LOVE in a Small Town

by Janet Eaves

  Could she do the same for her confused mind?

  Chapter Seven

  What was taking Jane so long? Graham shoved a hand through his hair. After all these years, he wanted to get to know her as Jane. But first he needed to figure out why she believed she needed to change places with her sister.

  Deep in thought he didn’t hear Jane come down the stairs, but in an inexplicable way, he sensed her behind him. Turning slowly, he suffered a stab of longing.

  By the looks of her damp hair curling in wisps around her face, Jane showered in the time she’d taken upstairs. The flashy makeup was gone, leaving her face transformed into its natural translucent complexion. Gone also was her bra. He could tell by the dark ovals of her nipples puckered against the loose fabric of a white T-shirt. His shirt.

  Graham’s gaze traveled the length of the shirt to where it ended above her knees. He sucked in a sharp breath as his gaze progressed down to the tips of her polished toes. He could only guess what she was wearing beneath the shirt, if anything, and a painful swelling began in his loins.

  He set his jaw in grim resignation. This wasn’t going to be as easy as he thought. Now face to face with her, he had to corral his galloping libido if he wanted answers.

  “I’d almost given up on you,” he said with a faint smile.

  Jane managed to smile in return as she shivered. “I thought a shower would warm me up.”

  Whether her reaction came from the chill in the night air, or from a nervous response to his nearness, Graham couldn’t guess. As his gaze assessed her curvy body, he fought an overpowering desire to thaw her with a shower of hot kisses.

  “It evidently didn’t work. You’re still cold.” He inhaled her fresh scent of soap. “Here. Put this around you.”

  Graham stripped one of Aunt Harriett’s multicolored afghans from the back of a recliner and draped the wool coverlet around her shoulders. With her wide eyes and bare feet, she looked innocent and charming.

  “Sit down.”

  Without saying a word, Jane sat on the sofa and Graham placed a second crocheted afghan over her lap. Dropping to a knee, he picked up a slender foot to tuck the edge of the blanket under her toes. Jane’s sharp intake of breath shocked him. He glanced up to see her eyes darken with desire.

  He’d seen that look before, and just like before, a rushing wave of excitement washed over him. He longed to rub her insoles, touching them with his warm hands and soothing them with his fingertips. He wanted to knead the balls of her feet, around and around, gently, and then work each toe with his hands, in a sensual offering of pleasure. He longed to do more. A powerful arousal almost knocked him to the floor.

  Graham jumped to his feet and turned away. This was Jane. Why did she need to play at being Dawn? Was making love to him so terrible? He needed answers. His uncontrollable urge to kiss her threatened to destroy his best intentions.

  Gaining distance, he picked up his glass of wine and took a sip. The action bought him time. When he turned back to serve Jane wine and place the plate of cookies on the table in front of her, he had better control of himself.

  “I found merlot in Harriet’s cabinet, and decided that might suit us better than coffee.”

  Jane hesitated for the merest moment and then accepted the glass, grasping the stem with her long fingers. She drew the goblet to her lips, sipping the wine. Her gaze surfed over the rim to connect with his. Graham watched the seductive movement of her lips as they parted to caress the glass and savor the supple flavor of plum, black cherry and currant.

  Sweet agony. He forced himself to back away, to break the strange connection ignited by the touch of her gaze, by the innate sensuality of her movements, and by his own damn desire. Picking up his glass, Graham retreated to the easy chair and sank down into its quiet depths. He was unexpectedly tired.

  “The years have been really good to you,” Jane said in a sleepy voice. She cradled the goblet with both hands as if she needed to protect it.

  Graham drew his brows together. He didn’t want to make small talk any more than he wanted to explain to her why his life was a mess. Why all of a sudden he’d lost direction and purpose. Why he couldn’t come home again, but had no place else to go. Seeing her there—in her colorful woolen cocoon, all cozy and warm—he hadn’t the heart to break the tranquility of the moment. He couldn’t bring himself to confront her as he planned.

  Coward. He cursed himself and slipped his fingers once again through his hair.

