by Tessa Layne
That sounded like vintage Nikki. But no. She wasn’t letting him off the hook. Not when they were finally airing their grievances. “And you believed her?”
“Wouldn’t you?”
“NO. It’s Nikki Pope. How many times did you hook up with her in high school?”
“It was never like that. We were…. We were…”
“Friends with benefits,” she finished, a bitter taste in her mouth. Ugh. Why was she pouring salt on old wounds? Because she wanted to hold onto her hurt. It was easier than accepting she’d left the Trading Post that night because she was too afraid to confront him. Too afraid to show her cards. And the fact that he did things to her insides all these years later – made her laugh with his corny flirting and drool when he handled a hammer, deeply unsettled her.
She took a stuttering breath and pinched the bridge of her nose. “It doesn’t matter anyway. It’s all in the past. But you never should have kissed her if you intended to kiss me.”
“A mistake I won’t be making again.” His other hand came up to cup her neck and he dipped his head. When his mouth took hers, it was soft. Tender. Seductive. Not at all what she had expected. And it acted like fire in her veins, shooting through her in a burst of hot desire. He lifted his head, eyes meeting hers. “Emma,” he breathed.
Her stomach fluttered with a thousand butterflies. God help her, she wanted his mouth on her in the worst way. She leaned in, and that was all the encouragement he needed. His mouth crashed onto hers and she clutched at his shirt, letting the sensations race through her body to settle in a throbbing ball of need at her clit. With a little moan, she opened to the sweep of his tongue. The feel of his tongue sliding against hers acted like a spark on a powder keg. Flames of desire licked through her, burning her to ash. The noise he made in his throat as he pulled her flush added fuel to the fire. No man had ever kissed her like this. With ferocity. With possessiveness. Like she mattered. As long as she lived, she’d never forget this sensation.
Some far-off rational part of her brain yelled at her to stop this. Push him away. But how could she when it was so good? He lifted his head, eyes smoldering.
“What was that?” she murmured, not trusting herself to speak.
“Worth the wait,” he mumbled back as he angled his head to hers again.
Her hands looped around his neck and he caressed the length of her back, bringing his hands to cup her ass and pull her against his erection. She ground into him with an animal fierceness that surprised her and he responded with a dizzying kiss, tongue swirling hers, taking her higher and higher. Sweet Jesus, she could drop and fuck him in the grass right here.
He moved to her neck, breath hot on her skin. “You’re everything I imagined. You light me up. I’ve wanted to kiss you for ages.”
His words washed over her. Her hand slid over his shoulders, down his side, and slipped inside his jeans.
“I want you right here, Emma,” he rasped.
She trembled with need. Her body screamed yes. Instinctively, she knew that he could take her to heights she’d only dreamed of. That he’d ruin her for anyone else. And she couldn’t risk that. The thought put ice through her heart. She had to exercise common sense, even though it meant lonely nights with nothing but her electric friend.
She stepped back, gulping for air. “We can’t do this.”
His eyes swirled with lust, then filled with confusion. Then hurt. “Why not?”
She pressed her hands to her flaming cheeks, trying to find the words. “You’re a player for starters. For seconds I live in Kansas City, and for thirds, I’m here in a professional capacity.”
“And fourths you’re a big chicken.” His voice was flat. Hard.
And it stung. The accusation hung in the air between them. She shut her eyes, drawing strength from her toes.
“How many times do I have to tell you I’m not that person anymore?” A muscle ticked above his jaw. “I know you feel what’s between us, Emma.”
His words twisted her heart. He seemed so earnest. But she wasn’t born yesterday. And yes, she was a big chicken when it came to risking her heart. “What’s the point, Sterling? We’re too different. I’m not interested in casual. I’ve never been casual. If we… If we…” She gestured to the ground. “What happens when the chemistry burns out? When you get bored? Give me the it’s not you, it’s me speech? I’ve never dated anyone from Prairie. No one would date me when I was a teenager, and now I’m glad. I don’t want to be a source of gossip.”
