“Optimism is healthy, Louella. I hear it’s good for the skin,” Tag said, keeping his face so serious it was hard for Marybell not to scream with laughter again.
Louella smiled. “Never you fear, Taggart. We’ll get Plum Orchard cleaned up, if it’s the last thing we do so your niece Maizy can be raised up right.”
“Never you fear, Louella. Maizy’s raisin’ up just fine.”
Louella pursed her glossy lips, and then her brow furrowed. “Did you get another eyebrow ring, Marybell? Heavens, how many can you fit on that little head of yours?” she asked, leaning in to look closer, bumping into the table and dumping hot coffee all over Marybell’s jacket and down the front of her tank top.
Marybell jumped up out of the booth, trying to stifle a screech of pain and pull off her pleather jacket. Tag was at her side in an instant, using his napkin to mop up the mess.
Louella held up another napkin and waved it, her eyes assessing the damage. “Oh! So sorry, Marybell. It was an accident.”
Marybell leaned over Tag’s shoulder and snarled at her.
“Now, now,” he whispered against her ear. “Never let the evil queen see you sweat.”
Grabbing more napkins from the table, she wiped off her bare arms as Louella made her way out the door. “I’m soaked.” Damn Louella Palmer.
Tag bobbed his head. “You sure are.”
Disgusted, she threw the napkin on the table and grabbed her soaking-wet jacket. “This was a mistake, Tag. I have to go.”
He grabbed her arm and shook his head, looking down at her sodden shirt. “Oh, no. No way am I letting you go out into the cold night air with nothing more than a wet tank top on. You’ll get sick. Take my jacket and I’ll walk you home. You can give it back to me when we get there.”
“You don’t have to.” She’d lived through far worse than a cold walk home to her warm, dry apartment.
“No. I have to. Em would have my head. Besides, I like you. You like me. We like each other. What beats a nice moonlit walk home between two people who like each other? Nothing, I say. Also, I need my jacket for tomorrow.” He nabbed his jacket and held it up for her.
She sighed, shivering, but allowing her arms to slide into it. “Fine.”
All eyes were on her and Tag as they made their way out of Madge’s and into the chilly night. She stomped down the sidewalk, tucking Tag’s jacket around her. It smelled like man and laundry detergent. It was all she could do not to burrow her nose in it.
“Hey, wait up. I didn’t dump the coffee on you. It was the evil queen. I’m the handsome prince.”
She slowed her pace, sending him an apologetic look. “Sorry. Sometimes it’s all I can do not to resort to physical violence with that woman.”
Tag grabbed her hand, letting it swing between them as they crossed the square. “She’s a mean one. You think that petition she’s got going will cause trouble for all of you?”
“In a town this size, I imagine it wouldn’t take many to get the mayor’s attention, but Landon was a pretty thorough man. I have to doubt he left many openings for the Mags. He knew what they were like.”
“Good. I’d hate to think of you all losing your jobs. I often wonder if Landon didn’t bring Call Girls here as a slap in the face to some of the backward thinking that goes on.”
She shook her head, feeling one of her spiky strands of hair fall to the side of her face. “I’m sure some of it had to do with that, but mostly he said it was because he wanted to know we’d all be taken care of. He knew Sanjeev and everyone at the big house would look after us. Secretly, I think he wanted to incite change. We could all be doin’ this phone sex thing from our bedrooms and no one in Plum Orchard would ever be the wiser. I’m convinced it had to do with lighting fires under their stodgy butts.”
Tag didn’t say anything; instead, he held her hand in his, warm and secure, passing the houses in her neighborhood in peaceful silence.
When they got to her door, Marybell placed a finger over her mouth so they didn’t alert Blanche and her poodle, Taffy. She dug her key out of her wet jacket pocket and jammed it into the keyhole, flipping on the light in her living room.
Worming her way out of his jacket, she handed it to him with a smile. “Thanks. Prince Charming has nothing on you.”
He took it, but instead of putting it on, he threw it on the hook by the door, inching closer to her until they were almost close enough to touch. “You do realize, all princesses feed their princes.”