  It was easier for him to talk of the past. “Remember when Aunt Harriet thought I was cheating in English class?”

  “Sure. She took you to the principal.”

  “I caught hell from my old man.”

  “You were grounded for two weeks.” Jane’s smile was wistful as she considered the burnt red liquid in her glass. “It must have been tough to have an aunt for a teacher.”

  “I couldn’t take your sister to homecoming,” he said.

  Her gaze flew up.

  “I mean you had to go to homecoming with your sister because I was grounded,” Graham corrected his mistake. “You hated me for awhile, if I remember.”

  Her eyes wary, she continued the game with a touch of dry humor, “My sister isn’t much of a dance partner.” Then she added, “You know I never could hate you for long.”

  Graham trapped her gaze with his. When she said she couldn’t hate him, she wasn’t playing Dawn. The knowledge settled over him like falling leaves. Jane was talking directly to him—as herself. He could see it in the fond look she gave him, in the way she coolly held his gaze, in her slight smile. The same look that captured him during their senior year.

  When he returned her smile, her old shyness returned.

  As if flustered, Jane dropped her eyes again and took several sips of wine. Graham followed the movement of the glass to her lips and watched the motion of her throat as she swallowed. All the while, he seemed to float in a haze of heavy wanting. He felt drugged, as if he were losing control all over again.

  To regain focus, Graham sat forward on the edge of the chair, and picked up the class reunion program from the coffee table.

  “This book is well put together,” he said, leafing through the pages.

  “Jane did it.”

  Graham caught the imposter’s gaze and grinned. “Why am I not surprised?”

  Jane flushed a delightful shade of pink. “Someone had to volunteer.”

  “It’s so well thought out, professional.” He flipped to Clint’s page with his occupation, snail mail and e-mail addresses. “Look. Here’s Clint’s senior picture and his favorite quote from the yearbook. ‘Winning isn’t everything, it’s the only thing’ from Vince Lombardi.”

  “Remember how we all hated coming up with those quotes from famous people?”

  He rolled his eyes. “Wonder whose idea that was?”

  “I think it was our illustrious student council president’s brain storm, and we hated him for it,” Jane said with a droll smile.

  “Especially after old Mrs. Fairchild made such a big deal out of it.” Graham had to laugh.

  Graham turned a page. “Here’s Ridgeway’s quote. ‘The one who dies with the most toys wins.’”

  “He got it from a bumper sticker.”

  “Mrs. Fairchild was furious,” Graham recalled.

  He glanced up at Jane. She was smiling at him so wistfully that his heart jarred. Shared memories brought them together. His earlier aching eased, replaced by an odd serenity that seeped through his body, enveloping him in warmth. For a moment, Graham marveled at how good he felt.

  “Read yours,” Jane prompted softly.

  Graham nodded, finding his page. What a hoot! He had forgotten what he selected. “Mine comes from the old cult classic The Invasion of the Body Snatchers. ‘Love, desire, ambition, faith. Without them life’s so simple, believe me.’” He looked up at her.

  “That’s so sad,” Jane said. “I always wondered why you chose that one.”

  “Probab
ly some sort of teenage rebellion.” Graham shrugged, trying to make light of her observation. “I guess I was saying stuff didn’t matter.”

  “But that quote is so unlike you. And all those things did matter to you…a lot.”

  She pinched a raw nerve. The muscles in Graham’s jaw tightened. She was right. It had mattered. But where had ambition gotten him? No law partnership. Love certainly was elusive. He had no wife. No children. He was thirty-three years old and except for a popular book, he had nothing meaningful to show for those years.

  “Read mine.” Jane set the empty goblet on the coffee table, and snuggled deeper into her cocoon.

  Turning back a few more, Graham stopped at two facing pages, one with Jane’s picture and the other one with Dawn’s. Both girls so alike. Both so different.

  “This is Jane’s quote from the poet John Keats, ‘Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard are sweeter.’” Graham paused, his eyes searching Jane’s face. When she didn’t react, he continued, “This quote is yours. It’s from Marilyn Monroe. ‘If fame goes by, I’ve always known it was fickle.’”

