by Skye Jordan
“Whoa. You look”—he shook his head, his gaze still scanning hungrily—“stunning.”
He said the last almost breathlessly, and the sight of the big, strong, always-in-control Trace Hutton so wildly affected by the simple sight of her opened floodgates on her desire. Fire flashed through her body, from the top of her head to the base of her feet, pooling in key areas that made her restless. Made her crave.
“That dress is perfect on her, isn’t it?” Phoebe asked. She continued to Avery, “You’ve never looked more beautiful.”
“She’s certainly perfect,” Trace murmured, his eyes hot and dazed and making sparks fly in every cell of her body. With his attention holding on her four-inch sparkling heels, complete with glittering straps that wrapped multiple times around her ankles, he asked absently, “How’d the tasting go?”
“The tasting was a fabulous success,” Phoebe said, beaming. “Avery’s got a big new contract to prove it, and another half-dozen people interested in booking events.”
Phoebe stepped out of the kitchen, and the door swung closed behind her. And even though staff dotted the kitchen, a familiar and intimate cocoon settled around Avery and Trace again, making her stomach coil.
Trace met her gaze again, his expression something intense and serious and borderline predatory. “Well, congratulations, Cream Puff.”
God, that voice, as smooth as the $300 bottles of wine pouring throughout the Mulligan mansion tonight. Low and deep and so sexy, it shuddered through her, creating a fiery friction. And that stupidly adorable pet name just added another layer of intimacy to the moment.
But even as turned on as she was, Avery was also annoyed that he would act like this now, after all but ignoring her at the job site for the last few days. Days during which she’d realized just how ridiculous it was to fantasize about him in the first place. He may as well be living on an alternate plane of reality when it came to their sexual compatibility. He wasn’t right for her. He was too confident, too experienced, too smokin’ hot. He belonged exactly where he, evidently, already lived—surrounded by light, fun, young, hot chicks he was rumored to hook up with when it suited him.
Avery had spent enough years living her life based on the terms of a man who lived the way it suited him.
Maybe someday she’d be one of those light, fun, young, hot chicks who could pick up a guy on a whim. Someone who could live freely, for the moment, for pleasure. Maybe once she got her shit together. She definitely didn’t believe in forever, or even love, anymore.
Now lust, that was a completely different story. At twenty-five, she was feeling her sexual prime coming around, and Trace Hutton had awakened a whole new part of Avery she could only describe as raw lust. The fact that he hadn’t seemed to notice her as anything other than an employer or friend hadn’t bothered her all that much until he’d gone and opened that what-if door by sucking on her fingers. Now she couldn’t seem to think about anything else. That or how an affair between them would surely be a Pandora’s box. Which only frustrated her all over again. But at least she’d let go of her anger toward David.
She acknowledged Trace’s congratulatory remark with a light, “Thanks.” She’d gotten so good at pulling up that nothing-ruffles-me attitude on a moment’s notice over the years. “How’d the inspection go today?”
He hesitated, giving her a blank stare for an extended second that revealed his mind was somewhere else. Then the casual, easygoing Trace she knew was back. “Oh, uh, good. Yeah. Inspector signed off. No problems. I’m going to start on some finish work upstairs tomorrow since the appliances won’t be here for a bit.”
He stepped closer and leaned his hip against the counter. Shifting too close, he tilted his head, those eyes sharp and searching her face. “Hey,” he said, voice soft, brows pulled into a concerned frown. “What’s wrong?”
A moment of gut-piercing fear that he could see inside her, that she gave off some clue as to what she was thinking, hit her like ice water. But she gave him a what-do-you-mean? shake of her head and a smile. “I just got a contract that will replace all my shabby hand equipment. Everything’s great.”
“Then why do you look like the motor on your KitchenAid finally gave out?”
Her stomach fluttered.
Deny. Deny. Deny.
She laughed him off. “This is a big job. I’m just working out logistics in my head.”
She turned toward him and met his gaze head on, shoulders back. If living in the army for eight years had taught her anything, it was how to be tough when she wanted to lean on someone. And, man, what she would give to lean on Trace right now. But she couldn’t. She couldn’t lean on anyone. Everyone lied. And lies hurt.
“I’d better get home. I still have a lot of work to do before I can hit the pillow. And tomorrow’s another early day.”
She started to step past him, but with a simple tilt of his wrist, Trace wrapped his big, warm hand gently around her bicep and stopped her at his side. Avery’s breath caught. His warmth embraced her. His scent, clean with a hint of very masculine spice, filled her head. Something deep in her body whipped up that craving again. A craving unique to Trace.
He bent his head so close she felt the soft wisps of his black hair brush her temple. Her heartbeat quickened. She couldn’t think straight.
“Avery,” he said, voice soft but imploring. “I screwed up the other night. I’m really sorry, and I really want things to go back to the way they were with us.”
