Then He Kissed Me: A Cottonbloom Novel

by Laura Trentham

  He wanted to take her back to his place and unwrap her.

  “Are we going to sit here all night?” Her brows rose.

  “You look nice.” The words came out like Tarzan. He cleared his throat. “I mean, I like your … shirt.”

  The only outstanding quality of her shirt was the way the cotton stretched across her breasts and the V-neck hinted at her cleavage.

  “Thanks. I like your shirt too.” The corners of her mouth twitched and he had the feeling she was making fun of him, but he didn’t even care. He smoothed a hand down his green-and-gold plaid button-down shirt that reminded him of Scotland, even as he was grateful to be in Louisiana.

  “You smell nice too. Like flowers.” How old did he sound? About twelve? He might as well pass her a note asking, Do you like me? Check Yes or No.

  She moved closer. He stilled, afraid the slightest movement would scare her backward. Her nose brushed his cheek, and she hummed. “You don’t smell so bad yourself.”

  He slipped his hand around her neck, tilted her face to his, and took her mouth. His awkwardness turned into a distant memory as he deepened the kiss, his tongue touching hers. She curled her hand around his wrist, but not to push him away. Instead, it felt like a manacle, binding him to her. He sucked her full bottom lip between his.

  A whimpery moan came from her throat. The sexy noise was like striking a match and throwing it into dry tinder. His body’s desperation to get closer colored the kiss. Her hand left his wrist to pull at his collar.

  He was seconds away from hauling her into his lap and leaning his seat back. She broke away, laying her forehead against his chin.

  “Usually the kiss comes at the end of the date.” She sounded breathless and her hand still clutched the collar of his shirt.

  Date. Satisfaction spurred his heart even faster. His lungs tightened, and it took two deep breaths to bring them under control. “I guess I’ll have to consult my list and pick something to top that kiss later.”

  * * *

  She cleared her throat and sat back in the seat. His collar was wrinkled where she’d gripped his shirt like a drowning woman. She’d felt like she was drowning under the sensations. His gentle domination was like nothing she’d ever experienced. It made her feel both cared for and wanting to beg for more.

  “Where do you want to go? The Rivershack Tavern?” Her voice sounded too high in her ears.

  “How about we head to the Mississippi side? The bar smoke fires up my asthma, and as much as you don’t like Regan, she did get a smoking ban passed.”

  “I never said I didn’t like her.” Tally picked at her fingernails. He’d see the lie in her eyes.

  He grunted what might have been laughter. “You didn’t have to say it. What did she do to you?”

  “Nothing to me. But she broke Sawyer’s heart.”

  “I always got the impression Sawyer is the one who broke Regan’s heart.” He pulled into the parking lot of the Corner Pocket and found a spot in the middle of a row of cars and trucks.

  “Maybe that’s the story she tells, but I saw my brother after it all went down. We were worried he might drop out of college. The woman is a selfish snake.” Her brother’s golden-boy confidence had not just been shaken, but smashed into tiny pieces. He’d worked hard to reconstruct a carefree, good-old-boy persona, but sadness lurked where it never had before. Even more telling was the fact her brother hadn’t gotten serious with another woman since to her knowledge. He was likely to end up a grizzled bachelor like their uncle Del.

  Nash turned the truck off, his expression unusually solemn. “When I got skipped up to her grade in high school, Regan was one of the only girls who talked to me. Her and Monroe. I don’t know whether they felt sorry for me, or if Regan felt some compulsion to be nice because her boyfriend was a swamp rat too, but she stuck up for me. Not many did.”

  The cab grew stifling, and she pushed the door open and swung out. Tally didn’t want to think about Regan Lovell as more than the snobby, rich ’Sip who’d destroyed her brother out of spite. The reality of her being nice to Nash ripped at the fabric of her assumptions.

  Nash joined her at the corner of the truck bed and took her hand. “You okay?”

  “I don’t know. It’s like in Star Wars when Darth Vader is dying and takes off his helmet. You can’t help but not hate him as much, right?” Tally shot him a half smile as they walked toward the entrance.