  The ticking clock was like an annoying gnat. Graham waited for Jane to explain Jane’s quote to him. He waited for her to admit she changed places with her sister.

  “Marilyn Monroe was always my favorite actress,” she said instead.

  Annoyed, Graham put down the program and climbed to his feet. “We need music. Do you mind?”

  “Of course not.”

  Jane wasn’t going to tell him the truth. Graham walked to the solid wood stereo cabinet and opened the heavy pine lid.

  “Aunt Harriet has a real turntable,” he said to Jane over his shoulder, distracted by the out-of-date sound equipment. “She doesn’t have a CD player, let alone a tape cassette.”

  Inside the cabinet, he found old thirty-three and a third long playing records from the fifties and sixties. Fascinated, Graham sorted through the titles—Handel, Bach and Tchaikovsky. Recordings of barber shop quartets. Big Band era songs. The LP’s had gone out with the horse and buggy.

  Graham selected a score from the original Broadway musical of My Fair Lady. It suited the evening perfectly. The heroine of the movie was caught up in a deception much like Jane. A simple flower girl, she transformed herself into an aristocratic lady simply to win a bet between two bored gentlemen.

  Graham took the vinyl record out of its sleeve and placed it on the turntable. Turning the switch, he gently placed the needle on the rotating record. As the strains of the dramatic overture filled the living room, his feeling of disappointment returned, pounding into his gut like a judge’s gavel. That’s it. How stupid of him not to see the reason for Jane’s deception. She was trying to win a bet by changing places with Dawn. The two scheming females had to be in this together.

  Slowly he flexed his fingers and took a deep breath. It was time to demand a confession.

  “Why have you changed places with Dawn?” Graham turned around.

  Jane was curled up on the sofa fast asleep.

  ****

  Jane awoke with a start, a thread of fear needling her scalp. In an instant, her heartbeat slowed when she recognized her surroundings. Thanks to a pool of soft yellow light from a lamp and the familiar smell of mothballs mixed with the lingering aroma of cinnamon cookies, she identified Aunt Harriet’s house. Stretching her aching legs out the length of the sofa, she turned over on her back. A rhythmic tick-tick of the mantle clock broke the eerie silence of the room.

  What had she done? Fallen asleep like a baby thanks to the combination of the warm shower and the wine. Her heart pulsated to the beat of the clock as the full impact of her stupid lapse hit her. What must Graham have thought?

  Groaning, Jane sat up and swung her feet to the floor. She used her fingers to muss her hair, wishing for the sexy dishevelment her sister cultivated so easily. At least Graham wasn’t around to see her, but where was he?

  He’d gone to bed, she guessed, not waking her. Humiliation bathed her. She’d blown it. Blown it big time.

  Jane sighed in frustration. She waited long enough to have something for herself. She was the good sister. Responsible and loving, she cared for her mother. She had given her youth to high school students who hardly appreciated her efforts. And she was Legend’s old maid.

  Jane sighed again. It was time to get what she wanted. It’s now or never.

  Armed with a new resolve, Jane stood. She padded up the stairs in the darkness, feeling her way, because, for all her determination, she was afraid to turn on the lights and awaken him. After a stop by the bathroom, Jane paused at the guest room door.

  Heart in her throat, she pushed it open. A curtain blew inward at the raised window and a fresh autumn breeze cooled the air. A tiny nightlight illuminated the room enough for her to see Graham stretched out on the bed, covered only by a flowered print sheet. His bare arm was flung over his eyes, and the deep pattern of his breathing told her he was asleep.

  Jane crept closer to the bed and stood silently above him, her heart swelling with a warm, overpowering love.

  She didn’t remember when her friendship with Graham turned to love. It seemed as if they’d always known each other. Their parents were best friends. The three children had met in the Winchester family playpen, or so their parents had told them.

  Now fate, and Dawn, had brought her to this place. It was time to prove Graham Winchester was nothing but a one night stand. She wanted to get on with her life.