Surprise leaped in her chest, and Avery turned to gauge his expression. His closeness hit her first. Just an inch away. So close, she could see how many colors of blue filled his irises, the curve of his long, spiky lashes, every hair making up his day-old beard.
All she had to do was shift her weight, and her lips would cover his.
Oh . . . the thought . . . The decadent thought had her swaying. But Avery couldn’t take any more rejection, and she knew he was only telling her he wanted them to be friends again.
“If things are different,” she said, “it’s because you made them different. You’re the one who’s been keeping your distance.”
“So it wouldn’t happen again.” His gaze cut away, definitely guilty. “I promised it wouldn’t—”
“Maybe I didn’t want that promise.” She couldn’t quite believe those words had come out of her mouth. But Avery pushed on. Of all the promises made to her and broken, why couldn’t this be one of those? “Maybe I liked it. Maybe I wanted it to happen again.”
His gaze jumped back to hers, surprised, pained.
And she had her answer—it would never happen again.
She stepped away and pulled from his grasp. “But I understand it’s the right thing, so don’t worry. Everything between us is fine. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Avery walked out, confused, lost, and hurting in ways she didn’t understand, wondering whether Trace understood what was happening between them any better than she did. She offered hasty good-byes to several of the guests as everyone made their way to their cars, gave Tiffany a hug, and climbed into the Jeep Delaney had loaned her for the foreseeable future.
Sick with the turmoil in her life, Avery headed to her favorite place in the world. The one place where following simple steps would, time and again, produce successful results. A place where those successful results created warmth and happiness and love.
Her kitchen.
As she drove down the long, lighted driveway of the Mulligans’ multi-million-dollar home, she shook her head and murmured, “If only life could be as simple.”
FOUR
“Maybe I liked it. Maybe I wanted it to happen again.”
Trace couldn’t get Avery’s words out of his head. Nor could he wipe the image of her in that sexy little deep-pink dress as she’d walked away from him. The way the softly flared skirt followed the curve of her ass, the way it ended high on those toned thighs. The way the open back showed all that creamy, smooth skin beneath straps creating an X between her shoulder blad
es, joined there with a little bow.
“Maybe I didn’t want that promise.”
A flash of Avery’s gorgeous face flushed with want filled Trace’s mind from that night he’d had her slim fingers in his mouth, and his groin swelled with the kind of heat and pressure that demanded attention. The kind of attention he hadn’t had in over two months—since he’d set eyes on Avery Hart.
“Trace, honey.” His grandmother’s voice broke into his delicious memory, and he let thoughts of Avery fade as he glanced toward Pearl in the passenger’s seat of his truck. “It’s green.”
“Hmm?”
“The light, honey. It’s green.”
Trace’s mind snapped into the present, and he stepped on the gas. “Sorry,” he muttered. “Was thinkin’.”
“Did you hear anything I said about your father?”
Trace searched his mind and glanced at his grandmother. “No, Gram, sorry. I hope Zane doesn’t have to pull a double. I’ve really got to get some extra time in on the café, and I don’t want to be worried about Dad when I’m using a nail gun and table saw.”
“No, Zane’s with him tonight,” she said, exasperated. “I was telling you about the music therapy Avery told us about. Have you noticed a change in your dad?”
“Uh . . .” He thought back over the last few days. “I don’t know. I see him at night, and you know how fast he goes downhill after five or six o’clock. I’ve been focused on the project, on following up with his doctors and Medicare.”
“Between the café and your daddy, you’re burning the candle at both ends. You can’t keep this up.”
“I’m all right, Gram. Have you noticed a difference with Dad?”
“Actually, yes. An amazing change, in fact. I wasn’t sure at first, but each small change builds on the one from the day before. I’ve only had him listening to the music mix Avery made for us for three days, and he’s already happier when I get there in the morning.”
“Avery made you a music mix?” That was news to him. She hadn’t mentioned anything about it. The sweetness of her unselfish act when she had so much to do, so much stress weighing on her, touched him.
“I saw her at Finley’s Market, stocking those amazing blondies of hers, and we got to talking about the article. I told her what he used to love listening to, and she put a small selection of music together so we could try it out. I can’t believe the difference. The first day, the changes were small. He was more alert, like on one of his better days. But today, when his irritation kicked in around noon, I turned on the music, and, you’re not going to believe this, but he calmed right down and started singing along.”
“Singing?” Trace looked at his grandmother in disbelief. His father used to sing all the time when Trace had been a kid, but he hadn’t heard one note from him since his mother got sick. “Are you sure you were in the right house?”
Gram laughed. “I know. I could barely believe it.” She pressed a hand to her heart. “Lord, it was so wonderful to hear that lovely voice of his again. And his mood stays up for at least two hours. It’s truly miraculous.”
A tiny spark of hope burned in the back of Trace’s mind. Anything that helped his dad feel better was a blessing. Because when Dad was happy, life was easier and happier for all of them. “I’ll say.”
