that in spite of everything she’d told herself to the contrary, she not only had not gotten over Pierce Hollister, but she wanted him more than ever!
AFTER CLASS A few students came up to ask questions, but most everyone else scattered quickly, including Pierce. Relieved that he had gone, Lace bid the last student good night, picked up her purse and reference material, turned off the lights—Maurie had told her to make sure and turn off the lights so the janitor wouldn’t bitch—and headed out the door.
Only to find Pierce waiting in the hallway, his butt resting against the wall, but his shoulders forward, hands tucked into his front pocket, cowboy hat tipped down over his brow, giving him a potent James Dean air. The movie Giant had been filmed in Marfa, not far from Cupid, and the area still held on to its reverence of all things Elizabeth Taylor, Rock Hudson, and James Dean. Many of the old-time residents, including Great-aunt Delia, had autographs hanging on their walls to cement the memory.
“Great lecture,” he said.
“If you weren’t stalking me before, you’re bordering on it now.” She blew past him. Somewhere in another part of the building a power buffer hummed and the smell of floor wax filled the air.
“Hey, wait up.”
From the reflection in the glass door, she saw him push off from the wall, moved fast to catch up with her, limping in the process.
She slowed, turned. “What is it?”
“I’m not stalking you, I just wanted to walk you to your car.”
“Why?”
“It’s nine o’clock at night and you’re alone.”
“This is Cupid, not Dallas.”
“Things happen here too. I heard about those counterfeiters who used dynamite to implode the bootleggers’ cave in the Cupid Caverns.”
“You think a mob of counterfeiters are waiting in the parking lot to blow me up?”
A smile jerked at the corner of his mouth. “No, I was merely pointing out that Cupid has its share of illegal activity.”
“What’s the real reason you want to walk me to my car?”
“I just wanted to talk to you.”
“About what?” she asked, trying to ignore the goose bumps spreading over her arms.
He shrugged, sauntered closer. He looked so self-possessed and relaxed. His jeans were Wranglers, just like every other cowboy, but on his left wrist he wore a Rolex and his cowboy boots were handmade. The low tilt of the Stetson hid his eyes, but she could feel the heat radiating out from them. God, he was every woman’s fantasy.
“Not really a people person, are you?”
“Is that a rhetorical question?”
“I know it took a lot for you to stand up there in front of the class.”
“Was my stress that obvious?” She nibbled on a thumbnail, and then made herself stop.
“I don’t think anyone noticed except me.” He walked around her, opened the door, stood waiting for her to follow. “You’re really good at camouflaging your true feelings.”
“Is that a compliment or a complaint?”
“Sweetheart,” he drawled. “When it comes to you, there’s nothing to complain about.”
On anyone else, the line might have come across as corny, but it was all in the delivery, and the way Pierce said “sweetheart” made her heart go pitter-pat. What the hell? She might as well let him walk her to her car. What was the worst that could happen? Fall in love with him all over again? Get her heart broken? It wasn’t like she didn’t know how to bounce back from that.
The door closed behind them with a soft snick. Moths swirled and fluttered around the security lamps. The scent of honeysuckle, Lonicera periclymenum, clung to the night. There were only two cars in the parking lot. Her Corolla and his King Ranch.
“Give me those,” he said, and reached for her books.
She held them away from him. “This isn’t kindergarten. I can carry my own books.”
“You make it pretty damn impossible to do anything nice for you.”
“I don’t trust nice,” she said honestly.
“Why’s that?”
“Generally, when people are nice to you, they expect something in return.” She stopped beside her car. “What do you expect from me, Pierce?”
He stroked his jaw, produced a soft rasp of beard against his fingers. The goose bumps moved from her arms all the way down her body. Yes, all right. She was one of those women who found guys with a scruffy day’s growth of beard sexy, but was she going to allow herself to be entranced by a five o’clock shadow? Yes, the way her stomach was going gooey, apparently she was. Good grief, she was so shallow.
“ ‘Expect’ isn’t the right word here,” he said.