  Jane crawled into bed. Cautiously. Half afraid to wake him and half wanting to, she slipped under the flowered sheet. Her nerves flared like a thousand torches as she lay beside him. Graham looked so vulnerable, his features relaxed, his mouth parted. He smelled of sunshine and the woody, citrus scent of his cologne. His very massiveness didn’t put her off. Neither did his nakedness. She drew closer to him, to his warmth. She belonged there with him. In his bed. Alone with him. Somehow she knew this, just as she knew she could never again be the other twin everyone expected.

  Snuggling closer, Jane shut her eyes, content to lie with him as he slept. Graham must have sensed her presence, for he turned on his side, moaning softly, and slipped his arm around her.

  ****

  He must be dreaming. Graham caught the soft scent of woman before he cracked a sleepy eye. Her body, pressed up against his, radiated heat, and her shoulder felt solid under his touch. She was no apparition, but a breathing flesh and blood woman. His woman.

  Thinking about Jane possessively was natural. Just as natural as her butt cradled against his groin and his knees crammed against the back of hers in a spoon position. The slow intake and outtake of her breath told him she was asleep. Instantly, the blood in his veins began to sizzle.

  Damn her for doing this to him. Damn her for being enticing and sexy and for flaunting her body so cruelly.

  Graham’s own breathing began to labor, just as his passion swelled—aching, throbbing, explosive. He wanted her so badly he could taste it—woman, temptress, devil in disguise. He wanted to sample her. Take her and possess her for real.

  With long, sensual strokes, Graham ran his fingers down her arm to her fingertips. He caught Jane’s hand and coupled his fingers with hers, slowly applying pressure. Pushing against her with his need, he nuzzled her sweet-smelling neck, first with his warm breath and then with his questing tongue, tasting her, savoring the woman she had become, not as a mere boy, but as the man he’d become.

  Jane stirred beneath him, awaking to his incessant assault.

  “You’re so lovely,” he moaned into her ear. “Why do you do this to me?”

  She escaped his grip and turned over to face him. Breath to breath and eye to eye. “I want you.”

  Graham saw desire in her half-closed eyes. He felt it as she placed her free hand on his chest and tentatively began to stroke his sensitive skin. She grew bolder, and his nipples hardened to her touch, sending tingling sensations to the tips of his toes. Graham slipped his hand up the back of her cotton shir
t and began to caress her between the blades of her shoulders. Running his fingertips down her spine, he discovered she wore no panties. Blind with pulsing desire, he could barely concentrate on anything but the feel of her bare skin to his touch and the mind-numbing things she was doing to him with her hands.

  He took her mouth with his. Tenderly at first, until she responded with equal passion. As the blood roared in his ears, he assailed the deep recesses of her mouth, tasting the wine and the aching sweetness of her. Graham moved his fingers across her buttocks and around her thigh so that he could touch her intimately. She was hot, moist and inviting. He pushed against her.

  How he wanted her. It would be so easy. So quickly done. The inferno inside that blazed out of control would be instantly sated, providing him relief and a pure, deep pleasure. A pleasure he had experienced once with Jane.

  In that moment, he awoke to reality. This was Jane, damn it all. He was rapidly breathing and out of control. He vowed to do better. He didn’t want it this way. Not like this.

  Graham pulled back.

  “What’s the matter?”

  “We can’t.”

  “Why?”

  “I have no protection.”

  “I don’t care.”

  Her eyes were shut to his frustration, his sadness. Her lips were open to him, inviting and moist, as moist at her private place that also summoned him.

  “I care,” Graham said miserably. “Not now. Not like this.”

  “Graham?”

  He should confront her. It was time to get it all out into the open. But part of him wanted to hear the truth from Jane’s own lips, not as a response to his demanding questions.

  “Get dressed.” He drew a deep breath. “I’m taking you home.”

  Chapter Eight

  The tinkling sound of chimes welcomed Graham when he pushed open the door to Legend’s New and Used Book Store. A muscle moved in his jaw. How would he react to seeing Jane as Jane?