by Maggie Wells
She heaved a heavy sigh when she found no beer forthcoming and turned her attention back to her companion. Lord, she wanted his hands on her again. Those big, strong hands that ripped ceilings and tore boards from walls and stroked her so gently she came hard enough to see stars. Then, as if her wish were his command, Harley covered her hand with his.
“I was awful sorry to hear about your mama. She was a real class act.”
The lump of emotion permanently lodged in her chest rose up into her throat. Afraid she couldn’t manage even the smallest ‘thank you,’ she simply nodded and gave him a weak smile.
Apparently it was enough, because Harley returned her nod, retrieved his hand, and plucked an ear of corn from the mishmash of boiled potatoes and shellfish the server had dumped at the center of the paper-lined table. He examined it critically. The cobbette all but disappeared into his large hand.
With a flick of his wrist, he held the morsel pinched between his thumb and middle finger. He added butter and salt to his victim, then sank straight white teeth into the golden kernels. She wet her parched lips, aching to take a bite from the opposite side. Shaking off the urge to go all Lady and the Tramp on him, she settled for trying to take a bite out of him. “That’s Brooke’s seat.”
“Not anymore.” Butter trickled down his chin. He wiped it away with his wrist while he chewed but his lips glistened. “I paid her off.”
Laney blinked. “Paid her off? Brooke doesn’t need your money. Her family—”
“I didn’t pay her in money. I’m letting her interview me on Monday.”
The self-important statement should have come off as arrogant, and he could be damn arrogant when he wanted to be, but this time it played out as simple confidence. Simple, sexy, sinful confidence. She couldn’t let him know how much she liked his casual cockiness. Didn’t want to give the man more ammunition than he needed. She was already weakening, and they both knew it.
Settling on a stare of blank confusion, she gave her head a bewildered little wag. “Interview you? Whatever for?”
Harley’s smile widened. “Believe it or not, some people think I’m a fairly interesting guy.”
“I’m sure you are...in your own way.”
“You’re interested enough,” he drawled. Before she could retort, he dropped the corn cob onto the paper, ripped a paper towel from the roll planted at the center of the table, and carefully wiped his fingers. Then one of those big, sexy working man’s hands landed on her knee. “You are, and it’s time to stop fighting it.”
“No.” Laney felt her lashes flutter, but she refused to give in and wallow in the warmth of the caress. “You had your shot, and you took off.”
“I had something more interesting to do than letting a bored debutante jerk me around.” He whispered the words soft enough only she would hear, but anyone looking at them would know what was happening between them. “You ready to get serious, Delaney?”
Yes. No. Licking her lips, she closed her eyes and shook her head. It was all she had left. One last denial. And they both knew it was futile.
He’d been patient. Even while he’d been away, he’d cornered the market on charming but persistent. He’d called, and when she didn’t answer, he started leaving her messages set to the tunes of classic rock songs. He texted. Silly, annoying texts where he asked what she was wearing, then attempted to describe his usual uniform of jeans and T-shirts using humorously provocative adjectives. She ignored those, too, but couldn’t quite bring herself to delete them. Now, he was back and looked to be fully prepared to use sheer force of will to wear her down.
The hell of it was, she wanted him every bit as much as he wanted her.
As if to prove he could read her mind, he gave her knee a gentle squeeze. “I’ll be picking you up tomorrow night, Delaney. We’ll go to dinner, then I’m taking you to see some movie about the guy some girl can’t forget, then I’m going to take you home and make sure you’ll never, ever forget me.”
“No.”
Her refusal didn’t come out with quite as much oomph as she would have liked, but Laney was pleased to get it out at all. His grin proved him undaunted. The crinkles at the corners of his eyes proclaimed him downright amused. The sight of him looking so smug and sure of himself set her teeth on edge. It also made her want to squirm in her seat.
