Last Chance Knit & Stitch

by Ramsay, Hope

  “What is it?” she whispered.

  “Nothing.” He leaned in and kissed her again. His mind fogged nicely.

  “No, it’s something.” She pushed him gently back.

  He let go of a breath. “It’s what you just said. Luke used to say that all the time. Last one in the river is a rotten egg. Last one up the tree. Last one down to dinner. Everything was a race to him.”

  “I talked to Nita Wills. She’s an old friend of Zeph’s. She didn’t know you were there when the accident happened.”

  He rested his forehead against hers. “No one knows I was there when Luke died, okay? Except Zeph and Gabe, I guess.” He whispered the words.

  “You never told anyone?”

  “No. And I’d really like to talk about something else, like maybe your underwear. Are you wearing La Perla?”

  “Right. Sorry. It was just that look on your face a moment ago.”

  “Well, I’ll just wipe that look off my face, okay?”

  She stood up on tiptoes and started kissing his neck. “Does this help?” she whispered against his skin.

  “Uh, yeah. That helps a lot.”

  He reached around her, the movement bringing their thighs into contact just as she succeeded in getting his belt undone. He drew in a sharp breath as mindless lust washed over him again. With trembling fingers, he found the zipper of her dress and drew it down.

  He peeled the fabric away from her shoulders and midriff. The garment slid to the floor and pooled around her feet like a dark shadow. She stood there wearing the daintiest pair of silk panties and a matching lace bra.

  He groaned aloud. “Oh, my God, that underwear is amazing. You look like heaven. Please tell me they’re pink.”

  “Yeah, they are.”

  “You wear pink on the inside?”

  She shrugged. “The pink ones were on sale.”

  He cupped her breast, feeling its weight, flicking his thumb over her nipple through the lacy cup. It pebbled under his ministrations, and she moaned.

  He didn’t think it was possible but his groin got tighter. He was almost in pain now, trying to keep up this snail’s pace.

  He kissed down the column of her throat. “You are so hot,” he murmured against her neck, savoring her taste, fighting the urge to bite and suck and eat her up.

  He pushed her harder against the wall, caught up in the glide of her skin against his. He felt the blood beat at his temples as she started working on the button and zipper of his pants.

  She finally finished and started tugging on his trousers. They caught briefly on his hips and then fell to his ankles. He shucked off his loafers just as she touched him.

  He lost it. He pushed her against the door suddenly wondering why he wanted to go slow with her. And oh, thank the Lord, she took care of his underwear. And he took care of her panties. Finally they were naked as a couple of jays and caught up in the rhythm of the moment.

  “C’mon,” he said after a few minutes of this. He pulled her across the room and up into the four-poster bed that Mother had put in his room once he’d left home. The bed was an antique, with a real canopy. It was kind of a sissy bed, but this wasn’t his bedroom anymore. It was the room reserved for guests.

  “Wow, snazzy bed, Simon. It’s really kind of turning me on. Much better than the Peach Blossom.”

  He pulled back the goose down comforter and scattered the pillows, then pulled her down into the softness of the mattress so that she landed on top of him. She tried to roll off, and he wouldn’t let her budge. He held her there, chest-to-breast, laid out thigh-to-thigh, sex-to-sex, forcing himself to go slow.

  “You get to be on top,” he whispered, looking up into her darkened eyes as he cupped her butt cheeks.

  She gave him an impish smile. “Okay. I can definitely handle that.”

  And in the next few minutes, Molly Canaday proved that she could.

  CHAPTER

  19

  Molly nestled her head tight against Simon’s chest and listened to his heartbeat. She felt safe, and content, and satisfied.

  Dawn light edged the draperies. The soft illumination ate away at the shadows and revealed the room’s floral wallpaper, the antique furniture, the Williamsburg print on the bed’s canopy. She might have been sleeping at a very nice bed-and-breakfast, not someone’s home.

  Daybreak exposed the truth. This wasn’t Simon’s bedroom. It was the guest room where he was only a temporary resident.

