He sipped from his water bottle. “You’re too hard on yourself.”
She loved that he defended her. But she couldn’t agree. “You’re entitled to your opinion. Even when you’re wrong.”
“So you’re telling me you think you should be punished forever because of one mistake?”
“Well, Carson, it really was a doozy of a mistake. And I made it in a competitive field where second chances don’t come easily.”
“Just answer the question.”
“Bossy much?” She opened her chips. “No, I don’t think I should be punished forever. But I get why the big ad and design firms are going to be reluctant to hire me.”
“Can you say with certainty that you would never screw up like that again?”
She felt pressured again and had to hold back a flippant response. It really was a good question, so she gave him a carefully considered reply. “I can say that I have definitely learned my lesson. I’ll never leave colleagues or clients high and dry again. Life sometimes gets in the way of business, but if for some reason I couldn’t hold up my end of a project, I’d be damn sure to keep communication open and find a way that the job would get done without me.” She popped a chip in her mouth.
“All right. I have one more question.”
“Of course you do.” She waved another chip dramatically. “Go ahead. Hit me with it.”
“Come to dinner with me in Kalispell tonight? Ryan told me about this great little Italian place.”
* * *
She went with him.
How could she not? He charmed her and he challenged her. Every hour she spent with him, she found herself liking him more. And hey, the man was really easy on the eyes.
He ordered a nice bottle of Chianti and they shared an antipasto. She had ravioli. She also had a great time. He told her about his parents, who divorced when he was in his teens. His mother had remarried. Andrea VanAllen Drake Rivas had no other children. She now lived in Argentina with her second husband. His dad had died of a heart attack five years before.
She wanted to know more. “What about grandparents, aunts and uncles, cousins?”
“No grandparents living. I’m the only son of an only son. My mother has a sister, I think.”
“You think?”
“They were never close, and I never met my aunt.”
“I can’t imagine being the only one. I have two sisters and grandparents on both sides. I have three uncles on my dad’s side, aunts on my mother’s side and a whole bunch of cousins. A Strickland family reunion is a thing of beauty, let me tell you. How long have you been running Drake Distilleries?”
“I took over when my father died. But I opened my first club two years before that. I wanted my own company, something I’d created from the ground up. Drake Hospitality has always been all mine.”
“Clearly, there’s nothing wrong with your work ethic, Carson.”
“I like working, making things happen. My father encouraged me to get out there and see what I could do. He bankrolled my first club without even stopping to think it over. He used to talk about how rich kids often grew up lazy, lacking ambition. He said that I’d never had that problem and he was glad.”
She could hear real affection in his voice. “You loved your father.”
“Yeah. He was tough. Always one step ahead of the competition. And fearless. He loved the great outdoors, all the macho stuff—hunting and mountain climbing, sailing and stock-car racing. When he went after something, he got it. He taught me to shoot, took me hunting all over the world. I can’t say I enjoyed it as much as he did, but if the day ever comes when I need to use a rifle to bring down some dinner, I’ll be able to hit what I’m aiming at and take proper care of my weapon, as well. Maybe my dad was a little too driven. I think he lost my mother because he didn’t have much time for her. And his doctors had been telling him to slow down for at least a decade before he had the heart attack that killed him.”
“Would you say that you’re like him?”
“In a lot of ways, yes. And proud to be. But I’m better at delegating, better at letting at least some things go.” He gave her a smile that did something crazy to her heart. “So, tiramisu? Cannoli?”
“No, thanks. I couldn’t eat another bite.”
He waved her refusal away and ordered one of each. She ate some of each, too. More than a little. The desserts were too tempting to ignore.
Kind of like the guy across from her.
When they left the restaurant, the sun was half an orange ball sliding slowly behind the tall mountains. They got in his Cadillac, and she automatically went to latch her seat belt.
Carson’s big, hot hand settled over hers. She glanced up sharply into those gleaming dark eyes.
One side of his sinful mouth kicked up. “Don’t look so suspicious.”
But she was suspicious. That very morning they’d agreed on friendship first. Not even twelve hours later, she knew from that look in his eye that he was about to kiss her.
Worse, she was about to let him.
Chapter Seven
“Carson,” she said sternly—or at least she meant to sound stern. Actually, it came out on a soft hitch of breath.
“I can’t stop myself,” he whispered.
“Yes, you c—”
His lips took the word away before she finished saying it.
And an unfinished word wasn’t all he took. He also laid claim to her will to resist him. He lifted his hand from hers and placed those long, strong fingers gently, carefully, along the side of her face, holding her. Capturing her with a caress.
Sweet heaven, the man could kiss. His mouth brushed across hers, teasing, coaxing, enticing her to let him take the kiss deeper.
She longed only to surrender to the feel of him, the heat of him.
With a small, hungry cry, she did what he wanted, opening to him, letting him in.
She would pay for this, and she knew that. She was giving ground too quickly. And for a man like Carson, that would only mean one thing: she would give some more.
