Seductively Yours

by Gina Wilkins

  “No hidden desires to be onstage, pretending to be someone else? No longing to hear the thunder of applause in your ears?”

  “No. I’m quite content to sit quietly in the audience. I’ll buy a ticket for your production, Jamie—even if Earlene Smithee plays the ingenue—but I won’t do any acting.”

  “Pity,” she said with an exaggerated sigh, reaching up to trail her fingertips along his firm jawline. “I have a feeling that gorgeous, sexy leading men will be in short supply around here.”

  She was satisfied to see a faint color tinge his skin. He reached up to catch her hand. “You’re trying to embarrass me again, aren’t you?”

  “And succeeding, apparently.”

  He gave a quick, unexpected tug on her wrist that brought her up against him. “What does it take to make you blush, Jamie Flaherty?”

  “I don’t know,” she murmured. “But you’re welcome to try.”

  “I’ve always been one to enjoy a challenge,” he said against her lips. And then smothered her taunting reply with his mouth.

  8

  WHATEVER THEY’D been talking about completely left Jamie’s mind. The lunch Trevor had brought with him no longer held her interest. She was ravenous—but not for sandwiches.

  He slid his hands down her back, slowly, pressing her more closely against him. It didn’t take her long to realize she wasn’t the only one with needs more urgent than food.

  She slid her arms around his neck and parted her lips for him, inviting him to deepen the kiss—which he did, thoroughly. The cropped, olive-green top she wore with her khaki cargo shorts had ridden up when she lifted her arms, baring an expanse of skin at her midriff. Trevor took full advantage of the opportunity to explore. His palms were deliciously warm against the skin of her back. She could only imagine how good they would feel on the rest of her.

  “Jamie,” he muttered against her lips, his voice rough. “We’d better stop this if we’re going to eat lunch.”

  “Stop what?” She moved very slightly as she spoke, the lightest brush of her breasts against his chest.

  He groaned. “That.”

  She nipped at his chin, savoring the spicy taste of him, enjoying the quiver of reaction that ran through him. “This?”

  His hands gripped her hips, as if he intended to push her away. Instead, he pulled her closer, bringing her more snugly against him. “You’re playing with fire, Jamie.”

  “Are you warning me that I might get burned?”

  “Maybe I’m more concerned that you’ll burn me,” he muttered, his lips moving over the soft skin behind her ear.

  Her heart was beating so hard now that she felt almost as though she should raise her voice to be heard above it. And yet her words came out as little more than a husky whisper. “Maybe we’ll burn together.”

  He shifted, and she found herself lifted against his chest, her feet dangling two inches above the floor. She looked into his face and saw that the humor was gone. His eyes glittered, and his cheekbones seemed suddenly more prominent, evidence of the tension that gripped him. “I can’t joke about this.”

  Holding his gaze with her own, she said absolutely seriously, “What makes you think I’m joking?”

  The moment seemed to last a very long time. Breaths were held. Limbs quivered. And then Trevor lowered her slowly to her feet, letting her slide down him, and covered her mouth with a kiss so perfect, so special that it brought a lump to her throat.

  She hadn’t intended to give him her heart. It was the only part of herself she had planned to hold back. But damn if he hadn’t slipped through her defenses and stolen it, anyway.

  She’d been infatuated with Trevor McBride when she was fifteen. A lot of things had changed since then, but her feelings for Trevor felt very much the same. Maybe they were even more serious now that she was mature enough to understand how very much was at stake.

  She’d had so little to offer him then. He’d been the golden boy—with so much ahead of him, so little lacking in his life. But things were different now. She sensed a deep need in him—an aching hole—and she thought she just might have what he needed now. At least for a while.

  The tender kiss finally ended. Jamie reached up to cup his face between her hands. She smiled tenderly when she asked, “What do you want now? Sandwiches or sex?”

  He gave a quick, startled laugh, his grim expression suddenly easing. “Damn it, Jamie.”