  Simon slept on, unaware of her thoughts, his hair spread out on the pillow, his chin sporting that oh-so-sexy shadow of stubble. He had just the slightest smile on his face, and there were threads of silver in his hair. It was funny, but she didn’t think they made him look old. They were kind of a turn-on.

  The two of them had behaved like a couple of crazy teenagers last night. And Molly would do it again in a New York minute. She would have made the night last forever if she could have.

  But time moves forward. She’d had her fun, and it was time to leave. She was still a little intoxicated—a little high on Simon, but highs like this don’t last forever.

  She crawled from the bed and collected her clothes, slipped into the adjacent bathroom, and put herself back together.

  Sort of. She had managed to lose her shoes and purse. Near as she could remember, she’d left them at her table at the reception. What an idiot. She was going to have to talk to Savannah or someone to see if she could get them back. Otherwise Rachel Lockheart was going to be furious with her.

  Simon was snoring in the most adorable way when she left the room and headed down the hallway. It had taken a lot for her to go. She had stood by the bed watching him sleep while the sky got brighter and brighter. But it was going to be bad at home. Coach might even be waiting for her with his shotgun. So she needed to get going.

  By the time she made it to the main staircase, the sun was well up and streaming through the front windows. Boy, she was going to have a lot of explaining to do when she got home. But she’d have time to work on her story, because she was going to have to walk home. And even though her parents’ house wasn’t all that far away, walking on bare feet would add a new element to the traditional walk of shame.

  She made it to the first landing on the stairs without being discovered. Then her luck, which had been pretty crappy lately, turned all the way bad. Angel was standing in the foyer watching her descend with an interesting and unreadable expression on his face.

  Adolescent guilt and embarrassment seized her. She started trying to think of something stellar, or funny, or even remotely coherent, to say.

  All she could come up with as she came down the last few steps was, “What?”

  He continued to study her. “You have lost your shoes, Cinderella.”

  “I left them at the reception.”

  “Of course you did. And you look as if you need a ride home.”

  “Oh, Angel, that would be so helpful.”

  Five minutes later, Molly found herself riding shotgun in Angel’s flame red Jeep as he drove right through the middle of town.

  With the top down.

  Flo and T-Bone, who were just opening up the Kountry Kitchen, saw her. She knew this because T-Bone waved. So did Kenzie Griffin, who was dashing into the doughnut shop. And Molly was dead certain that Lillian Bray kept surveillance cameras trained on the stretch of Palmetto Avenue running by her house.

  Yup, Molly was definitely going to be dodging embarrassing questions this morning at church. Well, at least one good thing might come of this. People would quit thinking that Simon and Angel were lovers.

  She turned toward Angel. “You aren’t going to gossip about this, are you?” She knew damn well he was going to gossip. Angel might be a gay Latino from California, but he’d been adopted by every last member of the Last Chance old hens’ network.

  “Of course not,” he said.

  “Why do I not believe you?”

  He shrugged and looked handsome in a chiseled sort of way.

&n
bsp; Angel slowed the car as he turned onto the side street where Molly had grown up. “Chica, you do know that Simon is not a good one for falling in love with?”

  “Ha! I’m not falling in love with him. Last night I was carried away by lust.”

  “Which is how you lost your shoes?”

  “They weren’t my shoes. They belong to Rachel Lockheart. I also lost Rachel’s purse, with Lady Woolham’s earrings and my driver’s license in it. Which tells you just how badly intoxicated I was.” She paused for a moment, collecting her thoughts, because she was not drunk last night, at least not on beer or wine. “You know, Angel, getting dressed up and going to a ball is a really dangerous thing for a girl like me. I’m just not cut out for stuff like that.”

  “Well, it’s only dangerous if you mistake Simon for Prince Charming.”

  “Yeah, well, I didn’t mistake him for a prince. And he didn’t mistake me for a girlie-girl. So we’re good. We had fun. But now it’s over.” Which was very sad.

