It was impossible to forget his kindness, the gentle way he comforted her and took command of the situation. But she didn’t want to be seen as a victim. The whole point of sending the erotic valentines was to woo him with the image of a sexy, take-charge woman. One who wasn’t afraid to go after what she wanted.
Instead, Ethan’s first real contact with her in four years had shown her in a less than confident light. She’d had just cause to be shaken, but even so . . . She didn’t want to be listed in his mental Rolodex as “police business.” She wanted to be his “personal business”—very personal.
Had Ethan opened her valentine yet?
His home was walking distance from downtown, but on the opposite side of the courthouse. A long time ago, while he and Jane were still close friends, he had bought a lovely condo. It sat in a development of a dozen or more that had been built to blend in with the ambience of the historic district. He’d even enlisted Jane’s help with some of the decorating.
Without a car at his disposal, he’d probably walked the mile and a half or so home this morning. If he’d gone home at all. Maybe he’d gone straight to work. The station had a locker room with showers, so he might have cleaned up there.
She stared at her reflection in the bathroom mirror and made a face. Quit obsessing about Ethan and show some gumption, Jane, my girl. The woman in the mirror was unfortunately not inclined to be cooperative. All the while she was dressing and eating breakfast, her heart was flipping and skittering all over the place.
Ethan had slept in her bed last night. That had to be a good sign . . . right?
She made it downstairs on time and was relieved to get a phone call from Mrs. Fitzhugh. She had come home a bit early and was ready to work.
Jane had barely hung up the phone in the office when a racket from the other room made her heart jump. In the next breath she chided herself. No one was going to burglarize the premises in broad daylight. She left the office and shivered as she realized the cardboard covering the window was gone. Through the empty hole she saw the head and shoulders of a grizzled, heavyset man. He must have been standing on a step ladder, because the window was a good seven feet off the ground.
He looked up and gave a brusque nod. “Tony Caldwell. Chief Oldham sent me. I’m licensed to work on historic buildings. Shame about this window. It was the original glass, probably over a hundred years old.”
As she watched, he carefully tugged at the remnants of broken glass that were still stuck in the wooden frame. She bit her lip. “Do you have an estimate for me?” Her business ran on a tight budget, but if she could afford it, she’d rather deal with the repair out of her pocket than bother her landlord.
Tony shook his head. “No charge. I’m doing this for the chief.”
She frowned. “It’s not the chief’s responsibility to get my window fixed.”
He kept his head bent to his task. “Don’t know about that. Alls I know is that Chief Oldham kept my boy out of jail, and I’m much obliged to him. I do top-notch work. You’ll be good as new by closing today.” And then he turned away and went down the ladder for another piece of equipment.
Jane wrapped her long, coat-style sweater more tightly around her. Perhaps she should have closed up shop until Monday, but Saturday was her best day in terms of sales, and she hated to lose the much-needed income.
She found the broom and started sweeping up glass. Ethan and the deputy must have righted the display case before they left, because it was in its original position. A few things had been damaged too badly to sell, but they were negligible. She tossed the torn journals and smashed figurines into the trash bin along with four dust pans full of glass fragments. A phone call to her weekly cleaning crew would take care of the rest.
By the time Mrs. Fitzhugh arrived at eleven, the shop looked fairly normal, barring the continuing work on the window. Jane spent a few minutes explaining the situation to her employee and then excused herself to run errands. No need to go into details.
Her first stop was the police station. She owed Ethan a polite thank-you. That was all. She wasn’t planning to mention specifics, like how well she had slept with him in touching distance. Nor how she could swear she smelled his scent in her tiny bathroom. None of that.
The uniformed female clerk at the front desk looked at her curiously, but answered politely, “Chief Oldham is off today, ma’am. And tomorrow. But I’ll be happy to take a message.”
Jane knew she was blushing. “Um, no, thanks. It’s not important. Thank you.” She hightailed it out of there and stood on the sidewalk pondering her options. The midday sun beamed down, and the temperature had climbed into the lower forties. She had a scarf and mittens. The distance to his house wasn’t all that far.