Plucking a hunk of boiled potato from the pile in front of her, she popped it into her mouth and chewed slowly, refusing to break eye contact with him. She’d always been stubborn, but these past six months had made her stronger. There was no way in Hades she would let this man—of all men—bulldoze his way into her life and pick up as if he hadn’t missed a step. He’d missed a dozen, if not more. And some of those steps were big ones. Life-altering ones. The kind she wasn’t prepared to share with a guy she couldn’t count on to hang in for the long haul. Brooke would tell her she had enough abandonment issues without adding Mr. Wham-bam-oops-gotta-go-ma’am to her hit parade.
“Delaney—”
“I said no.” She kept her voice pitched low but coated in the sticky-sweet honey she was taught would soften even the harshest of blows. “Stay away from me, Harley Cade. You had your chance to make something happen and you blew it.”
Once again, he covered her hand with his. She tried to pull it away, but those thick, strong fingers wrapped her up tight. “Sweetheart, you weren’t ready for the chances I wanted to take.”
Fire burned in her throat and tears threatened. The tears she refused to shed when she found out he’d left town. The ones she withheld each time she rejected one of his calls. They seared her retinas and frayed her nerves, but she wouldn’t let even one fall. After all, she was a Tarrington and he was...nothing more than some poor white trash who, by hook or by crook, ended up sitting on a pile of money.
At least, that was what she told herself late at night. Long after her heartbeat slowed and her breathing returned to normal. In the dark quiet of her apartment where no one but Laney knew how many times she’d whispered his name as she made herself come.
But she was a Southern woman—born to manage men. And this one was no different from any other. He wanted what he couldn’t have. The hunt. It got them all hot and bothered. Well, hormones run amok or not, she wasn’t falling into his trap so easily. Not this time.
Wetting her upper lip, she suppressed the urge to smile when his gaze immediately dropped to her mouth. So easy. “Well, sugar,” she said, adding a little extra saccharine to the endearment he liked to use on her, “I think it’s time I took my chances with that bartender, right over there.”
Without giving him a chance to anticipate her move, she pushed away from the table. Smoothing the clingy knit dress over her hips, she bent at the waist, giving him a clear shot straight down her neckline as she launched her parting salvo.
“From what I saw earlier, he’s not very bright, but he sure is handsome.” Not above copping a feel, she gave the tensed muscle of Harley’s shoulder a gentle knead. “Of course, you know I like them that way.” He caught her hand as she turned on her heel, but Laney didn’t let him slow her down. As predictable as a summer shower, he rose from his purloined chair and made to follow her. Dropping her voice to a teasing lilt, she sent him a sidelong smile. “He tells me his name is Calvin. I think I might check and see if maybe he has it printed on his underwear...Wouldn’t that be a hoot?”
“Stop.”
She did when he tugged on her hand. Hard to keep going with a two-hundred pound anchor holding her back. Drawing a deep breath, she turned, taking a full minute to let her gaze travel from his collarbone to those gorgeous green eyes. “Yes?”
He stepped closer and it was all she could do to keep from backing down. With his ready smile, adorable dimples and good-old-boy manner, it was easy to forget the man topped six-four. He might wear designer clothes and a heavy platinum watch these days, but underneath, Harley Cade was seventy-six inches of rock-hard working man muscle.
This t
ime, there was nothing calculated in the need to wet her lips. Her throat was just as parched, and it had nothing to do with the spicy blend of Cajun seasonings used on the crawfish. She placed a hand at the center of his broad chest to get her balance, then steeled herself against the heavy thud of his heartbeat. She’d fallen asleep with her ear pressed to that exact spot. And awakened alone. A flash of remembered humiliation flared in her cheeks. Setting her jaw, she tipped her head back, fully prepared to stare the big guy down.
“What do you want?”
“You.”
He replied without missing a beat, but it was the same too-quick answer he’d given her so many times. This time she was one memorable night and six lonely months smarter.
“Too bad.”
His smile faltered for a split second but returned double strength. “Now, don’t be like that. I told you what I was doin’ out there.”
Her jaw dropped, but Laney snapped it right back into place. Yes, he’d explained. A week after the fact and from two thousand miles away. She hadn’t replied. What was the point? It wasn’t like they were ever going to be a thing anyway. She was another notch in his tool belt.