Ah, she saw what he was angling for. “I’m not your princess.” When she was younger, one of her foster parents had called his daughter princess, and she’d always wondered what it would be like to be daddy’s little girl.
“Fair enough. But you did promise me dinner.”
Pulling her shirt from her torso, she made a face. “And look how that turned out.”
“Tell you what. You go grab a shower and wash off all that coffee. I’ll heat up the lasagna from the other night. Still have it in the fridge?”
“If I say yes, will my obligations be fulfilled?”
“You bet.”
“Okay, but dinner and you’re gone.”
“Yeah, yeah. Go shower—you stink,” he teased, dropping a light kiss on her lips.
She padded to her bathroom, wondering how she was going to avoid washing all her makeup off if she showered.
Her people shield was becoming an enormous drag.
* * *
Twenty minutes later, Marybell reappeared. Makeup still in place. He’d hoped to finally see what was behind all that makeup, but she was working pretty hard to keep him from seeing it. But he was pleased to see she’d thrown on a simple T-shirt and a pair of jeans that made her ass look amazing.
His mouth began to water, and it wasn’t because he was hungry for lasagna. He was hungry for her. Hungry to get her to get past whatever was keeping her from going out with him. Every time she loosened up, she just reined it in tighter.
Setting out the plates at her small breakfast bar, he folded some napkins and placed silverware on each one. “Sit,” he directed, smiling when he noted the humid shower had made her spiky Mohawk sag to one side.
“Smells good,” she commented, folding her hands on the breakfast bar. She was back to stiff and uncomfortable. Another brick in her wall.
He dug out the pot holders and opened the oven, pulling the lasagna out and placing it on top of the stove. “And I made it myself.” He grabbed their plates and put a healthy portion on each of them.
Her hazel eyes, shrouded by black glittery lids and a white stripe in the crease, acknowledged his efforts, but nothing more. She jammed a forkful of the lasagna into her mouth, dabbing daintily at her dark purple lips with the napkin. “Hmm.”
“See? So, where were we before Louella showed up?”
“Boas and tiaras,” she offered, sipping from the glass of wine he’d poured her.
“You should join us on princess night. I think you’d like it. We have an extra pink boa.”
She scoffed the way all tough girls did when it came to frilly things. “I’m not much of a pink boa, tiara girl.”
Thwarted again, Hawthorne. “Books? Do you read?”
“I do. This probably won’t surprise you, but I’m a horror fan.”
“Stephen King?”
She nodded, jamming more lasagna in her mouth as if it were a lasagna-eating contest, but she couldn’t hide her smile.
He held up his fist to her to bump. “Huge fan. Also like a good medical thriller.”
Now her eyes lit up when she fist-bumped him back. “Me, too. Have you read James Patterson?”
“Alex Cross. All-time favorite. You tried any Robin Cook?”
“Coma!” they said together. She laughed and nodded. Now the other Marybell was back. The one he damn well knew wanted to participate.
The one who liked a good laugh.
“You’ve got sauce on the side of your mouth.” He leaned forward to wipe it away, but even that crazy dark
purple lipstick was irresistible. The hitch in her breath when he moved in close, even more irresistible. It made him hard in his jeans, uncomfortably so.
He didn’t want to eat lasagna. That was the thought that fueled him when he kissed her harder, letting his tongue slide between those delicious full lips. When she sighed into his mouth, he wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her in close, knocking his stool over in the process.
In his defense, she let him, dropping her fork and wrapping her arms around his neck, melting into him until he hiked her legs up around his waist.
All he wanted was her naked. Naked and his mouth on her—all over her. He wanted to be deep inside her, so deep she’d scream his name.
He grabbed at the edges of her T-shirt, more than a little pleased she wore no bra. He cupped the undersides of her breasts, pushing them upward until his fingers found the rigid peaks of her nipples. He tweaked at the tight buds, hearing her gasp of air, her low moan of pleasure.