Her feet made the decision, and the rest of her followed. She walked briskly, invigorated by the crisp air and the jolt of determination that filled her. She’d sent the first valentine. She was actually going to Ethan’s home to thank him for last night. She was being proactive, assertive. A woman in charge of her destiny.
Her courage lasted all the way to his front door. When she rang the bell and stood there with no answer for several minutes, she prepared to slink away. His car was in the driveway. Clearly, he didn’t want to see her.
Stubbornly, she rang the bell one more time. She could swear she heard a sound from inside. Cautiously, she twisted the door-knob. It was unlocked. She eased open the door a couple of inches. “Ethan?”
What if he was sleeping? What if he was upstairs having carnal relations with a strange woman? Her stomach churned, and she backed up slowly, when suddenly, she was sure she heard something from the back of the house . . . a voice.
“Ethan?” This time there was no mistaking it. He was calling for her to come in.
With her heart in her throat, she entered his foyer and shut the door behind her. She stripped off her outer garments and carried them over her arm as she walked down the hall.
She found him in the den. It was a toss-up as to which of the two of them was more surprised.
Ethan lay on his back on the carpeted floor, his knees bent with a pillow beneath them, his head unsupported in any way. The position looked monumentally uncomfortable.
He flushed a dark red and mumbled something.
“What did you say?” She hovered in the doorway.
He frowned. “I thought you were Sherry.”
She shook her head. “No.” Great, just great. Two of the world’s most scintillating conversationalists. She leaned against the doorframe. “Why are you on the floor?” A basketball game played on the big-screen TV, and there was a host of comfy seating options. It didn’t make sense.
He muttered again, and she became impatient. “Ethan, speak up. What are you doing down there?”
She couldn’t decipher the mix of expressions on his face. But agitation and disgruntlement topped the list. “I threw my back out.” He spit the words at her between clenched teeth, clearing suffering from this blow to his masculine pride. Men were such babies.
And then it hit her. Oh, God. Her eyes widened, and mortification swamped her, making her knees weak. He’d injured himself carrying her up the stairs. “Humiliation” was a mild word for what she was experiencing.
She stared up at the ceiling, her nose scrunched up, as she felt hot color rush from her throat to her hairline. “I told you I weighed too much for that stunt. Lord, Ethan, I am so sorry.”
He shifted and groaned as pain drew his face in sharp lines. “You’re not heavy,” he insisted with laudable but inaccurate insistence.
She sighed, finally approaching him and perching on the edge of the sofa. “I’m five foot eleven, Ethan. I’m definitely not the soft and cuddly type.”
Their eyes met, and suddenly she knew that he knew what they were both thinking. His ex-fiancée was just that kind of woman. One a man could scoop up with ease.
Jane was close enough now to nudge him with her foot, if she’d been inclined. Guilt and embarrassment threaten
ed to choke her.
He reached out carefully and touched her ankle. “You’re a very beautiful woman, Jane.”
The sincerity in his voice, combined with his fingers on the bare skin where her sock met her pants leg, made her giddy. She didn’t know how to respond, so she simply said, “Thank you.”
She sat back on the sofa, breaking the connection between them. “Are you taking anything?”
He was wearing jeans and a much-washed green, cotton knit shirt. His big feet were bare, and she wondered if they were cold.
He tried to move again, and groaned. “The doctor has called in a prescription for some muscle relaxers. Sherry’s going to pick them up on her way back from Knoxville.”
“When will that be?”
“Later this afternoon.”
“That’s too long,” she said. “There’s no reason for you to suffer until then. I’ll go get them.”
It was a measure of his pain that he didn’t waste time arguing. He named the pharmacy and pointed her to his billfold on the coffee table.
She paused in the doorway. “Would you like me to get you anything before I go? A drink, maybe?”