  She lifted an eyebrow. “Was that an answer or just an expletive?”

  Though her hands still rested on his face, he shook his head. “How can you look so completely serious when you say things like that?”

  “Because I was completely serious,” she said, secretly pleased that she’d coaxed even a little laugh from him. He needed laughter as much—if not more—than he needed physical release.

  “I came here today to have lunch with you. I wasn’t expecting anything else.”

  “Neither was I,” she said. “And—in case you get the wrong idea—sex isn’t something I indulge in very often. In fact, I haven’t indulged in quite a while. But the offer still stands.”

  “You don’t know how much I want to take you up on it,” he almost groaned. “But I think we’d better eat our sandwiches today. I have to be back at the office for a one-thirty meeting.”

  “Cola or iced tea?” she asked without a pause.

  He blinked, then mentally caught up. “Uh, cola’s fine.”

  Dropping her hands to her side, she moved toward the refrigerator. No way would she let him see the extent of her disappointment—or the faint relief that they hadn’t yet complicated their relationship to a point where her life would never quite be the same.

  “BOY, you’ve been growling like a coon dog with a thorn in its paw all afternoon. What in blazes is the matter with you?”

  Trevor looked over the rim of his reading glasses with a repressive frown. “You can drop the simple-country-lawyer routine, Dad. It’s just us here now, and I’m not going to fall for it.”

  Sitting on the other side of Trevor’s desk, his feet propped up and crossed at the ankles, Caleb chuckled. “Even a simple country lawyer could tell that you’re in a lousy mood. What’s wrong?”

  Trevor removed the glasses and set them aside. “Nothing.”

  Caleb looked blatantly disbelieving.

  “Okay,” Trevor conceded. “This Foster case is a major headache. I hate seeing a marriage end this unpleasantly, especially when there are kids caught in the middle.”

  Amusement fading, Caleb nodded. “It has gotten ugly, hasn’t it? You’d think Clark and Valerie would make an effort to keep the boys from hearing some of their crap. But when they start fighting, they don’t seem to care who hears them.”

  “I couldn’t believe Valerie brought the younger boy with her for that confrontation this afternoon.” Trevor’s voice was hard as he thought about his client’s irresponsible action. “He might be only four, but the kid isn’t deaf or stupid. He heard the things his parents were saying to each other. After a few minutes, I asked Marie to come take the boy to her office. She kept him busy drawing pictures and making copies of them on the copier.”

  “I bet you had a few things to say to your client when the boy was out of hearing.”

  “Actually, I did. And to give him credit, Clark’s attorney agreed with every word I said.”

  “Bill Walker, isn’t it? I know you haven’t met him under ideal circumstances, but he’s a good man. I’ve faced him several times in court, but I’ve always respected him, even when I disagreed with him.”

  “He seemed all right, even if he and Clark are being unreasonable about several issues in the divorce.”

  “He’s just doing his best for his client, son, the way you will for yours. Divorces aren’t pretty, and getting involved in them is never fun. Many a time I’ve left meetings like the one you had this afternoon feeling as if I needed a shower. But you should know by now that divorces and bankruptcies are a big part of small-town practic
e. It can’t all be writing wills and working up small-business contracts.”

  “I knew what I was getting into. This afternoon was just particularly unpleasant.”

  “So you haven’t changed your mind about taking over the practice when I retire in a couple of years? You still want to spend the rest of your career doing this?”

  “As opposed to going back to Washington, you mean? Trust me, Dad, that catfight this afternoon didn’t hold a candle to what goes on in D.C. I haven’t changed my mind. I just don’t like seeing kids get hurt.”

  “I know. So you keep doing all you can to protect them.”

  “I’ll try.”

  Studying his son over steepled fingers, Caleb asked, “Anything else bothering you?”

  “No, that’s pretty much it.” Trevor looked at the papers on his desk as he spoke, hoping his father would take his words at face value.

  Known for his tact—as opposed to his wife, who was notorious for her lack of it—Caleb didn’t push, except to ask, “Anything else you want to talk about?”