Marybell’s fingers found his buckle, pulling his belt out and popping the button holding his jeans together. She unzipped him in a matter of moments and swept his jeans and underwear down over his hips until there was nothing between them but her clothes.
Wrapping her fingers around his cock, she began a slow stroke, forcing him to thrust forward into the soft flesh of her hand. He had to grit his teeth to keep from coming right then and there. So he focused on getting her jeans off, shoving them away so he could get his fingers inside her, stroke her hot flesh, feel her squirm when he spread her.
Everything about her was fiery, from her personality to her body, and as she slid along his frame and positioned herself between his thighs, he found her mouth was, too.
She wasted no time when she pushed him back against the breakfast bar and yanked his boots and jeans off. Then it was nothing but him in a shirt and a pair of socks.
The first lick she took of his shaft made him dizzy, left him clinging to the red-and-green spikes in her hair. Her tongue was soft, silky on him, easy, but hitting all the right pressure points. When she enveloped all of him while he watched, cupped his balls with gentle fingers, stroked that spot on his cock just beneath the head, he had to make her stop.
Hauling her upward by her arms, Tag lifted her straight up and off her feet, planting his mouth on hers and kissing her until she melted against him again—soft, hot—pliable. “Condom. Wallet, back pocket of my jeans,” was all he could manage while she scooped his jeans up and retrieved his wallet.
Tag reached blindly for the one stool still standing and positioned it under him while she unbuttoned his shirt, spreading it open, kneading his pecs, rolling her palms over his flesh while he ripped the foil packet and stroked the condom on.
Then she climbed into his lap, straddling her legs around him so willingly he couldn’t see straight for this goddamn need to be inside her. It tore at him, rippled through him with such force he had to slow down or he’d hurt her. Planting his hands on her hips, he stroked her silky flesh, ran his flat palms over her ass, felt her lean into him, drop kisses on his neck.
She gripped his shoulders, lifted her hips, waited until the unbearable sexiness of her couldn’t be kept at bay any longer.
He thrust upward with the sound of her hiss of pleasure as her head fell back on her shoulders and her thighs gripped him tight around the waist. She was wet and tight, drawing him inward to her deepest depths.
Tag’s lips found the long column of her neck, nipping at the flesh until her nipples beaded and scraped against his chest and her hands thrust into his hair.
That hot, uncontrollable wave of need filled his balls, drove him upward into her until he almost couldn’t breathe from the tension flooding him.
Her hips began to rock back and forth, rolling, writhing against him, her breathing coming in short pants. She was on the edge—he knew the signs from the night before—but he wanted more. He wanted her to explode, to scream, so he slipped his hand between them, spreading her flesh and stroking her clit.
Marybell whimpered, her head falling forward on his shoulder, her muscles tightening in tune with his.
Tag dug his heels into the carpet when he came, keeping her as close to him as possible, holding on until Marybell slowed her movements and sank into him, driving her arms up under his and surrounding his back.
The moment caught him off guard, her leaning against him for support when she had to be the strongest woman he knew. He cupped the back of her head and sat very still, memorizing this scene, snapping a mental picture of it in his head so he’d always have it with him.
He really liked this Marybell.
And that made him smile.
Ten
“You had a condom in your back pocket,” she accused with a weak laugh, her breathing still ragged. She’d tried to keep her mouth busy with lasagna. Eat fast, say thank you and goodbye. End date.
Yet another plan foiled by Tag and his delectable lips and chiseled body.
He chuckled, the rumble beneath her cheek vibrating from his chest inviting her to stay awhile. “Are you presuming that had something to do with you, pretty lady?”
She grinned, sated and happy. In this moment, she was happy. “I am.”
“Bold.”
“Truth.”
“Look, I won’t tell you I didn’t hope it would happen again. I just didn’t expect it to be so soon. Which makes you a little tiger, huh?” He snatched a kiss to her cheek before she batted him away
Lifting her head, she shot him a direct gaze. “You kissed me first.”
Tag shook his dark head, reaching up and twirling one of the many earrings in her ear. “We had no rules about kissing tonight. None.”