It was all so simple, really. Awakened by the taste of him, her body, her heart, her foolish mind—they would all conspire to betray her for another kiss.
And another.
Easy. She was so easy. Half a day into this new “friendship” of theirs and she was kissing him like a whole lot more than just a friend. She should have more integrity, should stick by her plan to take things nice and slow.
But he’d blown right on by all her carefully erected boundaries. And it felt fabulous: the scent of him, the warmth of him so close, the flavor of him on her tongue. He tasted of coffee and chocolate, whipped cream and wonder, all wet and warm.
He was getting to her, stirring buried memories of Monday night. Sweet, sexy memories that hovered and swooped, taunting her, tempting her, just out of reach as his naughty tongue slid past her teeth and teased the wet places within.
A breathy moan escaped her as she gave to him further, letting her head drop back against the headrest. He didn’t miss a beat, kept his mouth fused to hers. He leaned across the console, his fingers moving across her cheek, to her temple. He stroked her hair, soothing her, petting her. He traced the outer shell of her ear, caught her earlobe and rubbed it between his thumb and forefinger.
She moaned a little louder, and he shamelessly drank that sound from her parted lips.
Oh, she really shouldn’t put her hands on him and she knew that.
But she did it anyway, bringing her palms up between them, easing them under the lapels of his jacket to press them against the hard, hot wall of his chest, telling herself she only meant to push him away.
That didn’t happen.
Those traitorous hands of hers slid upward, loving the muscled feel of him beneath his white shirt, m
oving over the powerful shape of his shoulders to wrap around the back of his neck, to thread up into his hair.
The kiss went on and on. She didn’t ever want it to end.
At the same time, she kept promising herself that she was going to stop it, put her hands back on his chest and gently push him away. She was doing that any minute now.
Very, very soon.
But in the end, she couldn’t even manage that tiny triumph.
Oh no. He had her pressed against the seat back, his mouth locked to hers. And she had her arms around his neck as passionate echoes of Monday night drifted just out of reach in her reeling mind.
Lord help her, she never wanted to let him go.
And then he pulled back.
Just like that.
He broke the press of their lips, causing her eyes to pop wide-open. She stared straight into his. They were darker than ever, those eyes, full of heat and the promise of delicious pleasure.
“I know,” he said ruefully, his voice so low and hot it could set the Cadillac on fire. “It’s too soon.”
She tried to pull herself together and somehow managed to mutter darkly, “Damn right it is.”
“I was supposed to be giving you space, learning how to be your friend.”
“That was the agreement.”
“Tessa, I couldn’t stop myself.” His eyes smoldered—but she saw the gleam of humor in them, too, didn’t miss the way he tried to keep those amazing lips from turning up at the corners.
She pressed her palms to his chest then and pushed him back a few inches more. “You didn’t want to stop yourself.”
“Can you ever forgive me?”
She regarded him patiently. “Stop messing with me.”
“Kiss me again and prove you forgive me.” He tried to swoop in.
But she was ready for him that time, stiffening her arms, keeping him at bay. “Not a chance. Get back in your seat. Drive the car.”
He retreated behind the wheel—and started in about what they should do next. “So, how about the nightlife in Kalispell, Montana? I’ve been meaning to check out Moose’s Saloon or maybe Scotty’s Bar and Steakhouse...”
She slanted him a glance. Even from the side, he looked much too pleased with himself. “I think I’ve had enough thrills for one night. Home to the boardinghouse, please.”
He turned those dark-velvet eyes to her and asked hopefully, “Scoreboard Pub and Casino?”
“Keep it up and I will make you pay.”
“I am so looking forward to that.” His eyes burned into hers, causing her skin to heat and the blood to race a little faster through her veins.
And then, finally, just before she blew it completely and reached across the console to grab his jacket in her fists and yank him close for another kiss, he pushed the start button and the Caddy hummed to life.
* * *
Tessa got downstairs for breakfast at six the next day. She grabbed a bagel and coffee and ran back up to work, hoping to get a few hours in before Carson came knocking on her door.
At a quarter of eight, she heard him leave his room. She waited for his knock.
It didn’t come. He went on down the hall, and she went back to work, thinking he’d be upstairs again in no time.
But as far as she knew, he never came back up. She worked in her room all that morning, getting the ads Emmet needed emailed to the clinic, tackling a few other projects, then placing the ads and notices online as soon as Emmet gave the go-ahead.
At noon when she went down for lunch, she paused at Carson’s door and debated whether or not to knock. When she gave in and tapped her knuckles against the wood, he didn’t answer.
“Carson?” she called.
Nothing. Apparently, he wasn’t in there.
She went down to the kitchen.
Claire, her clever fingers flying as she assembled sandwiches and garnished plates, asked, “So. You and Carson Drake, huh?”
Tessa got herself a cranberry juice from the fridge. “Friends. We are friends.”