Dropping her voice to a harsh whisper, she leaned in. “You said you wanted me, and you had me. Be happy with what you got.”
“I want more.”
Incensed by his arrogance, she jerked her hand from his and took a step back. But it wasn’t a retreat. No. She needed room to make sure he knew where the battle lines were drawn. He was going to have to run stark naked across a big, wide no-man’s land before she let him back in her panties. “You can want all you want, Harley Cade, but we both know wanting isn’t getting.”
She tried not to notice how the muscles in his arms bulged when he crossed them over his chest. Honest to Pete, she did. But good manners only went so far. There were some things a woman could not help noting, even if she was raised to be a lady.
“I pretty much get what I want these days.”
The boast was a testament to the man’s iron will, and Laney wasn’t fool enough to underestimate his determination. She’d watched him overcome obstacle after obstacle. Witnessed him parlaying sheer grit into a breathtaking fortune. Saw him use charm, intelligence, and unapologetic guile to reach every goal he set for himself. Oh, she admittedly admired both his personal drive and his compelling personality, but it didn’t mean she was destined to fall victim to him again.
Mr. Cade might have a will of iron, but he was about to come up against a steel magnolia, born and bred.
Drawing a deep breath, she looked him square in the eyes and shook her head. “You won’t be getting me again, Harley.”
He pulled her over to the side of the tent and hauled her flush against him. A gasp proved to be out of the question because his mouth was on hers. Warm and firm. The kiss was somehow gentle but unyielding. The steady pressure simply removed any possibility of protest or rejection. Good gracious, his lips were soft. How could such a hard man have a mouth as tender as a flower petal? He angled his head, his five o’clock shadow scraping her chin and cheek and reminding her he was not a man given to tenderness. He was a modern-day warrior, built to conquer.
“We’ll see,” he murmured between assaults on her senses.
For the gently-reared, flower of genteel womanhood she was raised to be, he was temptation incarnate. The bad boy made good. Sort of. Rumors of ruthless business practices and questionable moral choices swirled around him like the spring wind whipping up into a twister. And though the man could kiss a woman so she felt it down to the soles of her feet and everywhere in between, Laney knew she couldn’t give in.
She wasn’t the woman she was when Harley skipped town. Her life had been turned upside down since he’d left a voicemail saying he had to go away on business for a few months. Somehow his promise to return sounded more like a threat than a vow. And now he was here, larger than life and kissing the bejesus out of her, everyone and their Aunt Tillie was going to think he was her white knight.
Well, screw him. Or not.
Planting her hands on his shoulders, she shoved with all her might.
He broke the kiss, but his reluctance was palpable. The stark hunger darkening his sea-glass eyes told her it was a damn good thing he wasn’t a man who’d sink to forcing himself on an unwilling woman.
“I said I’m not interested.”
A big, fat lie. They both knew how interested she’d been once upon a time, and how little it would take to hook her again. She needed to snip the line. Make a clean break. The way she figured it, she’d be better off owning her attraction to him and rejecting it than making him think there was something to prove.
Tossing her hair back over her shoulder, she smoothed a hand down the front of her dress, mostly to reassure herself she was indeed still clothed. A minor miracle after the kiss they’d shared. “I don’t want this,” she said, not bothering to mask the quiver in her voice. “I’m not some toy for you to play with when you feel like zipping into town for a quickie.”
“Zipping into town for a quickie?” A deep furrow bisected his brows. “My business is here. My mother is here. You’re here. I’ve lived in Mobile my entire life, Delaney, and I intend to stay here.”
Folding her arms across her chest, she tipped her chin up in blatant defiance. “You haven’t lived here for the past six months.”
“And I explained to you why and told you I’d be back,” he replied with exaggerated patience. “If you’d returned any of my calls, we could have talked this out by now.”
“There’s nothing to talk out.” Pivoting on her heel, she scanned the crowd, but was unable to locate either Brooke or her boyfriend, Brian. Fed up and more than ready to escape, she turned back to Harley wearing a social smile she knew would crawl all over his last nerve. “Good to have you home, Harley. You look well.”
