by Jean Oram
“Your choice.” He shrugged, allowing his gaze to drift south of her neckline once again, enjoying the view greatly. “I recommend something warmer than that if you’re helping your scientist today.” She seemed frozen in place, so he hooked his thumbs in his running shorts as though preparing to drop them. “If you like the show, there’ll be another at bedtime. I’m here all week.”
He grinned as she bolted from the doorway, the two dogs following in joyful pursuit.
Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if she got stuck here for an extra night, after all.
Whoa. Olivia sagged against the closed door of Devon’s guest room, clinging to her can of hair spray. What on earth had that flash of heat been about? She was not attracted to Devon Adam Mattson. Nope. No way. He hadn’t trusted her to take charge of their relationship, their lives, and make the big decisions that impacted the both of them. He’d believed their idyllic, make-believe dream world could continue to exist even when cold, hard, unforgiving realities were staring them right in the face, forcing them to grow up.
Married? Babies?
She’d been twenty. They’d been in school.
She’d need a man with a plan, not a dream. Because how could she have finished off her semester while suffering horrible morning sickness? Let alone complete her degree with a baby when Devon planned to return home before the due date? She couldn’t just have a child and step off into an unfamiliar world, pick up an elusive career designing wedding gowns when she had no experience, no…
Olivia sighed, shaking her head. She’d wanted him to trust her, to support her need to be with her family. She’d wanted a man who was bigger than the two of them combined, not a dreamer.
Oh, but seeing his bare, sculpted chest with that streak of dark hair leading to the waistband of his shorts made her remember each and every way he’d proved his manhood during their good times. Yes, she’d considered his bare chest moments ago, but it wasn’t because she wanted it pressed against hers, warm and moving. It was because it was…right there. Taunting her with its distracting rippled form.
She shook her head. Obviously, her body and heart weren’t on talking terms, as her body cared not one bit about how much pain they’d brought each other in the past.
But how he’d just stood there, buff and strong, with hunger and longing burning in his gaze, practically baiting her as heated flashes arced between them... If he could go there, to a place of longing, after everything they’d been through, well…it was just proof that he hadn’t cared as deeply as she’d thought he had. Otherwise he wouldn’t be able to put it all aside so easily and look as though he wanted to devour her.
Why was she even thinking about him? It didn’t matter. She was wiser now, and despite his gaze, knew she wasn’t stupid or forgetful enough to venture down that path again.
But what a fool she was to have stood there like a doofus in the negligee her sister had jokingly selected last Valentine’s Day—then packed on her behalf—gleefully assuring Olivia it would bring a hungry look to any man’s eyes. Well, Emma had been right. It had done that to a hot-blooded ex named Devon. Olivia had packed the nightie for her retreat, thinking she might use it to kick-start a relationship with Luke again, but now she was running from his impending proposal.
No, not running.
Just…taking time to think. Making sure they did things the right way while she took care of company projects. Nothing more.
Pulling herself together, she searched her small suitcase for something appropriate to wear while wandering through mountain meadows. Knit sweater, casual slacks, hiking boots. Right. She definitely hadn’t brought anything like that to the five-star retreat and definitely didn’t have anything like that in her overnight bag.
Slipping into a lavender lace bra that did wonders for her cleavage, along with a pair of barely there panties, she felt slightly uncomfortable for donning something so sexy in her ex-boyfriend’s little man cave. The guest room served double duty as a home office, its walls blue, the black futon matching a small desk. One wall was covered in running bibs, medals and photos, some even from his car racing days.
In a lot of ways his life looked exactly as he’d planned it. Kind of like hers did.
But if this was what she’d planned, why did it feel as though a piece was missing?
She reorganized her suitcase. It was just the project bugging her. Once she had it under way, with a launch date, she’d feel better, she was sure.
Shaking off her thoughts once again, Olivia slipped into a square-necked dress that fit her curves, ending just above the knee. She managed to get the zipper halfway up, but without her zipper-helper from home that basically allowed her to reach the unreachable, she found herself stuck. She sucked in and stretched, her cheeks heating with the effort. She tried reaching with the opposite arm. Not happening.
Emma had recently tried to convince Olivia to join yoga as part of her recent “earthy” kick that had her not only drinking weird juices and smoothies, but also abandoning makeup unless she was going into the office. At the moment Olivia regretted skipping out on an activity that may have given her the flexibility to get the zipper’s job done.
She fell onto the futon and groaned.
No. No, no, no!
Today was off to a really crappy start.
Get in. Get out, she reminded herself. Right. She could do that. Unless, of course, it was this dress.
She slipped on a pair of her prettiest heels, collected her purse and the suit jacket she planned to wear over the still-open dress, and went to beg Devon for help. Thankfully, he was now dressed—his typical attire of jeans and cotton shirt sporting a logo from a long-ago race. Definitely not giving the impression of a serious candidate. She found herself wishing he’d accept her help, because just a few minor tweaks would make a huge impact and give him an edge he was currently neglecting.
He looked up, handing her a cup of coffee.
Black.