“How long’s he in town for?” It was an innocent enough question.
Tessa felt defensive, anyway. But she took care to answer pleasantly. “A couple of weeks, I think.”
“Ah,” replied Claire, lining up plates.
Tessa couldn’t stop herself from adding with a definite trace of sarcasm, “We have a good time hanging out together—you know, like friends do?”
“Well, all righty then.” Claire scooped a pair of crispy golden Reuben sandwiches from the two-sided grill, sliced them in half diagonally and plated them.
“Auntie Tess! Hi there!” Bekka, sitting in her booster seat at the table enjoying crackers, banana slices and bits of chicken breast for lunch, slapped a plump hand on the table for attention.
Tessa went to her and got a gooey kiss, after which she couldn’t stop herself from asking Claire, “And speaking of Carson, did you, um, happen to see him this morning?”
Before Claire could answer, their grandmother bustled through the open doorway from the dining room and announced, “He came down and had breakfast at a little before eight and left the house soon after.” Melba pinned another order to the board above Claire’s work area.
Grandma, you’ve got to stop lurking in the hallway, Tessa thought but didn’t say. And did he happen to mention when he’d be back? She somehow kept herself from asking. “Thanks, Grandma.”
“You’re welcome, dear.” Melba’s smile was downright angelic.
Tessa took a plate, plunked a hunk of cheese on it, grabbed a knife, a napkin, a box of Triscuits and an apple, and went back upstairs to answer some queries that had come in through her website.
She worked for two more hours, with thoughts of Carson lurking in the back of her mind the whole time like a bad habit, the kind you were trying to quit, the kind that refused to let you go. She longed to dart out to the hallway and tap on his door, just to check and see if he might have returned without her hearing him come in. But somehow she kept herself from surrendering to that temptation. The poor man had a right to a little time to himself. And she had plenty to do, anyway.
Except for how she was getting downright stir-crazy. She’d been in her room for most of the day. Maybe a walk—to the park or over to Crawford’s General Store. Anything to get out into the fresh air.
She walked to Crawford’s, where she chatted with Natalie, Nate Crawford’s lively younger sister, who was working the register that day. Tessa bought a five-gallon jar of Crawford’s giant dill pickles. Claire liked to use them at lunch. Guests loved them.
Tessa hauled the heavy jar of pickles back to the boardinghouse and helped unload the dishwasher. She wiped down counters and pitched in to get the dining room set up for dinner.
Then she went down to the basement, where piles of clean linens waited for someone to fold them.
She was reaching for the next one from a pile of clean towels, when Carson asked from behind her, “Miss me?”
At the sound of his beautiful, warm, deep voice, Tessa felt the sudden hot press of tears behind her eyes. They burned at the back of her throat. Tears, of all the crazy things. She clutched the still-warm towel to her chest, stared at the concrete wall a few feet away and admitted with a forthright honesty that made her stomach clench, “Yes.” She said it quietly, without turning. “I did.”
His warm hand touched her shoulder, a brushing touch. She bit the inside of her cheek and swallowed the silly tears down. “Tessa. Hey.” When she still didn’t turn, he clasped her arm and slowly guided her around. Not a single tear had fallen; she’d called them back before they could. But still, her eyes were misty. She had no doubt he saw. “Tessa...” He looked at her so tenderly.
Always and forever, she would remember this moment. Standing in her grandmother’s base
ment, clutching a warm white towel, while Carson Drake looked at her as though she was the only other person in the world.
“I should be more careful than this,” she said. “I should know better than this. I hardly know you—”
“Tessa,” he whispered, and that was all.
Just her name. It was enough. It was everything. Because of the way he said it—with so much promise, with hope. As though he wanted to reassure her that everything would work out right for them, even though she felt way too much for him, too soon. Even though she’d been here before and it had gone so badly.
Gently, he took the towel from her and tossed it back on the pile behind her. Then he gathered her close.
She went into his arms with no more than a surrendering sigh, cuddling against him much too eagerly, even going so far as to rest her cheek against the hard wall of his chest.
He kissed the crown of her head and explained, “My virtual meeting software doesn’t get along very well with your grandmother’s Wi-Fi.”
She tipped her head back to look up at him. “I know. It’s spotty. I wait forever for things to load.”
He kissed her nose, right on the tip. She not only let him; she loved it. They shared one of those smiles, the kind that made her feel like they had about a hundred special secrets known only to the two of them. “I still have my suite at the Manor, so I went over there to get some work done.”
“You need a room here and your suite at the Manor?”
“I thought I might need it for work. And I do. Plus, when I took the room next to yours, I wasn’t sure how you’d react.”
“Needed somewhere to run if I chased you out of here?”
“Exactly.”
She thought that over and shrugged. “Hey. Makes perfect sense to me.”
“You can join me there anytime, use the Wi-Fi, get your work done faster.”
Marriage, Maverick Style! Page 8