He opened his mouth, then snapped it shut, shaking his head.
God, why did this hurt almost as much as seeing him kiss Nikki Pope? “I’ll get back to you on the poker tournament.” She turned, and before she lost her will, left him standing in the field.
CHAPTER 10
Sterling pulled into a parking spot behind the police station. He needed the comfort of one of Dottie’s special breakfasts. Maybe that would get his mind off the merry-go-round of confusing thoughts concerning Emma. Ever since he’d kissed her he’d been wound tighter than a spool of bailing wire.
Their kiss had rocked him to his core. Had unleashed so much more than desire. And it scared the shit out of him. He should be thanking her for saving him from himself. He’d come so close to forgetting about Johnny. But instead, he was just pissed off. For the last two weeks, she’d ignored his texts. And the voicemail he’d left with an apology. And the next voicemail a week later, asking when they could get together and discuss the fundraiser.
The worst part? He wanted to kiss her again. Over and over until he drowned in the sensation of it. Her taste had lingered on his mouth long after she’d fled, and he’d memorized every nuance of it. Of her. Of the way her eyes had turned violet and hazy with desire. The way the sunshine ruffled her golden hair. The defeated bend of her shoulders as he’d watched her walk away.
When Johnny had fallen for Macey, it was like he’d been consumed by an illness. Was that what was happening to him? He remembered it so vividly. Johnny looked at him and Jason one night when they were Firsties and confessed that he’d tear down a mountain for Macey. Whatever she wanted, he would be her hero. He and Jason had exchanged glances then, both knowing Johnny was a lost cause. He wouldn’t rest until he’d married Macey. But then he’d gone and broken her – the woman he’d tear down mountains for. And Sterling couldn’t square that.
But he also couldn’t square this deep need to connect with Emma, to prove himself to her, with his promise to stay away from love.
Fucked. Up.
Main Street was still closed for construction, but week by week, new buildings rose out of the rubble. He made his way down the pedestrian path through the construction zones along Main to Dottie and Jamey’s food truck.
Sterling stepped into line at the food truck, studying the menu.
“Coffee?” Brodie tapped him on the shoulder, offering a cup. “Jamey corralled me to run refills.” He shook his head, as if not believing he’d been pressed into service, but his voice was indulgent.
“Thanks.” He accepted the steaming cup. “Can I ask you a question?”
Brodie shrugged. “Just don’t ask me to tell you what’s on the menu.”
“Fair enough.” He took a sip. “I’ve been trying to reach Emma, but she’s not responding. Everything okay?”
Brodie narrowed his eyes. “Yeah. You in the doghouse?”
Sterling laughed and shrugged. “Maybe. I don’t know. I’ve got questions about the fundraiser I need answered. I thought I would have heard from her by now.”
“Hmph. She left last week saying she was heading home to work on it. Too many distractions here.” Brodie narrowed his eyes, studying him. “You a distraction for my sister?”
He’d sure as hell like to be, but wild horses wouldn’t drag that admission from him. At least to Brodie. “Do me a favor and let her know I’m ready to move forward with my own plan if she’s going to avoid me. We’re short on time.”
“Why not let her know your
self? This wouldn’t be the first time someone’s had to drive into town to pull her out of a project. Hang on.” Brodie disappeared behind the food truck and returned with an address scribbled on a napkin. “You might soften her up with a Special Breakfast and a side of sweet potato hash browns. Good luck.”
* * *
God, she looked good, all soft and touchable in yoga pants and a fuzzy pink sweater that hugged her curves. His pulse quickened at the sight of her.
Emma eyed him suspiciously, one hand braced on the doorjamb, the other poised on the doorknob. “What are you doing here?”
He tipped back his Stetson. “Time to stop avoiding me, Goldilocks. I’m not leaving until we have a workable project. We both know we’re running out of time. It’s nearly March.”
