by Liz Talley
For several minutes, Shelby was content to receive his touch, reveling in the heat of his kiss. John, however, wasn’t as satisfied and wrenched his mouth from hers, tugging at the neckline of her dress, sliding the stretchy fabric over one shoulder.
“Please,” he said, pulling the bra strap, too. “I didn’t get to see them before, and all I can think about is the way they’ll fill my hands.”
His words bathed her in pleasure and her breasts so heavy and full from pregnancy literally ached. She tugged the dress over her other shoulder and reached around and unhooked her bra. The black lace barely contained them and the bra flew out of her hands landing somewhere that didn’t matter at the moment.
“Oh, sweet mother of—” John groaned, cupping each breast and lifting them, lowering his head to nestle his face between them. Then he caught one pink tip, closing his mouth around it. Her head dropped back.
“Ahhh...” she groaned.
And then her shoulder blade caught the horn.
The sound jolted both of them. John lifted his head and looked at her leaning back across his steering wheel. He looked struck dumb at the sight of her half-naked in his lap.
Shelby lifted her hands to cover her naked breasts and for a good ten seconds, they stared at one another, each panting, each taken aback about how quickly it went from a simple kiss to second base.
“I swear to God if you apologize to me, I’m going to punch you in the nose,” she said finally.
A sharp bark of laughter escaped John. “Apologize? For the sweetest moment I’ve had since September? Not on your life.”
Shelby slid off his lap while simultaneously searching for her bra. Losing her underthings had become a habit around John. “Um, have you seen my bra?”
“Like I’d give it to you. If I had breasts like that, I’d never cover them.”
“If you had breasts like these we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”
“True,” he said, dangling her black bra from his fingertips.
She plucked the lace offering with one hand, carefully containing her flesh with one arm. She’d have to drop her arm and reveal herself to put the bra back on. Moments ago, she’d not hesitated to unhook it, but the honk of the horn had been like a glass of water in the face, cooling the ardor, reminding her that physical pleasure wasn’t the only thing she wanted from John.
Somehow she wanted more.
He unbuckled his seat belt, tilting his shoulder forward, giving his gaze to Freddy, who twined around the porch column meowing for attention.
John Beauchamp was a Southern gentleman, averting his eyes, giving her a piece of privacy. So frickin’ sweet.
Shelby hurriedly pulled on her bra and tugged up her dress.
“Ready?” he asked.
“Ready. I think.”
John paused and glanced back at her in the weak cab light. “I’m not sorry for kissing you, but I didn’t mean to attack you, either. Obviously, you weren’t ready for that.”
“I’m pretty sure I was. You just got to second base without even trying hard. If that horn hadn’t honked, you’d probably be sliding into home about now.”
“Oh, don’t tempt me,” he groaned, making a pained face. “But I didn’t mean attack in a physical sense, I meant emotionally. I think both of us are more than ready on a physical level.”
“Well, that is how we started.”
“But I’ve moved past the horny-for-you stage.”
At her arched brow, he backpedaled. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m horny as a fourteen-year-old boy the day the Victoria’s Secret magazine arrives.” He laughed at that thought before growing serious. “But I want more than sex, Shelby.”
“You want more than being roommates? Because then we go from you giving me a place to stay to living together. That’s a big step.”
John pressed his lips together. “I know.”
“If we’re really going to move on to something else, we need to rethink our living situation. There’s much to consider, like your image in the community and your job here at Breezy Hill. If we sleep together then everything you’ve professed about us becomes a lie,” Shelby said, climbing from the cab and closing the door, grateful for the cloak of darkness so he couldn’t see how much she wanted him to want her.
Ever since she was old enough for lipstick, she wanted a man to love her. Why was that so important?
Okay, she knew. She’d had some therapy after the scandal at her dad’s law firm and knew the lack of parental attention, combined with the feeling of being unwanted by her siblings, had colored her relationships with men. Beyond everything, she desired to feel normal, to be valued, loved and accepted for who she was. Yeah, pretty much what everyone on God’s green earth wanted. She merely happened to be overly focused on it.
John cleared his throat, waiting for her to round the truck. So she did, falling into step with him, wishing she’d kept her mouth shut...before the kiss and after. This vulnerability thing she had going on embarrassed her. Even if she did want to screw him up one wall and down the other, she shouldn’t be so eager to put everything out there. Hadn’t the past taught her as much?
“It’s not a lie,” he said. “And just to clarify, I’m not stringing you along so you’ll stay in Louisiana with the baby. I want to move forward with you,” he said, climbing the steps, “but I can’t promise love and a future with a bow on it.”
“Who can ever really promise happily ever after?”
“I guess I learned the hard way nothing is certain, but I no longer want to be the man you met in that bar. I don’t want to run.”
Hope flooded her. “You don’t?”
“No. You make me want to be better. For you. And you’ve done it by giving me a space to heal. For the first time since I lost her, I can think about Rebecca and our past without guilt and sadness. If you and I are never more than friends and parents, I’ll always be thankful for meeting you, Shelby.”