  “That’s a good way to look at it, Molly. I’ve seen too many women break themselves on Simon’s heart.”

  “But you said Gillian had broken his heart.”

  His shoulders lifted just a little bit. “Did I say that?”

  “You did.”

  “Well, Gillian got farther than most women get. And I think Simon was just a little upset when she finally gave up on him. But his heart is very hard.”

  “You think?” Molly didn’t think Simon’s heart was hard, or cold, or anything like that. He was kind. He was generous. And he was an extremely considerate lover. Her insides started to melt just thinking about the stuff they’d done last night.

  “Chica, don’t let yourself fall. He is all of those things you are thinking about, but he is not a marrying kind of man.”

  Of course he wasn’t. He’d been clear about that. And it was totally okay. “That’s fine,” she said out loud. “I don’t want to get married. I was merely looking for some fun. And he provided it. But the thing is, here in Last Chance, people aren’t supposed to just get together and have fun. If they get caught doing something like that, everyone starts planning their wedding for them. So it’s really important that you don’t say anything.”

  “En boca cerrada no entran moscas.”

  “And what does that mean?”

  He grinned. “Roughly translated, it means that my mouth is so tight not even a mosquito will pass.”

  “Good, keep it that way.”

  He slowed the Jeep and pulled to the curb beside her parents’ house. “Nice Harley,” he commented, as he inspected the bike in the driveway. The hog was parked right beside a silver Mazda 3 hatchback.

  “Thank God. Allen is alive. I was starting to wonder.”

  “Allen is your brother?”

  “He’s been MIA for the last week or so. The Mazda belongs to Beau, Allen’s twin, who didn’t tell anyone he was coming.” She leaned her head back on the leather seat, suddenly exhausted. She hadn’t gotten enough (any) sleep last night. The only good thing about this scenario was that Coach wasn’t sitting in the driveway with a shotgun.

  “Would you rather I take you to breakfast? You and me being seen at the Kitchen would definitely throw some people off the scent.”

  She snorted a laugh. “Angel, honey, no one in this town is going to believe that you and I spent the night together.”

  Muffin growled the moment Les came wandering into Ricki’s small kitchen. The dog kind of crouched down, shivering. And then she launched herself at his ankles, which thankfully were covered by a pair of dress boots.

  Ricki was mortified by the dog’s behavior. “Muffin, sit!” she commanded. But the dog paid her no mind.

  The situation could have gotten out of hand. But Les didn’t do anything to Muffin. He just stood there letting her growl and bark at him. Not that Muffin was all that frightening, given her tiny size. But if Les had wanted to, he could have just stomped on her.

  “I think you need to pick her up or something,” Les said.

  Ricki wasn’t sure she wanted to get anywhere close. Muffin had tiny, sharp teeth. Where was Cesar Millan when you needed him, anyway? “You know, I’ve never seen her behave this way with anyone but you. She really doesn’t like you.”

  “I kinda got that idea last night when we had to lock her in the closet. It was hard to concentrate with all that whining.” His face got red.

  “It’s okay, Les. You were fine. I had a lot of fun. And I’d really like to do it again.”

  Les’s expression brightened. “You do?”

  Ricki knew it was crazy to encourage him. After all, he was younger than she was, and her dog didn’t like him one bit. But Les was sweet, and even though he was inexperienced, he had turned out to be a considerate and impressive lover.

  A thought that brought heat to her face. She still couldn’t believe they had ended up here, together, with the dog in the closet and the two of them naked.

  “I better go,” he said, eyeing the dog and backing away toward the apartment’s door. Muffin followed him, her eyes all squinched up and her entire body radiating doggy annoyance. “She obviously hates me. It’s probably a sign.”

  He reached the door and had it open before Ricki could respond. Damn it. She had wanted him to stay and have breakfast. It had been a long, long time since she’d had a Sunday morning free, and spending it getting to know Les a little better would have been all right with her.

  But Muffin had ruined everything.

  “I’ll see you,” he said as he bolted through the door, making a quick escape down the fire stairs.