“Yeah. A Diet Coke would be great. And there are some straws in the drawer beside the stove.”
Jane remembered the kitchen. She’d helped him pick out the navy-and-citrus valances over the windows, along with the set of placemats he was still using. It made her feel strange to see them. But not nearly as much as when she spotted the stack of mail on the bar.
Oh. My. God. His keys lay beside the mail as though he had made it that far and no farther. None of the envelopes were open. He’d simply dropped the stack when he came in and left it alone. It wasn’t hard to spot her valentine. All the rest of the envelopes were white except for one neon orange flyer for a pizza parlor, and the lavender one that held Jane’s naughty verse.
All the while she was opening the fridge, pulling out the canned drink, and retrieving the straw, her mind raced feverishly. Should she take the card back? Now that she and Ethan were on speaking terms once more, wouldn’t it be smarter simply to build on that connection?
Erotic valentines suddenly seemed like the stupidest idea on the planet.
But what if he remembered seeing her lavender envelope? Wouldn’t he get suspicious if it disappeared? And besides, tampering with the U.S. mail was a felony. Forgetting a return address was child’s play compared to that.
She left the pile of mail untouched and took Ethan his drink. He struggled up on one elbow far enough to take one long swig of liquid. Then, his face taut with discomfort, he eased back to a supine position.
She hovered anxiously, feeling totally helpless and completely responsible. “Can I do anything for you? Rub something . . . ?”
His bark of laughter sent another wave of heat over her face. He managed a tight grin. “Just the pills, honey. Just the pills.”
She escaped then, grabbing up the keys he had given her permission to use and heading outside for his car. The whole trip took her less than thirty minutes, including the quick stop at Paper Pleasures to check and make sure things were under control.
The man Ethan had sent was making good progress with the window replacement, and Mrs. Fitzhugh reported a steady stream of customers. Jane had created a Valentine’s Day display in the front window on the afternoon of January first, so perhaps the early birds were already scooping up all sorts of romantic gifts and supplies.
She stayed barely five minutes at her shop, anxious to get back to Ethan. When she let herself in his front door, the silence resonated. She tiptoed back to the den and found him sleeping. Quietly she placed the pharmacy bag in his reach and straightened up.
Her heart turned over in her chest. In his reclining position and with his eyes closed—long, thick lashes brushing his cheeks—he looked softer, more approachable. She had to admit that she was a little in awe of his job and the responsibility he bore.
Ethan made a difference in this community. Everyone knew it was only a matter of time until he was in charge of the station. And Jane had a suspicion that even though he showed his boss the utmost respect, there would be positive changes when the chief finally stepped down.
She gnawed her bottom lip, hating to leave the medicine on the floor beside Ethan and disappear. But she also didn’t want to wake him. Neither of them had slept enough the night before.
Carefully, making hardly any sound at all, she removed her outer garments, kicked off her shoes, and eased onto the sofa. She pulled the afghan over her, intending to rest for a few minutes until he stirred.
Ethan came to her in a dream. He knelt beside the sofa where she reclined and leaned over to kiss her. His lips were firm and warm. They moved against her mouth with wicked skill, coaxing her to open for him.
When his tongue played with hers, she moaned. Something hot and sweet bloomed between her legs, deep in the heart of her sex. She moved restlessly.
He eased her into a sitting position and removed her pants. She should have been embarrassed. But all she felt was arousal . . . insistent, irresistible, deliciously naughty. Ethan’s hands were on her thighs, gently pushing them apart. He smiled, a knowing male smile that promised all sorts of delights.
When he separated the lips of her sex with his thumbs, she squirmed restlessly. “Ethan.” She breathed his name on a sigh.
He bent his head and put his mouth at her center. His warm breath against her damp flesh fanned her arousal. When the tip of his tongue brushed her clitoris, she shivered and trembled. She felt both helpless and powerful, torn between the aching need for release and the triumphant knowledge that Ethan was finally hers.