  Nash laughed, put his arm around her shoulders, and pulled her into his side. “God, I love a woman who can work Star Wars into a serious conversation.”

  Her footsteps faltered the same time blood rushed to her face. Love? Nash didn’t notice her sudden hesitation, stepping ahead to open the door for her. His easy smile stayed in place. Unlike at the Rivershack Tavern, no bouncer sat out front.

  Of course, he hadn’t meant it like that. Like she loved oranges, but she had never felt the urge to kiss one. Suck on one, maybe. Her mind blazed down an inappropriate path. The picture that had been emblazoned on her memory of Nash standing at full attention in his underwear flashed for the billionth time.

  She dabbed the back of her hand against her forehead, trying in vain to dissipate the heat coursing through her. Until he’d kissed her, he’d been off-limits. Now, her body had called open season on history professors.

  He didn’t help matters, being all gentlemanly, smelling so intoxicating, and looking downright sexy. Guiding her with a hand on her lower back, he called out greetings to a few people along the way, some college-age kids and some older adults. Instead of country music, the hum of alternative rock provided background noise.

  Nash dropped his lips close to her ear. “What’ll it be to drink?”

  “A beer is fine.”

  “You mind what kind?” His brows raised.

  “Whatever you’re having.” Somehow she doubted this place had her go-to Coors Light on tap. While Nash talked to the bartender, she studied the room. The crowd was an eclectic mix of ages, and although she didn’t notice the factory blues that dominated the Rivershack Tavern at happy hour, her requisite uniform of T-shirt, jeans, and motorcycle boots didn’t seem out of place.

  “You play?” He held up a set of darts.

  She scoffed and held out her hand for her set. “Do I play? Are you prepared to get spanked?”

  “Are you?” His voice dropped an octave.

  Instead of handing her the darts, he caught her hand in his free one and pulled it up to lay a kiss in her palm. She was the one who was having trouble catching her breath. Apparently, the new dynamic of their relationship included sexual teasing and innuendo. Under her nerves, excitement crackled. She liked the blaze in his eyes and the rumble in his voice.

  He transferred three darts to her. She hoped he didn’t notice the way her hand trembled. She tightened her grip around the warm metal. They took a bar-height table in front of an open dartboard. A waitress delivered their drinks. Dark beer the color of sassafras lipped the edges, topped with a caramel-colored foam.

  He took three big swallows. He closed his eyes, hummed, and licked the foam off his top lip. Tally swallowed air and chuffed.

  “Nothing like a fresh pint of Guinness.”

  ”I’ve never tried it.” He motioned toward her glass, and she took a tentative sip. It was rich and thick and foreign-tasting, but good. She took another pull, this one bigger. “It’s interesting. I like it.”

  He smiled and gestured her forward. “Ladies first.”

  She took her mark at the line and aimed her dart, moving her hand in preparation for release.

  “Time to see who’s going to get spanked tonight,” he added in his let’s-get-it-on voice.

  The dart wobbled off its mark and embedded into the wall. She whirled, grabbed the front of his shirt, and yanked him close. “You’ve got to stop doing that.” The threat she tried to force past her smile sounded less than intimidating.

  “Doing what?”

  “Talking like you actually want to spank me.”<
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  “You’re right.” Disappointment loosened her hand on his shirt. A slow smile crinkled his eyes behind his glasses. “Because spanking you is one of the last items on my addendum. There’s about a hundred things I’d rather do to you first.”

  She flattened her hand on his chest. “Nash, be serious.”

  He covered her hand with his, the thump of his heart providing accompaniment to the music around them. His smile dropped, and his gaze held hers. “I am totally and completely serious. I know you feel it too.”

  She did feel it. There was no question she wanted to have sex with Nash, even if admitting the fact was completely surreal. But what frightened her was that the draw to him wasn’t merely sexual. It wasn’t even mostly sexual. She enjoyed everything about him. She had fun with him. It didn’t matter where they went—the river, a water tower, a bar.