Two bright spots colored her cheeks. “I had a project deadline for another client.”
“So you couldn’t return my phone calls?” he asked quietly.
She studied her feet as the silence spun out between them.
Damn. Had he blown it with her? His stomach sank. “Wait. I know. Our kiss had a devastating effect on you and you’re not sure you can resist me.”
Her head snapped up as she laughed, a musical sound that danced over his insides. “You never give up do you?”
He cocked an eyebrow and grinned. “Never. Are you going to invite me in? I brought Dottie’s Special Breakfast and sweet potato hash browns.” He held up a sack.
She eyed the sack of food he held hungrily. “Are you trying to bribe me?”
“Shamelessly.”
She dragged her gaze from the bag back to him. Did she feel it too? The way the air crackled between them when they locked eyes? Her lips parted and the tip of her tongue slicked her lower lip. Sterling’s heart began to pound. God help him, he wanted another taste of her. Johnny’s death be damned. He was only human. “Emma,” he rasped, leaning in. She stepped back, eyes wary, but filled with something more. Something that made his heart skip hopefully.
Standing aside, she motioned him in. “Let’s get to work.”
He paused at the end of the short hallway. No wonder she loved it here. Fifteen-foot ceilings and a wall of west facing windows made the space feel enormous. If it hadn’t been featured in a magazine, it should be. He approached the sturdy farm table standing between the open kitchen and a leather sofa, and dropped the take-out. One brick wall had been painted a deep turquoise. Mementoes from her travels were scattered across the room. But what caught his eye was the studio workspace in the corner. Half shielded by a folding screen, the chaos of papers scattered across a drafting table and a large cork board filled with photos stood in sharp contrast to the restrained elegance of the rest of the room. A red velvet fainting couch in front of the window called to him. Teasing him with possibilities of kisses and entwined bodies.
She was a study in contrasts, for sure. Who else was privy to this secret side of her? He turned back to her. “So who’s the real Emma? The highly organized, everything in its place, all for show set-up?” He gestured to the middle of the room. “Or the free spirit who lives in the corner?”
Her cheeks turned as pink as her sweater. “Maybe I’m both.”
Sterling approached her workspace and spotted a second bulletin board cluttered with pictures and words, even scraps of paper clipped from magazines. It took a moment to digest what he was seeing, but then he eyed her. “You’ve been busy.”
“Of course I’ve been busy. This project is the most important thing on my plate at the moment.”
It shouldn’t have surprised him, but it did. “Why is this project so important to you?”
“Why wouldn’t it be? Prairie took a hit this spring when the tornado ripped through most of the businesses. I want to do what I can to help everyone get back on their feet.” She paused, as if debating whether or not to say more.
“But the ranch won’t bring that much more business to Prairie.”
She bit her lip. “Right. But Travis is a good man, and he got cheated in the election. He should have won. He’s helped my family before, and I want to help him. And with my skills, how could I not help him?”
Her earnestness impressed him. All those years of close proximity, of mutual friends and shared classes, and only in the last few weeks did he feel like he was finally getting to know the real Emma Sinclaire.
“How come you don’t have a boyfriend?” he blurted.
Her eyes widened, then narrowed. “That’s not usually a question you ask someone.”
“I only meant… I… shit. That didn’t come out right.” He grinned sheepishly, his skin burning. “I think you’re pretty amazing, and any man who gets to know you…”
Her eyes sparked bright blue against her pink face.
Damn. Jason and Johnny had always agreed he was as smooth as they came. But not with Emma. Never with Emma. She set him off his game. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to embarrass you. It’s just–”
“Let’s talk about the project,” she said brightly.
He could take a hint. “Show me what you’ve got.”
She hurried to her drafting table. “Sit.” She gestured to the red couch and opened her laptop, fingers flying over the keys.
Sterling sat, but not before he perused her backside. God bless the inventor of yoga pants. She whirled, laptop in hand, eyeing him critically. “Why are you really here, Sterling?”