She moved her legs wider, cradling his head, her fingers in his hair. He thrust his tongue inside her, and she cried out as her climax ripped through her. She was still lost in the aftermath when he drew her to the floor and thrust hard between her legs.
His penis was thick and heavily aroused. She was caught between the hard floor at her back and the heavy male pressing her down into the rug. His eyes flashed with determination, his mouth sharp-drawn, his skin flushed.
Again and again he took her. She felt a second orgasm swell and torment her. Her throat was dry, her eyes burning with tears. So long . . . she had waited so long.
With one last series of pistonlike moves, he pounded into her. Her strangled cry mingled with his hoarse shout as they tumbled together into a clinging, simultaneous release.
Ethan opened his eyes and thought he was still dreaming. Jane was on his sofa, sound asleep. For one unguarded moment, he fantasized about standing over her, undressing them both, and joining her on the couch for a long, wonderful afternoon of lovemaking.
He shook his head to clear the disturbing images and paid dearly for his unwitting movement. Sharp pain shot from his neck to his hips, gripping him in a vise of unrelenting tension.
Damn it all to hell. He reached for the medicine Jane had thoughtfully placed in his reach and took the small orange bottle out of the sack. Moving as few muscles as possible, he shook two tablets into his palm, put them in his mouth, and swallowed them with the last of his soft drink.
His shaky groan disturbed Jane when he subsided once again onto the floor.
She shoved her hair back as she sat up and tossed the afghan aside. “You should have let me help you,” she said, frowning slightly. “And are you sure you should even be on the floor? You look really uncomfortable.”
He clenched his jaw, willing the muscle relaxers to work quickly. “I’ve done this a couple of times before, and the doc says this is the smartest thing to do. It keeps my back perfectly straight.”
She grinned at him, a lovely, uncomplicated smile that went straight to his gut and took his breath away even more than the pain had. “So you’ve been carrying around other hefty females?”
He grimaced. “Quit fishing for compliments. You know you look like a model. And no, you’re the only woman I’ve carried up stairs.”
A model? She tucked that
amazing, matter-of-fact compliment away to savor later. “Then how did it happen those other times?”
“Doc says stress is the culprit. Tenses up the muscles all over the body, and then one wrong movement and pow—out goes the back.”
“You do work awfully hard.”
He seemed uncomfortable with her implied praise. “I need to spend more time at the gym. I want to institute some fitness routines with the men once the chief is gone. They’ll laugh in my face if I can’t even straighten up. Which reminds me . . . ” He looked at her cajolingly. “You’ll keep this between us . . . right?”
She stood up and fussed with the afghan, folding it in perfect ninety-degree angles. “Your secret’s safe with me.” Then she stepped into her shoes. “I need to go. Mrs. Fitzhugh leaves at three. But I’ll be back to bring you some supper.”
His face was oddly blank. “You don’t have to do that, Jane.”
She shrugged. “I know. But after last night, I’d like a chance to show my appreciation. That was why I came by originally. To say thank you.”
She glanced around the room. “Do you need anything else?”
He twisted his lips, clearly hating to ask for help of any kind. “Would you please put the afghan over my feet and legs?”
She swallowed hard. “Sure.” Piece of cake. First, approach large, hard-bodied male . . . then cover him. No problem.
Or it shouldn’t have been. But in the aftermath of an extremely vivid carnal dream, her hands were clumsy, and her feet even more so. She ended up with the woven fabric tangled around one leg. As she hopped on the other foot, trying to unwrap herself, she lost her balance and tumbled forward with a gasp of surprise.
She tried so hard not to fall on Ethan and injure him more that she landed on her hands and knees, straddling his big, helpless body, her wide blue eyes staring down into his shocked gray ones.
Her klutziness was nothing new. All through school she’d been self-conscious about her height. And teasing from preadolescent male classmates hadn’t helped. Help us out, Stretch. The Frisbee went on the roof. She’d been awkward and uncoordinated, kind of like a baby giraffe.
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