“What is the right word?”
“ ‘Hope’ springs to mind.”
“What are you hoping for?” Why was she asking? Was she really prepared to hear his answer? Great-aunt Delia was fond of saying, “Don’t ask questions you don’t want to know the answer to.”
He cocked his cowboy hat far back on his head and gave her a look so sultry he had to have spent hours in front of a mirror perfecting it. “I think you know.”
Her heart did a cartwheel. Determined not to let him know how much he scrambled her brain, she put a mild expression on her face. “I’m afraid I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“I like you, Lace.” He paused. “A lot.”
“Since when?”
“Since forever.”
“Couldn’t prove it by me.”
He was crowding her personal space again. She backed up until her butt bumped against her car door.
“I noticed you.”
“When?”
“Back in high school.”
She gulped. “You did?”
His gaze drifted over the curve of her breasts and an appreciative light lit his eyes. “Sweetheart, you filled out early. I would have had to be blind not to notice.”
She held her books close to her chest. “How …” She paused, cleared her throat. “How come you never said anything?”
“You were four years younger than me. Plus you were Jay’s baby sister. Off-limits. Out of bounds. Your brother would have punched my lights out if he’d known what I was thinking. So I kept my mind on football and off you.”
“Look, you don’t have to try and make me feel better about what happened. It’s water under the bridge. I moved past it a long time ago, even though people in this town seem reluctant to let the past die. It’s not right to hold people accountable for the silly things they did as kids,” she said.
“I never thought you were silly.”
“I sure did. Imagine. The two of us.” She toggled a finger between the two of them. “Ridiculous.”
“How so?”
Lace rolled her eyes. “We are so incompatible that the idea of us being together for anything more than a brief good time is laughable. It’s best to keep any of those kinds of feelings to our fantasies.”
“So.” He grinned. “You do still have fantasies about me.”
“Fantasies are fantasies for a reason. In fantasies we can play out scenarios we would never, ever do in real life.”
“What if I told you that you’ve gotten under my skin, Lace?”
“I’m sure this routine works well with the groupies
, but I’m immune. Got my Pierce Hollister inoculations when I was fourteen. Now if you’ll excuse me.”
But he didn’t excuse her. He slapped both hands on the roof of her car, pinning her between his arms, the tips of his cowboy boots touching the toes of her sneakers.
Her blood thundered, sending hot spikes of desire stabbing through her veins. The taste of yearning spilled into her mouth, rich and desperately sweet. He lowered his head. His mouth was almost touching hers. His breath warmed her lips. “I want you, Lace.”
“You’re bored,” she retorted. “You’ve hurt your leg, you have nothing to do but look after your father and watch pumpkins grow until your leg heals. You’re looking for a diversion. That’s it.”
“If that were true I could snap my fingers and call up as many women as I could handle. I don’t want to do that because you’re the one who intrigues me.”
“You only want me because I don’t want you.”
He flashed a cajoling grin. “You want me.”
Lace rolled her eyes heavenward.
“Didn’t your mother ever tell you that if you keep doing that your eyes would stick that way?”
“God, you are so egotistical that you can’t even conceptualize the idea that someone doesn’t want to shag you.”
“Shag?” His eyes twinkled.
“I like British comedies. So sue me.”
Gently, he reached out and traced a knuckle over her cheek.
A shiver started at the base of her tailbone and slowly shimmied up her spine, but Lace forcefully clamped down on that sweet sensation, halting the quiver’s rise at hip level. It was like stifling a sneeze. There was only one problem with that; the energy had nowhere else to go. It pooled hot and liquid into her pelvic floor, turning a simple shiver into a red-hot, five-alarm response.
“What else do you like?” he murmured.
“To be in bed by ten.”
“I can get behind that.”
“Once upon a time this full-court press might have swept me off my feet, but now …”
“What?” he prompted.
“I recognize it for what it is.”
“And what is that?”
Lori Wilde - [Cupid, Texas 02] Page 10