  “Not just now.”

  His father nodded and stood. “Then I’ll clear out so you can finish up and get home to your kids. You let me know if there’s anything I can do for you—or if you just want to talk about anything.”

  “Thanks, Dad.”

  Trevor frowned as he watched his father rise slowly from his seat. Since when had Caleb moved so stiffly? So awkwardly? Like an old man, he thought, displeased with the comparison. Had he been so caught up in his own troubles that he hadn’t realized how quickly his parents were aging? Was there anything else he was missing? “Dad? You okay?”

  Absently rubbing his chest, Caleb made a face. “Fine. Been having some heartburn trouble lately. Getting old ain’t fun, boy.”

  “Have you seen anyone about it?”

  “Bobbie’s been nagging at me to get a physical. I’ll get around to it shortly.”

  “Do that.”

  It was obvious, Trevor thought after Caleb left his office, that he hadn’t been doing a very good job lately hiding his emotional turmoil from his parents. At first, he’d been struggling with the repercussions of Melanie’s death and the things he’d found out afterward. Now he was trying to deal with his overwhelming attraction to Jamie. Both of his parents had expressed concern about him.

  He’d been honest with his father. He hadn’t changed his mind about settling here, raising his children here, eventually taking over the McBride law firm. He was generally satisfied with his career, and accepted that every job came with its highs and lows. Divorces were an ugly but unavoidable part of life, and he was prepared to do his best to make the ones he handled as smooth and equitable as possible.

  He supposed he’d been particularly affected today because he had looked at Valerie and Clark’s unhappy little boy and had pictured Sam. Had things been different—had Melanie not died in that traffic accident on a busy Washington, D.C., intersection after leaving a lunchtime tryst with one of her lovers—they could have been the ones facing each other across a divorce table, viciously airing their private pain and fighting for custody of their children.

  The thought made him cringe. Relief that he and his kids had been spared those scenes was followed by an immediate wave of guilt that his reprieve had come at such a terrible price for Melanie.

  It was a wearily familiar battle, one he usually fought alone in the middle of the night with a single shot of bourbon as his only emotional support. There was no one he could talk to, no one he wanted to burden with the painful revelations he had struggled with for so long. For his children’s sake, for Melanie’s memory, and maybe for his own pride, he couldn’t talk about it. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

  A woman’s voice came from the speaker on his desk phone, bringing him abruptly back to the present. “Trevor?”

  Trevor cleared his throat. “Yes, Marie?”

  “I’m leaving now. Is there anything else you need before I go?”

  “No, I’m about to head home, myself. See you tomorrow.”

  He gathered the paperwork scattered over his desk and stuffed it into a folder, then saved and exited the file on his computer screen. His thoughts had already left the office, racing to the evening ahead of him. He’d run out of coffee that morning and was almost out of milk; he would have to stop by the store on the way home. Sarah had promised to put a pot roast and vegetables in the oven for him, so all he would have to do was serve the kids, bathe them, read them a couple of stories and tuck them into bed. He would then have the remainder of the evening to himself—to remember, to brood, to regret.

  Maybe he’d give Jamie a call after the kids were in bed. They’d started a conversation over lunch about the community theater, but he’d had to cut it short to get back to the office. Maybe they could discuss it further later. And maybe, sometime during their discussion about the future of art in Honoria, he could figure out why the hell he had turned down what she had offered instead of lunch today.

  It was something he was beginning to think he needed very badly.

  “I STILL DON’T UNDERSTAND why we can’t do Phantom of the Opera.” Earlene Smithee, who, twenty years earlier, had served a year as Miss Junior Honoria, spoke plaintively on the following Sunday afternoon. “I’ve always really identified with Christine, you know?”

  Jamie didn’t laugh—but it wasn’t easy. Earlene was long past playing ingenue roles, and as far as her play suggestion… “I really don’t think that’s a possibility, Earlene. We’d probably better stick with something simpler for our first production.”