“Don’t give me that polite—”
She cut him off by planting her hand clean over his mouth. “Don’t bother calling me. I won’t answer.”
* * * *
Harley let Laney go. Watching her walk away from him for what seemed like the millionth time was hard as hell, but he curled his fingers into his palms and refused to move an inch. Every synapse in his body screamed to go after her, toss her over his shoulder, and put an end to the cat and mouse game they’d been playing for longer than he cared to admit.
But he didn’t.
He was a man, not a boy. This level of self-control hadn’t come easy or natural for him, but he’d always been a quick learner. Sure, he’d slipped a little when the money started to roll in, but there wasn’t a twenty-four-year-old guy alive who wouldn’t have indulged a taste for fast cars and even faster women, given the smorgasbord he had to choose from each night. But once those wild oats had been thoroughly sown, Harley’d turned his attention back to the ultimate prize.
Delaney Tarrington.
But the woman was way out of his league. Always had been. Once upon a time, Tarrington Industries kept a hefty chunk of the Mobile Bay area employed in one capacity or another. Delaney’s great-grandad did an admirable job of rebuilding the family’s fortunes after the War Between the States ended. It was too damn bad old Emory Tarrington hadn’t managed to pass a smidge of his business savvy to future generations.
“She was royally pissed, you know.”
Harley jerked, startled from his reverie by the soft-spoken observation. He turned to find Laney’s best friend, Brooke Hastings, beaming her Homecoming Queen smile straight up at him. Her boyfriend, former reality TV star and current Gulf Coast crusader, Brian Dalton, stood behind her, more than willing to let his girl get her say in without intervention.
“Madder than a wet hen.” Brooke nodded then raised her bottled beer in salute. “Well done.”
He didn’t bother trying to mask his surprise. Brooke was a hound dog of a reporter. She’d smell it if he tried to bluff.
“You think pissing her off is good?” Harle
y glanced at Brian, but the guy only shrugged and held an open palm up in the universal signal for ‘what the hell do I know?’
Brooke took a long pull from her bottle before deigning to answer. Eyes twinkling with devilry, she smacked her lips, then favored him with a smile that put the more practiced one she’d given him in greeting to shame.
“I’ve never known Delaney Billeaudeau Tarrington to let something as common as a man upset her.”
She tipped her head to the side and studied him with a directness that made him feel slightly uncomfortable. For the life of him, he couldn’t help hoping he’d measure up to whatever standard the woman used as a yardstick, because if there was one thing he knew for certain, Brooke Hastings could hurt him. She could hurt him badly, and not even break a nail doing it.
“But you left, and I do believe there may have been a tear or two shed.”
The statement hit him like a punch to the nuts. He choked down the knot in his throat and planted his hands on his hips in an effort to catch his breath. Pressing his fingers into denim-covered bone to keep from reaching out and shaking the girl who was once the pride of St. Pat’s, he rasped, “Tell me you’re raggin’ on me.”
Dalton must have picked up on the edge in his voice because the guy finally stepped up to take his place beside Brooke. “She is.” Brian glanced down at her with a worried frown. “You are kidding, aren’t you?”
The teasing light in Brooke’s eyes dimmed and the blinding smile melted into a frown so fierce, Harley almost flinched. “I know she messed with you, Harley, but up and leaving like you did...big mistake.”
Harley shot a panicked look in Dalton’s direction. After all, in a way, it was Brian’s fault Harley ended up in L.A. for half a year. He’d been the same year as Brian’s older brother, Jake, in school. Tenuous as his ties to St. Patrick’s Academy were, his diploma came in the same burgundy leather folder as the Dalton boys’, and no St. Pat’s alum was above exploiting school ties. Brian’s old Hollywood agent mentioned needing a consultant who specialized in historic home restoration for a cable show. When things with Laney didn’t seem to be going the way he wanted them to, Harley was looking for an answer. Any answer. Six months in La-La Land seemed like the perfect chance to fall back and give Delaney the opportunity to miss him.