“Wow, that might be the coolest thing anyone has ever said to me.” She climbed the steps, stooping to give the purring Freddy a scratch. “Thank you.”
“I don’t think anyone has ever called me cool.”
“A monumental night for both of us,” Shelby joked before jabbing a finger into his chest. “And I didn’t say you were cool, I said what you said was cool. There’s a difference.”
John drew her into his arms, nudging the purring feline away from his feet. Brushing away a piece of hair that had loosened during their earlier kiss, he glanced down at her, the planes of his face in sharp relief in the orange glow of the porch light.
He dropped his head and caught her lips in the sweetest of kisses. Breaking it, he cupped her chin and tilted her face to his.
“Shelby?”
The kiss made her all woozy again. “Hmm?”
“Will you go out with me?”
“I just did.”
“No, an official date. Dressed up for a nice dinner, maybe a bottle of wine.”
“I can’t drink because you already knocked me up,” she said, rising onto her toes and brushing a kiss across his mouth. “But I’d love to go on a date with you.”
“Good,” he said, giving her another kiss as the cat twined around their ankles as unrelenting as the desire clinging to them. “I have a good feeling about this new year.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. Something good is on the horizon. Finally.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHRISTMAS MORNING DAWNED clear and cold. Frost covered the lawn, crystalline in the rising sun. John puttered around the kitchen in his blue robe and moccasin slippers looking for the coffee he bought a few weeks back.
“It’s on the shelf next to the tea caddy,” Shelby said, peering over his shoulder.
“Tea caddy? What’s that?”
“Right here,” Shelby said, reaching over his shoulder and tapping the shelf. Sure enough, the red-and-gold Community Coffee bag sat right next to some organizer thing. He was happy to find the coffee and even happier to feel the brush of Shelby’s unbound breasts against his back.
He’d gone to bed hard as a poker, making do with recalling the weight of her breasts cradled in his hands along with the taste of her sweet, sweet—
“Can you move?” she asked, poking his shoulder.
Right. He turned around. “Are you feeling okay today? Seem grumpy.”
She made a contrite face. “Sorry. I didn’t sleep well.”
“Well, you could have slept very, very well after a satisfying night in my bed...so that’s your own fault.”
Her eyes widened, and he decided he liked shocking her.
“Yeah?” she said, poking his chest this time. “If I remember Boots Grocery bathroom correctly, I would say there’s a fifty-fifty chance I could have slept well.”
“Wait a sec, are you suggesting I’m a bad lover?”
“If the boot fits, lace that bitch up and wear it,” she said with a grin, pushing him aside and grabbing the box of herbal tea.
“I know you didn’t just say that.” He caught her hand and pulled her back to him.
Shelby grinned, her face makeup free, her blond hair tangled, the robe belted around her expanding waist. He pulled her to him and she looped her arms about his neck, leaning back. “I guess you got some convincing to do.”
“I guess I do, but what man doesn’t love a challenge?”
Shelby rose on her toes and brushed her lips against his before slipping from his arms. “I like being your challenge.”
John set about making coffee, keeping one eye on the woman sliding a foil-covered casserole dish from the fridge and delivering it to the waiting oven. John may have spent long days in the fields, but since Shelby’s substitute teaching gig ended with the start of Christmas vacation, she’d spent the previous five days doing Christmasy stuff like wrapping presents, trying Pinterest—whatever that was—recipes and cooking. So she couldn’t complain about the lovemaking skills he hadn’t had a chance to practice on her if he couldn’t complain about some truly awful dinners he’d consumed over the past week. “What’s that?”
“Breakfast casserole.”
“Yum,” he said unconvincingly.
“No, it’s good. I followed every step and made sure I cooked the sausage before I put it together. It’s going to be perfect because this is our first Christmas together.”
He stiffened at her words. Their first Christmas together. Sounded so strange to think they’d made a commitment of sorts. Or maybe they hadn’t so much as made a commitment as caused the commitment back in September. But either way, they were about to find out what they might have together.
Last night when he’d asked her to take their relationship to the next level, she’d been cautious, which had surprised him. Passion was a positive quality of this new woman in his life, and after the way they’d nearly gone up in smoke from their encounter in the truck, he thought she’d be more willing to move from friends to lovers.
Presently, he was tired of moving slowly, but dating sounded good...even if they’d already had sex, made a baby and moved in together. Already the flirting and kissing thrilled him, and something about walking backward before they could walk forward again made sense.
“Did you call your parents to wish them a Merry Christmas?” he asked.
“Not yet. Still early in Seattle, besides Mother isn’t talking to me at the moment, though she did send me a polite note thanking me for her gift.” Shelby pulled orange juice out of the fridge and poured some into two glasses. Already she knew what he liked to drink and that thought warmed him.
“Oh, well, at least she’s communicating in some way.”
“I guess. She refuses to believe I’m having a baby and can’t figure out why I would want to stay in Mississippi to have it.”
“Mississippi?”