  “Nash, I—”

  A hand clapped him on the shoulder. They both startled. He turned to greet a man around their age wearing black suit pants, a white button-down, and a loosened tie. They gripped hands and exchanged shoulder bumps.

  “Tally, this is Boone. He’s over in the math department and my usual adversary at darts.”

  Tally shot Nash a look. “Didn’t realize you were a regular here too.” She stuck her hand out and shook Boone’s hand. “Nice to meet you.”

  “Likewise. I hope you’re having better luck beating his butt than I do.” Boone’s drawl was slow and honeyed.

  “Considering my first dart went into the wall…” She grinned and shrugged.

  “I was unfairly distracting you. Go on and try again. This is a warm-up round.” Nash settled a hand against the top curve of her backside and nudged her forward.

  She shuffled back to the line, but kept her ear attuned to the conversation behind her. College politics. Aiming the darts, she let the last two fly in rapid succession, not hitting the bull’s-eye but landing in the inner circle.

  Nash clapped, and she gave a fake curtsy. “Not bad, but let me show you how it’s done.”

  He stood at the line, stretched his neck, and rolled his shoulders. Tally stayed close behind him and slid a hand over his butt the instant before the dart left his hand. Its trajectory was short, and it hit the floor a good three feet in front of the board.

  His eyes narrowed on her, but he couldn’t keep the corners of his lips from twitching. “Glad I didn’t bury that dart in a bystander.”

  “Go on and try again, Professor.” She patted his butt and retreated to the table.

  While Nash lined up his next shots, Boone’s twinkling blue eyes and grin caught her attention. “You and Nash, huh?”

  She wasn’t sure what Nash wanted to tell his Mississippi friends, so she stayed with a partial truth. “We’ve known each other since kindergarten. We’re old friends.”

  Boone’s grin only widened. “Old friends rarely grab my butt.”

  Nash turned and gestured toward the board. His last two darts were side by side in the bull’s-eye circle. “Warm-up’s done. Prepare to lose, Tallulah Fournette.”

  She threw her darts, concentrating hard, and marked her score on the adjacent chalkboard. Boone picked up the thread of their conversation as soon as she came back to the table.

  “You’re going to break the hearts of a bunch of ladies at the college.”

  She stopped with her beer glass half-raised. “What are you talking about?”

  “The highlight of my day is watching Nash navigate campus, completely and totally oblivious to the stares of admiring women. My favorite is when one actually works up the courage to approach him.”

  Nash was preparing to throw his final dart, and she leaned closer. “What does he do?”

  “Treats them with the upmost respect and leaves them mightily disappointed.” Boone took a long drag on his beer, but his piercing gaze never left her face.

  She broke eye contact and took a sip of her beer to cover her discomfiture. Nash rejoined them, and she retreated to take her turn. Nash’s booming laughter raised the hairs on her neck. She missed her targets and the rest of the game continued in that vein, leaving her spanked by him—at least figuratively.

  Nash dragged over a bar stool for her to perch on as she watched Boone and Nash play a round. Between his turns, Nash returned to her and stood close. She found herself reaching out to touch him at any excuse. A brush of her hands down his arm or adjusting his collar or at his waist. He put his hands on her arms or hips or legs just as often.

  A leggy blonde in a dark gray skirt and pink silky shirt walked over. “How’s it going, Nash. Boone.” When she transferred her attention to Tally, a cool blast of animosity remained, putting Tally on alert. The woman’s gaze coasted up and down her body as if assessing an opponent. “Hi, I’m Emma.”

  “Tally.” She raised her chin, but the woman was already heading around the bar table to where Nash stood at the line, preparing to throw. Tally felt dismissed.

  Emma stood close to Nash, her breasts pressed into his biceps as she whispered something close to his ear. He laughed and shook his head. Tally enjoyed kickboxing and sparring in her gym, but this was the first time she’d felt the compulsion to actually start a fight by yanking Emma away from Nash by a hank of her perfectly blown-out hair.

  Boone muttered something that would have had Nash’s aunt Leora clutching her pearls, before draining the rest of his beer. “Tell Nash I’ll catch him later.”

