Naughty and Nice (Sunday Cove)

by Webb, Peggy

  “All right. I’m listening.” Anything to get him out of her car.

  “Mark my words, Holly. When I kiss you, it will be real.”

  With that he was gone, and she was left sitting in her car feeling slightly faint.

  o0o

  “Would you pass the bread?” Hines said.

  Ben added another slice to his plate then scooted the whole bag of bread across the table to Hines. They worked on their ham-and-cheese sandwiches in silence.

  “If you’re finished with the cheese, will you pass it this way, sir?”

  Ben passed the cheese then rammed his knife into the mustard jar.

  “No need to attack it,” Hines said. “It won’t bite back.”

  Ben put his knife on his plate and shoved back his chair.

  “All right. Stop this pussyfooting around and just say what’s on your mind.”

  “Is something supposed to be on my mind, sir?”

  “You’d never make it as an actor, Hines.”

  “I wasn’t planning to try, sir. I already have a good job.” His eyes twinkled. “Unless I’m fired.”

  “Have you done something I should fire you over?”

  “Not lately.”

  “Not even when you tried to convince Holly Jones of my fine upstanding character?”

  “Well, somebody had to do it, sir. You seem determined to portray yourself as something of a scoundrel.”

  “Maybe that’s what I am.”

  “You are many things, but a scoundrel is not one of them.” Hines’s penetrating look saw right through him.

  “All right. You caught me red-handed. I’m saving her from myself.”

  “Did it ever occur to you that the lady might not want saving.”

  “You think so?” A bolt of pure pleasure shot through Ben.

  “It appeared that way to me.”

  Ben was thirty-eight years old, older than most men when they settled down but not too old to start a family. He had never once thought of settling down... until he met Holly. He had never once thought of having children... until he met Holly.

  Could he be somebody’s husband and do it well? Somebody’s daddy without turning into his own father?

  “I suppose you’re going to chastise me for the way I behaved this evening,” Ben said.

  “No.”

  “You’re not going to tell me what a wonderful woman Holly Jones is and lecture me on missed opportunities?”

  “No.” Hines grinned. “I don’t need to do any of those things, sir. You’re doing the job for me, and I must say that I’m delighted by this turn of events.”

  “There has been no turn of events.”

  “I know what I know.”

  Ben pulled his chair back to the table, his appetite fully restored.

  “Pass the cheese, Hines. And wipe that simpering grin off your face.”

  “I don’t simper, sir. I smirk.”

  Ben bit into his sandwich with gusto. From a distance he heard the sound of the surf, and against the window, the rhythmic tapping of a branch blowing in the freshening night breeze.

  “You hear that, Hines?” Hines cocked his head. “The sounds of contentment. Sunday Cove grows on you, doesn’t it?”

  “Indeed it does, sir.”

  “I was just thinking, while you’re doing that research on the Snipes family, why don’t you dig around and see what you can find out about Holly Jones?”

  “And what will you be doing, sir?”

  “A little research of my own.”

  Chapter 9

  “Are you gonna open that box of candy so’s we can have a bite, or are you just gonna let it set there till it gets hard and won’t do nobody no good?”

  Loweva never lapsed into vernacular unless she was excited. Holly read the card once more to be sure she hadn’t been mistaken the first six times.

  “Why in the world would Ben Sullivan send me chocolates?” she said.

  “What did he say on the card?”

  “ ‘A little something to apologize for my ungallant behavior in the barn.’ “

  “That sounds like fun. Just how ungallant was he?”

  “Wipe that grin off your face. You know good and well what I’m talking about. He’s up to something.”

  “Like what?”

  “How should I know? He’s a flirt, and I’m not about to be taken in by his sneaky ways. If he thinks he can win me over with a box of candy, he’s got another think coming.”

  Holly stalked to the garbage can and tossed the box in.

  “Lordy mercy, have you done lost your mind?” Loweva retrieved the box and wiped it off with a dishcloth. “Throwing out perfectly good chocolates.”

  “He probably added a little arsenic.”