  Muffin stopped barking, turned, and trotted back to where Ricki was standing in the kitchen. The dog sat down and looked up at Ricki expecting adoration. Clearly Muffin was proud of herself for having run off the big, bad, sexy man.

  Simon startled awake and knew three things immediately. Molly was gone. Coach was going to be furious with him. And he was going to be late for church.

  He inhaled. Molly’s scent assailed him. She clung to him, even in her absence, and a yearning came over him, adolescent and exquisitely sweet.

  One night with her was not going to be enough.

  And yet her absence underscored the point that one night was probably all he would ever get. And then it occurred to him that it was really strange to be on the receiving end of a one-nighter.

  Simon was a master at those. But he had rules about them. He never brought a lady home. He always left before dawn. He never left a note.

  He had certainly broken all his rules last night, not to mention his word. He’d even known he was breaking the rules, and that made the encounter that much more fun. That much more dangerous.

  He wanted that woman. It was an urgent, almost desperate, crazy kind of feeling. He’d never wanted a woman that much. He’d never enjoyed a woman that much.

  Damn.

  He got up, threw on a robe, and checked in on Mother, who for all her dementia was already dressed and waiting for him to take her to church. When she saw him in his robe, she gave him what for, accusing him of being shiftless, lazy, and a pervert.

  Then she fired him—again.

  Satisfied that she was all right, and that Molly and Angel were gone—which probably meant that Angel had driven Molly home—he headed off to shower and shave.

  They made it to Christ Church just after the processional. Mother was not happy at being seated in the back. And Simon was disappointed to discover that Molly wasn’t there at all.

  Molly prepared herself for World War III as she let herself in the garage door, which was rarely locked. But Coach wasn’t waiting for her in the kitchen, as she expected.

  Hope blossomed inside her. Maybe she could pull off this whole teenager-sneaking-around thing without being discovered. She tiptoed through the kitchen and out into the living room.

  Busted.

  Coach was there. But so were her brothers. And the moment she set foot in that room, she knew that no one was worried about
where she’d been last night.

  Beau was sleeping on the couch. Only this was not her real brother; this was some caricature of him. He looked pale and gaunt, his cheekbones almost painfully jutting from his face. And his hair looked all patchy and mangy, like he was losing it.

  Coach and Allen sat in the adjacent wing chairs, both of them looking like they’d pulled all-nighters.

  Coach turned his gaze on Molly. She braced herself for the inevitable interrogation, but instead of asking her where she’d been all night, he simply said, “Beau has cancer.”

  “What?” A toxic mixture of adrenaline and guilt and God knew what else spilled through her. It poisoned the high she was riding, and she crashed to earth in truly painful fashion.

  “It’s non-Hodgkin’s lymphoma,” Allen supplied in a gruff-sounding voice. He looked up at her with such pain in his eyes. His face was identical to his twin’s, or at least it had been. “The idiot thought he’d keep it to himself,” Allen said. “He went into the hospital about a week ago for his first chemo treatment. But it knocked him out. Apparently he’s been losing weight for weeks.”

  “Why didn’t he say anything?”

  “Because Beau never wants to be a burden. Because I’m a fuckup. Because you’re always busy with your cars and stuff. And Daddy’s busy with football. And Momma …” Allen couldn’t say another word. He just got up, stalked down the hallway, and slammed the door to his room.

  Beau stirred and looked up at her. “Hey, Mol,” he said, taking in her slightly rumpled appearance. “Nice dress, kiddo.”

  Molly sat down on the sturdy coffee table and took his hand. “You idiot. You should have told us. If you had, maybe Momma—” She bit off the rest of her words as reality came down on her. In Momma’s absence, she was going to have to take charge. “So are you still trying to work?”

  He shook his head. “I withdrew from the internship. And I don’t know if I’ll be well enough for classes in the fall. The docs told me the chemo would make me weak and sick to my stomach, but I didn’t realize how weak and sick. I called Allen when I knew I couldn’t do this on my own.”