  He stalked off. As soon as he was gone, Emma peeled herself off Nash and stood on the other side of the table from Tally.

  “Goodness, I hope I didn’t run Boone off?” A hint of an unidentifiable accent sharpened her words, her smile belying the statement.

  “He didn’t say.” Tally shot a look toward Emma.

  “Did you two already make introductions?” At Tally’s curt nod, Nash continued. “Emma and I work in the history department together. Her area of expertise is twentieth-century America.”

  “Sounds interesting.” It didn’t sound at all interesting to her, but no doubt, Nash found the woman endlessly fascinating.

  The woman’s tight-lipped smile seemed strained. “And what do you do?”

  “I own a gym over the river in Louisiana.”

  “That’s nice.” Emma shot a side-eye look toward Nash who was as oblivious as Boone described.

  “Tally and I grew up together. She’s my best friend.” He smiled into Tally’s eyes.

  The words were like a punch in the chest. Happiness and disappointment vied for her attention. They were best friends, even after all the years gone by. Monroe came in a distant second. It had been a long time since someone really got her. He stood there, looking at her with the warmest, kindest eyes she’d ever seen.

  That’s what they were. Best friends. A frisson of awareness zinged through her. All right, best friends with potentially major benefits. If their kisses hadn’t changed things, it had at least modified them. Part of her wanted him to claim her as more than a friend, even a best one. She wanted him to tell this ridiculously leggy blonde professor that she was his girlfriend.

  Emma cleared her throat. “I’m going to take off. I’ve got advisor meetings set up all day tomorrow.”

  Nash only chucked his chin, never taking his gaze off Tally. “Have a good evening.”

  “She seems … nice.” It took a lot for her to squeeze out the lukewarm compliment.

  “She’s a great lecturer. Whip-smart, if slightly intimidating.”

  She rolled her eyes and harrumphed. “Are you really that blind?”

  “What do you mean?” He adjusted his glasses and shifted a little closer.

  “I mean, the woman was on you like white on rice, and poor Boone looked ready to puke. She wants in your pants, and he wants up her skirt. Probably the smartest love triangle in Mississippi.” She swiveled back around and drained the last of the beer without taking a breath.

  “I think you’re misreading the situation.”

  “O-kay,” she drew the word out,
suddenly perturbed at him. “You want to give me a lift home?”

  She didn’t wait for an answer, but led them out of the bar and into the muggy night. He grabbed her upper arm. “Why are you mad?”

  “I’m not.”

  “O-kay,” he drew the word out in an exact mimicry of her.

  She stomped her foot and jabbed a finger into his chest. “How can you not realize that woman was into you? Her boobs were all over you.”

  He blinked and his mouth opened and closed. “Are you jealous?”

  “Is that where men’s egos always lead them?” She threw up her hands and stalked toward the Defender, her boots scuffing the blacktop. The truth was she was jealous. Not of that woman’s blonde hair or sophistication, but of the common ground she shared so easily with Nash. A ground Tally would never claw herself up to.

  He wrapped an arm around her waist from behind as she reached the passenger door of his truck. “You are jealous.” His breath whispered over her ear.

  “I’m not.” She tried to twist out of his grasp, but only managed to turn around, trapping herself between him and the door. Sure the truth was in her eyes, she pressed her face into her shoulder, her gaze on a clump of milkweed valiantly pushing through a crack in the pavement.

  “Emma isn’t interested in me. She’s only flirting with me to get Boone’s attention.” His laugh rumbled through her. “I think it backfired on her.”

  Tally didn’t buy what he was selling. What woman in her right mind would overlook what Nash had to offer?

  His voice dropped. “Anyway, why are you jealous? You’re the one I’m on a date with.”

  “Is that what it is? I thought we were best friends? Or checking things off your list or something.”

  He was quiet for a long moment, and she could feel his eyes willing her to meet him halfway. “You really are my best friend, Tally.”

  She raised her face to find his so close their cheeks brushed. His slight stubble rasped an erotic caress along her lips, and her thighs clenched. “You’re my best friend too, Nash.” She said it so softly she wasn’t even sure he could hear her.