  Loweva hooted with laughter. “Just because you delivered rotten fruit don’t mean he’s gonna poison the candy. If you don’t want these, can I have ‘em?”

  “Godiva chocolates. Can you believe it?”

  Loweva untied the ribbon and opened the box. “Now that I can smell it, I can.” She passed the box under her nose. “Mmm-mmm, ain’t that heaven? You sure you don’t want some?”

  “Maybe just a little piece.”

  “Here. It’s your candy. You get the first pick.”

  Resisting the urge to pinch the tops to see which pieces had nuts, Holly selected an oval candy then passed the box back to Loweva. With the candy halfway to her mouth, she paused.

  “He wouldn’t send chocolates if he thought I was fat, would he?”

  “Only a fool would think you’re fat, and he didn’t look like a fool to me; lots of other things, but not a fool.” Loweva finished her chocolate and reached for another. “If I catch him or anybody else even hinting you’re fat, I’ll box their ears.”

  “What if that’s the reason he sent chocolates? That I’m... a little plump? What if he sends roses to skinny women?”

  “Hush your mouth and eat that chocolate. No sense analyzing all the joy out of something.”

  “All right. I’ll eat it, but that doesn’t mean I like it.”

  o0o

  The note in Ben’s hand was on pink paper with a cutwork border. Holly had even sprayed it with perfume, so that every time he handled the paper Ben got a whiff of roses. To all appearances, it was a prim and proper thank you note. But there was nothing at all proper about its contents.

  Dear Benjamin G. Sullivan III,

  You outdid yourself with the big box of Godiva chocolates. I assume they were perfectly harmless since Loweva is not dead yet. Maybe sophisticated scoundrels apologize for ungallant behavior in a barn by sending candy, but down here in the South ladies require more: We require a penitent man to grovel at our feet. I’m keeping mine fresh with rosewater in case you decide to pop by and do a little well deserved groveling.

  P.S. It would be remiss of me not to thank you on Loweva’s behalf.

  Ben read the note once more and burst into a gale of hearty laughter. Hines folded his Wall Street Journal, took off his glasses, and set his paper aside.

  “You ought to see this note, Hines. Holly Jones is one saucy woman.”

  “You wouldn’t be interested in any other kind, sir.”

  “Who said I was interested?”

  “You’ve read the note three times.”

  “Twice. It’s good entertainment.”

  “It must be, sir.”

  “Have I ever received a thank you note from a woman, Hines?”

  “Not that I recall.”

  “I’ve sent perfume and roses, I’ve even sent diamonds, and not once in all these years has any woman ever taken the time to write me a note.”

  Ben picked up Holly’s note and read it once more. Though it wasn’t necessarily a thank you note per se, at least it showed that she was thinking of him, and that was a start.

  Ben refolded the note and put it in the secretary. Then he went to stoke the fire.

  “She shared with her friend. Did I tell you that?”

  “I think
you did, sir.”

  A shower of sparks shot out of the fireplace, and Ben got the whisk broom to sweep them up.

  “Hines, would you say a note like that is a sign of class and good breeding?”

  “Indeed, I would, sir.”

  Ben poked the fire once more. “Is there plenty of gas in the car?”

  “Yes. Are you going somewhere that I might find interesting?”

  “Probably.” Ben grinned.

  “And what might you be doing when you arrive there, sir?”

  “Groveling.”

  o0o

  “Lordy have mercy,” Loweva said. “Would you look at what just drove up? Wonder who died?”

  Holly looked up from the stove in the church kitchen, where she was stirring a pot of meatball soup. A white stretch limousine was parked in ostentatious splendor beside the kitchen door.

  “Maybe it’s somebody coming to the church for a wedding rehearsal,” Holly said. “Traveling around in high style is becoming a tradition for Southern brides. Whatever the limo’s doing out there, you can bet your bottom dollar it’s not for you and me.”

  “I’ll take that bet. How much?”

  “Loweva...”