  Earlene sighed, but conceded, “You’re the expert.”

  Jamie didn’t feel particularly like an expert—especially when it came to organizing a community theater from scratch—but she hid her uncertainty behind a confident smile. “I’ll bring several plays to our next meeting. If anyone else has any recommendations, please feel free to bring them along.”

  The seven aspiring actors and techies Earlene had assembled for the first organizational meeting of the Honoria Community Theater nodded eagerly, watching Jamie as if she was their wise guru and they her faithful followers. She knew that would wear off when they’d spent more time together, but she was rather enjoying the treatment now.

  “Okay, so I’ll see everyone here next week. And feel free to bring friends. It takes a number of volunteers to put on a quality production.”

  The meeting adjourned and everyone began to file out of the community room of the Honoria Methodist Church. Several people stopped to speak to Jamie on the way out, sharing their experiences from high-school plays and church pageants, a rather sheepish lust for applause glimmering in their eyes.

  “You were wonderful in Private Lives,” a young housewife—Jamie thought her name was Sherry—said with shy admiration. Sherry was about her own age, but tended to speak to Jamie with a reverence usually reserved for aging heroes. “It’s my favorite soap—and I saw every one of the episodes you were in.”

  “Thank you. I enjoyed playing that part.”

  “How could you give it all up to move back to Honoria?” Sherry asked in open bewilderment. “I’ve only lived here for a couple of years and sometimes I get so bored I could scream.”

  Jamie chuckled. “I guess you could say I got homesick. Besides, I was ready for a change. Even constant activity can become tedious after a while.”

  “I could use a little excitement, myself.”

  “You should definitely audition for a part in whatever play we choose,” Jamie encouraged, guessing that Sherry would perform very well. “It would certainly be a new challenge for you.”

  “I’ll do that. Thanks.”

  Susan Schedler approached Jamie when the others had departed. Jamie was gathering the notes she’d made during the meeting; she looked up with a smile when her pregnant friend waddled closer.

  Susan looked around to make sure the others were gone, then burst into giggles. “Phantom of the Opera?”

  Jamie grinned. “Don’
t get me started. It was all I could do not to laugh in poor Earlene’s face.”

  “She’s probably going to audition for the youngest part in whatever play you select, you know. And she isn’t going to like it when you cast her as an aging matron or someone’s mother.”

  “I’ll worry about that when I’m casting parts.”

  “You’re sure you want to get involved with this? A bunch of rank amateurs with dreams of local stardom?”

  Wrinkling her nose, Jamie replied, “It just might be fun. And, besides, I need something productive to do.”

  “Getting bored, are you?”

  “Maybe a little,” Jamie admitted, though she knew it wasn’t boredom, exactly. More of a dissatisfaction—an awareness that something was still lacking in her life. Something that her one-night-a-week dates with Trevor weren’t quite compensating for.

  “I find that hard to believe, considering how often the town’s most eligible lawyer comes calling on you.”

  Jamie went still, wondering for a moment if her friend had just read her mind. “I beg your pardon?”

  Susan’s smile was mischievous. “Surely you haven’t forgotten how efficient the Honoria rumor mill is.”

  Jamie groaned. “Don’t tell me…”

  “Oh, yes. Folks have been talking about you and Trevor McBride. They’re saying you’ve been out with him on several Friday evenings, including the most recent one. And that his car was spotted at your house in the middle of a weekday.”

  “We had lunch. He brought takeout,” Jamie muttered.

  “Mmm. And what did you have for dessert?”

  “Conversation,” Jamie answered repressively. And their date Friday had ended when, after several long, arousing kisses, Trevor had rather abruptly departed, leaving her quivering with pent-up desire.

  She was beginning to wonder if she shouldn’t just drag him into her bedroom and attack him, putting an end to the anticipation.

  “Well?” Susan demanded.

  “Well, what?”

  “What’s going on?”

  “Nothing much. Trevor and I are just friends.” For now, at least.