She accepted the cup, then set it down. She placed her jacket and purse on the wide island and turned, revealing her half-exposed back. She swept her long curls over her shoulder so they’d be out of the way, and using a curt voice so Devon wouldn’t get any ideas, said, “Zip me up.”
They were both adults. They’d seen more of each other than this.
She didn’t feel a tug on the zipper. “Devon?”
She heard him grumble under his breath before the metal teeth started grabbing as he jerked the fastener up to the nape of her neck.
Not meeting his eyes and hating the way she felt her cheeks heating, she turned, picking up the cup. “Do you have cream and sugar?”
Wordlessly, Devon passed her a bowl from the cupboard. The sugar had hardened in the shape of the dish and all he had was skim milk.
Better than nothing.
Her eyes flashed to Devon’s in silent horror as realization set in. If she didn’t make it out of town tonight and no openings came up in the local hotels…he was going to have to help her disrobe tonight.
Nope. No way. She’d rather cut her way out of the pricey garment than feel the heat of his hands against her back once again.
“When does Vintra arrive?” Devon asked, after clearing his throat and looking uncomfortable—almost as though he’d just had the same realization about her dress.
“About an hour.”
His eyebrows lifted in surprise.
“He’s an early riser, hence my desire to stay in town.” She sniffed the air. “Something smells good.”
Devon leaped into action, opening a small, cylindrical appliance on the counter. He plated something and waved it in her direction, not meeting her eyes. “Breakfast sandwich?”
She scooted up onto one of the tall stools lining her side of the kitchen island. “I didn’t know you cooked.”
“This isn’t cooking.”
She took a bite of the hot English muffin, egg and cheese meal with some sort of sauce. It was delicious. But she wasn’t going to tell him that. His ego was
already large enough without her adding to it.
“You cook and your house is homier and better kept than your car.” In other words, at some point he’d had a serious woman in his life. Feminine touches sprinkled the decor, giving it a cozy feel, and she really didn’t think Devon was the type to think of placing marathon bibs in shadow boxes. He was much more likely to shove them all in a drawer somewhere.
In this house, she could almost picture him as a husband, a father.
An unexpected spear of regret ripped through her.
“Was that a compliment?” he asked, while stocking the appliance for another sandwich.
“Take it as you will.”
In her purse her phone buzzed with an incoming call. She fished it out and checked the caller ID: Luke. She sent him to voice mail, sipping her coffee. Luke could wait. Right now she had a bothered Devon on her hands. It was subtle, but she knew him well enough to sense it could become a significant problem. They may have dated for only a few months, but it had been intense and they’d become incredibly close in that short time.
So what was it that was bugging him? Her dress? No, his mood had started in his car yesterday. He really hadn’t like her comment about him not looking like a real mayor.
That and having her in his house.
But was it more than that?
Was it about the valerian? What if he was having second thoughts about a deal with Carrington? Maybe hers was one of several companies he was wooing. She wasn’t the only one trying to hone in on the all-natural market.
He seemed desperate enough to ditch her if a better offer came along, and their decade-ago parting had been unpleasant enough that he definitely didn’t owe her anything.
Her dog, having finished the breakfast she’d set up for him in the guest room, trotted in, placing himself at Devon’s feet. Mr. Right liked hardly anyone but her, but apparently even he was fallible when it came to Devon’s charm.
Join the party.
A smokejumper’s helicopter passed by overhead and Mr. Right trembled beside Devon, who reached down to pet him.
Olivia set her cup down, lining it up with her plate as though arranging a place setting. She needed to protect the company in case Devon and the town were accepting other offers.
“I’d like to sign a first right of refusal agreement between Carrington and the town and county for access to the local strain of valerian,” she said. “One that provides rights to test and snoop around, no matter who the current mayor is or where we need to go. With the exception of environmentally sensitive areas, of course. I’d like at least a year of discovery access—even if the dam washes away the currently best known source.” She picked up her phone, mentally composing all the things she’d need to outline in an email to the company lawyers. It was shortly after seven and a Sunday, but she figured they could have an agreement by the afternoon, crossing one more worry off her list. “Anything beyond discovery we’ll take from there.”
When Devon didn’t reply she took a moment to study him.
“I can take care of that,” he said finally, sitting down one stool over from her. The heat that had surged between them in the bedroom was gone and she breathed in relief. It was all about the business again. “I’d like to add a clause that if Carrington needs to hire, rent or lease anything, they do so locally wherever possible.”
“Fine.” Labor was likely cheaper here, anyway.
The tension that had been riding in Devon’s shoulders slowly dissipated, making him look more like the man she used to know. He reached out to shake her hand, sending a current of warmth all the way up past her elbow and down to her core as he locked his sunny blue eyes on hers. He was still the hottest man she’d ever met, and when he looked at her in that special way of his it made her feel taller, seen, cared for.
Which was ridiculous. He was just…nice. Happy to make a deal. That was all.
It certainly wasn’t personal.