  Holly’s gentle rebuke died on her lips, for strolling through the door was Ben Sullivan, primed for mischief in an open-necked white shirt that accented his dark good looks and a satisfied smile that said he knew every naughty trick in the book.

  For a moment Holly lost her breath, but she made a quick recovery. She wasn’t about to let that scoundrel get the best of her.

  “Whatever you’re selling,” she said. “I don’t want any.”

  “You haven’t seen my merchandise yet.”

  If her face was as red hot as she felt, Loweva and Ben were getting an eyeful.

  “I don’t need to see your merchandise. I don’t like the packaging.”

  “I consider you too smart to judge the goods by the packaging.” Ben halted long enough to smile at Loweva. “It’s good to see you, Loweva. How are you this morning?”

  “Is this the place where I’m supposed to mumble tolerable and shuffle on out of the way?” Loweva’s eyes twinkled with devilment.

  “I’d be disappointed if you did,” Ben said. “Besides, I need a witness.”

  “For what?” Holly said. “Murder?”

  “Groveling.”

  Holly couldn’t have held in her laughter if she had tried. She laughed so hard, she had to wipe the tears of mirth with the corner of her apron.

  “Sorry,” she said. “I’m all out of rosewater.”

  “Never mind. I brought my own.”

  She hadn’t noticed the small paper bag in his hand. Ben opened it and pulled out a bottle of rosewater and glycerin lotion.

  “I’m always prepared,” he said, winking.

  “Okay.” Holly held up her hand. “Enough. I got my comeuppance for that note. You can climb in your limo and leave now. I have work to do.”

  “It doesn’t work that way, Holly. You threw down the gauntlet, and I picked it up. If you run, you’ll disgrace Southern women everywhere, not to mention set the cause of groveling back a decade or two.”

  Loweva was making no pretense of working. Leaning on the counter, she poured herself a cup of coffee.

  “You can’t get shows this good on the TV,” she said. “Shoot, you two are better than Lucy and Ricky Ricardo. Carry on. I’m all ears.”

  “Sorry to disappoint you, Loweva, but what I have in mind for Holly requires privacy.”

  “Hmm-hmmm,” Loweva said, grinning. “This gets better and better.”

  “Whose side are you on?” Holly slammed a lid on her stew pot, jerked off her apron, and used it to shoo Ben out of her way. “Shoo. Scat. Get out of my kitchen.”

  “I’m not going anywhere without you.”

  “Do I look as if I’ve lost my mind? You might charm Loweva with all that posturing, but I know you too well. Wild elephants couldn’t get me to set foot in that limousine with you.”

  Ben merely grinned. “Think you can do without her for a few hours, Loweva?”

  “Nobody’s indispensable, not even Holly. I can carry on here with one hand tied behind my back.”

  “I’ll remember that treachery, Loweva.” Hands on hips, Holly whirled on Ben. “Just because you’re the world’s sexiest man doesn’t mean you can have any woman you want.”

  His eyes caught and held hers. In one of his lightning transformations, he went from teasing to serious, from lighthearted to intense.

  “I want only you,” he said.

  The promises in his eyes and his voice gave her pause. With all her heart she wanted to believe everything they promised, but did she dare?

  “I’m not yours for the taking.”

  They regarded each other in a long silence that hummed with tension. The only sound was the soft clinking of china as Loweva set her coffee cup in its saucer.

  They were treading on dangerous ground. Holly had felt much safer when they were exchanging barbs. She made herself look elsewhere—the coffeepot, the kitchen clock, the row of copper-bottomed pans—anywhere except into Ben’s eyes.

  “You should be going, Ben. Your limo is waiting.”

  “It’s too bad about the animals,” he said.

  “What animals?”

  “The donkey, the sheep, the cow. Too bad they won’t be able to make it to church on Sunday.”

  “That’s blackmail.”

  “I never pretended to be perfect.”

  “You’re not even close.” Holly looked toward Loweva for support, but all she got was a smile so full of wicked glee she wondered if her assistant hadn’t been in on this little scheme all along. “Did you plan this with him?”