Using her index finger, she swiped at his cheek. “You have my makeup all over your face.”
“Your eyeliner is smeared.” He used a thumb to wipe under her eyes, his eyes moving to her shoulder. “How did I miss this tattoo the other night?” he asked, dropping a kiss on it.
It was the first tattoo she’d ever gotten in celebration of earning a full scholarship to school. A small thumbs-up sign with a pink fingernail. She wanted to pull away in response to the painful memory the ink brought, but Tag had been pretty open about his Little Mermaid tattoo. “Told you I liked pink.”
“Does it mean something?”
“Yep. It was my first tatt. I got it when I got a scholarship to college.”
You’re going to get caught.
“Well, well. Ms. Lyman’s an educated woman, is she? What did you study?”
Whoa. Pull back, Marybell. “Nothing and everything. I got booted out before I was there long enough to make a difference.”
Tag’s eyes flashed surprise. “After getting a scholarship? Are you a bad girl, Marybell?”
“I’ll never tell. But we have definitely done a bad thing.” It doesn’t feel bad, she wanted to yell. But she had to stop encouraging him.
“Does bad feel like this?” He gave her butt a squeeze.
When the glow passed, it always came down to the same thing. This dangerous line she was walking. “I can’t date you, Tag.”
“But you can have sex with me?”
“Yes. No. No! I shouldn’t have sex with you, either.” This was getting too deep. Going too far. She’d pay for these lies. She’d pay hard.
He sighed, lifting her from his lap to stand in front of her. “You’re like a Katy Perry song.”
She cocked her head, hands on hips, utterly naked. “You know who Katy Perry is?”
He gave her an exaggerated roll of his eyes. “I live with Maizy. ‘Hot And Cold’ and ‘Roar’ are like her anthems.” Tag, completely, deliciously, devastatingly naked, made his way to the bathroom where he shut the door on her.
“You’re a pretty good uncle, Tag.” She heard the water run and the flush of the toilet.
He opened the door again, leaning in the frame of it with one arm propped in the doorway. “But obviously, not a pretty good dater,” he offered with a chuckle, h
olding his hand up as he made his way back to the breakfast bar and pulled his jeans on. “It’s okay, Marybell Lyman. You go on thinking you don’t want to date me, and I’ll let you.”
“You’ll let me?”
He grinned so devilishly she fought a sigh. “Yep. But I’m telling you, it won’t be long till you beat down my door and ask me for a date.”
“That’s plumb crazy.”
“I’m plumb right. So for now, until you beat down my door, it’s goodbye.” He scooped her up, naked as the day she was born, and planted a long, delicious kiss on her lips before setting her back down, giving her a wink and strolling back out the door.
Marybell looked up at the ceiling, regret burrowing a hole in her chest. “Why? Why now when, for the most part, everything was goin’ so well? You have any thoughts on that, Landon Wells? Maybe you could drop that question in the box reserved for girls with sordid pasts?”
She began to scoop up her clothes, realizing in the cluster of fabric on the floor, Tag had left his hat. Pressing it against her nose, she inhaled the scent of his shampoo, which only reminded her of the scent of his cologne, and the domino effect on her thoughts began, leaving her sad.
At least you left things light. No harm, no foul. All neat and tidy.
She wasn’t ever going to ask Tag out on a date, because she couldn’t. It stung less knowing they’d at least wrapped it up on decent terms.
But it didn’t stop the sadness from creeping in, from settling in the pit of her stomach. It would pass. She’d left plenty of people and things in her lifetime.
Tag was no exception.
She took another glance at his hat before setting it on her head, and pulling it over her Mohawk.
She decided to keep it, much the way she’d done with other small mementos from important events in her life. Things that were light and easy to pack at a moment’s notice—sometimes a moment was all you had.
* * *
Marybell let her head rest on her desk in her office, trying to block out the incessant banging until she couldn’t take it anymore. It had been a week since she’d seen Tag. A week full of wishing she were anyone else but who she was.
Talking After Midnight Page 12