“To mother, all Southern states are alike. Except Texas. She likes Texas for whatever reason.”
Just as the coffee finished brewing, the doorbell rang.
“I say someone must be delivering the prize Christmas goose,” Shelby joked in her best British voice. They’d watched George C. Scott’s version of A Christmas Carol last night instead of indulging in other pleasurable activities. Shelby had kept the popcorn bowl firmly between them and had given him a chaste kiss right before midnight.
John walked to the front door, trying not to smile like a fool. There was something so wonderful about a cold Christmas morning and a sexy woman flirting with him in the kitchen.
When he opened the door, he found Carla Stanton wrapped in a long wool coat standing on the doorstep.
His joy shriveled, and at that moment he absolutely knew he’d screwed up. Carla looked brittle, despite the high color in her cheeks.
Bart barked and bounded toward the woman. John caught the dog’s collar just as he rose up to plant his paws on Carla. “Down, Bart.”
He reined in the beast and added, “Hey, Merry Christmas, Carla.”
“Merry Christmas,” the woman said, her face pinched. She brushed a hand down at Bart who leaped against the restraint.
“Won’t you come in?”
“Why wouldn’t I? This is my house after all,” she said with a lift of her chin.
At those words, John’s stomach pitched. Why in the hell hadn’t he already visited Carla and smoothed her ruffled feathers? But, of course, he knew why—after long days in the fields, he hadn’t wanted to give up any time with Shelby. For the past month, he’d ignored anything that might jeopardize their getting to know each other...and Carla was a major boat rocker. But he should have sucked it up and made sure his mother-in-law understood about Shelby.
Carla stepped inside and John closed the door. “Good to see you. We missed you last night at Mom and Dad’s.”
Her look withered. “I’m sure you did.”
Whoa. He’d never seen Carla Stanton so cold and angry. This was a woman he didn’t know. “Uh, what brings you out today?”
“Business,” she said.
“It’s Christmas Day, Carla. Even I don’t do business on Christmas.”
“Well, it’s just another day to me.”
“Carla,” he said, softening his voice. “Rebecca and Hal aren’t here, but that doesn’t mean the day isn’t—”
“What? A day of rejoicing? Damn. I forgot to be joyful. Sue me.”
John cast a glance at the kitchen, praying Shelby wouldn’t come traipsing out in her robe. All he needed was for Carla to see the intimacy and grow even angrier. If he needed a bit of time to accustom himself to a possible new life, Carla needed an eternity. She’d clung to her grief over her daughter even harder than he had. “This isn’t like you, Carla. You love Christmas.”
“Correction. Loved. Not any longer,” Carla said, eyeing the tree and the gifts beneath. He could see her thoughts.
“Would you like a cup of coffee?” he asked, motioning her toward the couch with the throw tossed carelessly from last night. The coffee table held the empty popcorn bowl and two glasses. The house looked very lived-in, unlike the past few months where he’d barely existed in the rooms at all.
“No, thank you,” she said, sinking onto the wingback chair and pursing her lips. “I’ve come for a specific reason.”
John sank onto the couch. “Yes?”
“I’m here to ask you to do what is right.”
“What is right?” he repeated.
“To stop living in sin with that woman.”
“I’m not living in sin,” he said. Of course, if Shelby hadn’t stopped him last night, he would have had to consider the possibility.
“
You’re living with that woman.”
“I have a name,” Shelby said from the doorway of the kitchen.
Oh, no. Not good.
Carla turned toward Shelby, her eyes narrowing, taking in her mussed hair and robe. “I don’t care what your name is. I care only that you leave Breezy Hill. You don’t belong here.”
Shelby moved into the room, a steaming cup of tea in hand. “Why is that?”
“Because this house belongs to the Stanton trust. I’m the beneficiary and guardian of that trust. I don’t want you here. I thought John would get the hint a few weeks ago, but here you still are.”
Shelby looked hard at Carla.
Carla looked back equally hard.
John wondered if he could create a distraction. Maybe a fire? Okay, that would be cowardly. “Carla, Shelby and I have not—” he stopped himself from explaining. Carla had no business trying to control his personal life. “Did you think I would mourn Rebecca forever? That I would live alone for the rest of my life?”
His former mother-in-law snapped her head around, zeroing in on him with eyes so like Rebecca’s, except way angrier than his wife’s had ever been. “I thought you’d wait until my daughter was cold in the grave.”
Her words slapped him. “Jesus, Carla, it’s been over a year since Rebecca died—a miserable, horrible year.”
“But it didn’t take you long to find someone to ease your pain, did it?”
“Wait a minute,” Shelby said, moving toward Carla. “You think there’s a time limit on grief? Or are you so selfish you’d want him to waste away, pining for your daughter? Do you think Rebecca would have wanted that for the man she loved?”
Carla stood and aimed a finger at Shelby. “Don’t talk about my daughter like you knew her. She was—”
“An angel,” Shelby finished. “Yeah, I get it. And if she was so good, would she have wanted this between you two? I don’t think so.”