Something in her expression pulled at him. Her question shouldn’t scare the shit out of him. But at the moment, he’d rather face down an army of ISIS militants than answer her. His palms grew hot. She’d always seen through his bullshit. And when they were young, it had been easy to laugh it off, tease his way out of answering. But he couldn’t do that now. Not with the way she was staring him down. And he didn’t want to. Even though that scared him too. He stared back, opening his hands in supplication. “I had to see you again.”
Her eyebrows shot skyward, her mouth making a perfect O of surprise. She snapped her mouth shut, eyes narrowed. But her mouth tilted up at the corner, as if she was secretly pleased with his answer.
“This is what I’ve been working on.” She came to sit next to him, all business. But he’d heard the quaver in her voice. And she didn’t have to sit so that her thigh brushed against his. But she did.
At first, he didn’t hear her. Her scent overwhelmed his senses, but as the words and pictures flashed across her screen, he dragged his attention away.
“I’ve secured about a hundred grand in verbal commitments so far, but that’s just the low hanging fruit.”
“Wait. What?”
She turned to him, mouth drawing tight in frustration. “Haven’t you been paying attention?”
“Yes.” He drew the word out, scrambling to remember anything from the previous slides.
She narrowed her eyes. “Did you hear anything I was saying? Focus, Sterling.”
“I am.” Just not on her presentation. He could tell her in great detail about the freckle at the base of her neck. Or the way her blonde hair curled at her temple. Her breathing grew shallow and the air between them snapped with electricity.
Her pupils dilated and for an achingly long moment, he thought she might kiss him. But she cleared her throat and turned back to her laptop.
Her voice shook as she took him through her plan. “The diner is re-opening on the one-year anniversary of the tornado. A celebrity 5k and community pancake breakfast celebrates Prairie’s recovery, and draws attention to the ranch – also part of the recovery.”
He had to admit, it was brilliant. Tying the ranch to Prairie, so that one was synonymous with the other. Admiration for her swept through him. Her brothers hadn’t been exaggerating when they’d called her a rising star. She’d listened to his feedback about the event not being too fancy, but she’d managed to incorporate enough VIP perks that her big donors would feel special.
“Lunchtime would entail a community barbecue and a raffle at the park with different levels of buy-in so everyone could
participate. And the crown jewel would be a nighttime concert at the property.”
He scowled. “But where’s the poker tournament?”
“I don’t see that working for this.”
“That’s because it’s my idea.”
She shook her head. “Not at all. You made some good points, which I’ve incorporated. But my goal is to raise as much money as possible for the ranch.”
“And you don’t think I know how to do that,” he said flatly.
She stiffened. “You’re not always the smartest one in the room, Sterling. Doing this kind of thing is my life. Bringing attention to people, to companies and their causes. If we’re going to work together, you have to trust me on this.”
Why wouldn’t she listen to him? He had good ideas. He always had good ideas. “But you haven’t even heard what I’ve put together.”
Her brows slashed together. “You’re not supposed to be putting anything together.”
“Well I have. You didn’t return my calls, what was I supposed to think?”
“That I was working on it?” her voice rose as pink crept up her neck.
“Just hear me out.”
She scowled at him. “You are not taking over this project.”
“I don’t want to take it over. I just want to have a say.”
“You’ve had a say.” She stood and returned her laptop to the drafting table. He immediately felt the loss of her.
He blew out a breath, consciously softening his voice. “Emma. Please?”
She turned to face him, perching on the tall chair in front of the table. “Fine. Give it to me.”
“I have a military buddy, Jason Case – whose military career was prematurely shortened by an IED. He’s indicated he would like to be one of the first people to come through the ranch.”
Her eyes widened.
“Maybe you’ve heard of them? Case family winery?”
“Who hasn’t?”
Even people in Prairie knew the name Case. They were one of Napa’s biggest names in wines. “They’ve offered to help sponsor the event to the tune of $100,000, as well as providing all food and beverages.”