Devon was buoyant. A deal. Olivia was serious about the valerian, about Blueberry Springs. As soon as they were done with breakfast, he would talk to John Abcott, the local lawyer, about getting an agreement whipped up. Then he’d finally, officially have a little something in his back pocket to take to voters. True, it didn’t solve much. It didn’t save the meadow or anything like that, but it showed that he was serious about his campaign promises. He would help Blueberry Springs grow and prosper, while preserving what its citizens loved most.
Only eight full days until next Monday’s election. He could do this. He could beat Barry. The man was a schmuck who kept running for mayor because it made his eighty-year-old domineering mother proud to have her son in charge of the town—and the pay was good—not because he actually knew what he was doing or cared to learn.
But still, Olivia’s implication that Devon didn’t have what it took to win ate at him.
Was she right?
He turned to study her. She was just about finished with her breakfast sandwich and had a tiny piece of melted cheese stuck to her full bottom lip. She’d be bothered if he didn’t tell her.
“What?” she asked. She flipped her phone over, checking the screen before placing it facedown again.
He brushed the spot on his face where she had the cheese and she quickly patted the area clean.
“Who do I need from Carrington to sign the agreement?” he asked. He’d have to figure out how to contact them, get them to sign right away, so he could start using his mini coup as part of his campaign.
“My lawyers will take care of all of that, as well as arrange for the mayor to sign.”
No way. Barry could take it over, mess it up, shoot it all down.
“I have the authority to sign,” Devon said, which was mostly true, seeing as a majority of the agreement would fall under his department’s authority. “Wait…your lawyers?”
She looked at him over her cup, as innocent as pie. A cream pie angled at his face. “Yes.”
“No. We’ll use the lawyer here in town. Less bias.”
“And yours isn’t biased?”
“Yours are going to cover your butt while exploiting ours.”
“And your lawyer won’t do that for you? If not, maybe you should find a new one.”
Devon slung his nylon backpack over his shoulder, resisting the urge to push his hand through his hair in frustration. It felt like she was calling him down again. “My lawyer will take care of drafting the agreement. Yours are welcome to suggest additions or changes after that. Where are we meeting Vintra?”
“He says he’s running late, and that bag isn’t helping your image, Mr. Mayor.”
She just couldn’t resist poking at him, pointing out his shortfalls, illustrating how he wasn’t enough and never would be.
“I like this bag, and the people in town appreciate me for who I currently am.” He placed his hands on his hips. If she thought she could turn him into one of those pretty men with the fancy everything that made them look “just so” she could just think again. Blueberry Springs wasn’t the city.
“I’m sure the town likes your youthful, affable, cavalier self just fine.”
That felt like an insult. Yes, he was pretty sure it was one. Except she was sucking in a smile, enjoying herself as he reacted to her words.
“You don’t think I’m mature enough for this job, do you?”
She stood, the height of her sexy heels making her almost as tall as him. Almost. “I’ll have something for you and your lawyer to sign by this afternoon.”
He didn’t back away when she came closer, in a showdown. The heat from her body was warming, radiating from her chest. A chest he knew was covered in pale purple lacy—nope. Don’t think about it. That zipper…it had practically burned his fingers.
Still thinking about it.
He met those warm brown eyes that were full of determination—just like he was. He replied, “And I’ll have something even better for you by noon.”
Olivia sat in her car outside the bridal store Veils and Vo
ws. Her friend Ginger had taken it over from her grandmother fairly recently, and Olivia was hoping her old college roommate could help ground her, settle her. She didn’t want to talk about the past, though, just something simple, like Ginger’s recent marriage and new store. Something to take her mind off Devon and the conflicting emotions roaring through her.
One minute she’d wanted to lick his pecs and the next she’d wanted to make the man feel something—anything. React. Prove she wasn’t the only one struggling with their past.
She’d informed him she had a few errands to run before the two of them were to meet up with Vintra in the meadow. And as a result of her needing to be able to keep Devon in the loop, she now had his cell number in her phone, and wasn’t sure how she felt about that. Immediate access to a man she didn’t want in her life. And that highway went both ways.
She shook off her apprehension and finished the call with her lawyers—telling them she needed the agreement urgently.
She’d show Devon. There was no way he was coming up with a draft in this sleepy little town before late tomorrow. She was the adult with the plan—that was her role. She wasn’t going to depend on him. She had to take charge.
A woman came up to her car and rapped on the window. Olivia felt dread seep through her. Mary Alice.
At least it wasn’t that young man in camo she’d seen stroll by twice, watching her with more than passing interest. The town was full of oddballs and she’d be happy to skip out of town as soon as she had Carrington’s best interests secured.
“So you spent the night at Devon’s?” Mary Alice said, as soon as Olivia’s window was down a few inches. Mr. Right was already barking at the woman. “Has he put a ring on your finger yet?”
Olivia felt her jaw drop before she schooled it back into place. “Everywhere in town is booked. Do you know of any vacancies?”
“Other than in Devon’s bed?” the woman asked with a massive grin. She caught Olivia’s expression and burst out laughing, reaching through the window to pat her shoulder. Mr. Right bounced into Olivia’s lap, trying to force himself between her and the gossip. Olivia shushed him and sent him into the backseat.