  “It looks to me like he’s man enough to do all his own devilment.”

  “All right. I’ll go with you, Ben. But I don’t plan to enjoy one single minute of your company.”

  “I always did enjoy a woman with a stinger. Nice stinger, by the way,” he said as she huffed past him.

  At the door Holly turned. “Loweva, if I’m not back in an hour, call the police.”

  “Make that two,” Ben said.

  “One and a half.”

  “Deal.”

  Chapter 10

  Holly had never been inside a limousine. It had a bar, a television, even fresh roses in crystal vases. She stretched her legs out, reveling in the luxury of the soft leather seats.

  Sitting opposite her, Ben smiled.

  “I have a confession to make,” she said.

  “I’m listening.”

  “I told you a little fib. I’m already enjoying all this luxury.”

  “You might find other things to enjoy.”

  “Don’t count on it.” The driver started the car, and they glided forward so smoothly, they hardly seemed to be moving.

  “Where’s Hines?” Holly asked.

  “Probably at home planning his lecture.”

  “What lecture?”

  “The one he’ll deliver to me when I get back.”

  Holly grinned. “He lectures you? About what?”

  “Hines is old-fashioned. He won’t approve of my behavior today.”

  “That makes two of us. Already I don’t approve, and I don’t even know what you’re planning.”

  “On the contrary, Holly. I think you approve very much.”

  He gave her a sizzling look that would have curled her hair if it hadn’t already been so curly. Her heart beat double time. Who was she trying to kid? She wasn’t in this car so he would let his animals be in the live Nativity: she was in the limo because she wanted to be near Ben. He intrigued and excited her as no man ever had.

  “Where are you taking me?”

  “Where do you want to go?”

  “Hmm, let me think about that.... New York, dinner at Tavern on the Green, then afterward a show.”

  Ben leaned forward. “Driver, the airport.”

  “Wait a minute, I didn’t mean that.”


  “The next time, say what you mean.” He changed the instructions with the driver. “I always give a lady what she wants, Holly. Remember that.”

  His threat made her feel deliciously naughty. Holly couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt that way.

  “All right, then, since we have this car and nearly an hour...”

  “And a half,” Ben added.

  “Why don’t we drive along the beach? I could spend hours watching the way the water changes and studying the tourists.”

  Ben instructed the driver, then leaned back in his seat.

  “You’re a woman of simple tastes, aren’t you, Holly?”

  “I’ve never given it much thought, but yes, I suppose I am.”

  “You like simple pleasure?”

  “Yes.”

  “Like this.”

  Without warning, he caught her left ankle. She was wearing a long wool skirt and knee-length suede boots. He tugged off her boot and tossed it onto the seat beside him. Her ankle socks sported the Tasmanian Devil wearing a Santa hat and saying Ho, ho, ho.

  “Cute socks,” Ben said.

  “What in the world are you doing?”

  “Giving you a simple pleasure.”

  He stripped aside her sock and nestled her bare foot firmly against his crotch. Sexual currents of shocking power jolted through her.

  “Stop that,” she whispered.

  “Don’t you like it?”

  “Yes... No. What if he sees?”

  Ben’s chuckle was deep and sexy. “Driver, pull into the next cove we come to, then you can get out and take a break.”

  Ben ran the tip of his index finger from Holly’s ankle to her toes.

  “Is that better?” he said, releasing her foot.

  “Yes... No. Oh... you’re wicked.”

  “I try.”

  The car pulled off the beach road and into a cove where terns waded in the sea grass amidst white sand dunes and seagulls soared over waters so blue it hurt to look. No tourists strolled the sand, no empty beach chairs waited the return of occupants, no hotdog vendors hawked their wares.

  “Is this all right, Mr. Sullivan?” the driver asked.

  “Perfect. Thank you.”

  Holly knew she should have protested when the driver got out of the car and walked off down the beach, but she didn’t. She should have protested when Ben took off her other boot, but she didn’t. She was too full of curiosity and excitement and half a dozen other emotions she dared not think about.