“I’m going to talk to Avery about adding songs or making another mix. Try it out with him tomorrow night. It might make your life easier.”
“I will.”
“But you need a long-term plan, Trace. You and your brother have demanding careers, and you should both be working on building families by now, not juggling your father like a hot potato.”
His lips twitched into a grin as he turned onto one of the many quaint residential streets in Wildwood, but the emotion behind it was dry and dark. A family was the furthest thing from Trace’s mind. Once upon a time, before his life had gone to shit, yeah, he’d wanted it all—the wife, the kids, the business. Now he just wanted to drag himself out of this hole, stop making ends meet with grunt work for other contractors, and get his own business back on its feet.
“You’ll have better luck getting great grandkids out of Zane.”
“Hardly.”
Trace chuckled.
“I’m serious, Trace. Are you seeing anybody?”
His mind turned to Avery. “Nope.”
“What about Avery? You two get along so well, and she’s the prettiest, sweetest little thing. Phoebe says she’s dated some, but she isn’t seeing anyone seriously. And she can cook.”
Trace groaned, turning into the driveway of his grandmother’s cottage. He didn’t need anyone pushing him toward Avery. Working with her so closely since she’d returned home, he knew exactly who she’d been dating and how often, and he kept hoping one of those guys would stick so he could cut her out of his thoughts.
“She’s also almost a decade younger,” he said.
“Eight years,” Gram countered. “And at your age, that doesn’t matter.”
“She’s also freshly divorced with her freedom at her fingertips. She deserves someone far better than me.”
He reached for the keys to shut down the engine and got a stinging slap on the forearm from his grandmother.
He smirked at her. “That is no way to treat the grandson who drove you home.”
“It’s the way to treat a grandson acting like an idiot.”
“If that were the case, you’d have to be slapping me constantly.”
“That can be arranged.”
He laughed and opened the door.
“Don’t get out,” she said, her voice filled with frustration. “I can still climb from a truck.”
“Not from my truck you can’t. Stay put.”
“That’s no way to talk to your grandmother. And Avery may be freshly divorced, but from the way Phoebe tells it, she hasn’t lived like a married woman in years.”
He so didn’t need to hear that.
“Gram, drop it.” He shut his door and rounded the front to open hers, already imitating her voice with, “Don’t you close the door on me when I’m talkin’ to you, Trace Benjamin. I oughta whoop your hide.”
She smacked his arm again. “Smart-ass.”
“You’re going to start leaving marks.” He wrapped his arm around her shoulders and walked her toward the porch. “Imagine me trying to explain that.”
“You don’t have to walk me in. You make me feel ancient.”
“Wouldn’t matter if you were twenty-seven or seventy-seven, I’d still walk you in.”
At Gram’s door, Trace took her keys and unlocked the house, then stepped aside as Pearl entered and turned on the living room light.
“I’ve been thinking,” she began.
“Oh, man,” he said with dramatic dread. “Thought I told you to stop doing that.”
Trace wandered into the kitchen, where he checked the stove burners and the ovens, things Pearl sometimes left on absentmindedly.
“Why don’t you move George in with me?” She set her purse down on a side table. “I’m not doing anything I couldn’t put aside while you finish the café. Steady work ought to start pouring in once everyone in town sees what you’ve done with that place, which will give you the money to put him in a facility—at least during the day.”
“This move has been hard enough on him. I don’t want to move him again.” At the back door, he turned the dead bolt and closed the blinds, then returned to the living room. “He’s just beginning to settle into a routine and seems to be doing pretty well on his own between the time you leave and either Zane or me get him in the evening. I get by to check on him in the afternoon.”
At the wide picture windows, he drew the drapes, then checked the space heater at his feet, another device Pearl often forgot to turn off.
“Well, then, what if we trade houses?” Gram suggested. “I’ll move into your house, and you move in here. Then you don’t have to move him.”
Trace grinned, hugged Pearl, then kissed her foreh
ead and pulled back to look at her. “I really appreciate the offer, Gram, but Dad and I live in a dump, and I wouldn’t let you live there if you paid me. Besides, you already raised him once, and you’re doing a lot as it is. Let Zane and me pick up some slack now.”
“You’ve already given up too much of your life for him—”
“Ah-ah,” he cut her off. “We’re not talking about that, remember? Lock the door after me.” He turned and opened the door to the night, but the thought of where he was headed and what he still needed to do tonight made him feel heavy. Hopefully he’d get lost in his work and Avery would slip from his mind for a while, giving him some relief.
“How’s the café coming?” Gram asked.
He turned and met his grandmother’s gaze. “It’s getting there. Still have the roof and the appliances, lots of finish work.”
“Are you going to have it done for Avery’s grand opening? It’s getting close.”
“Hell yes. I won’t miss that deadline.” If he did, he may as well kiss future work and all the recommendations he’d cultivated from this job good-bye. To say nothing of disappointing Avery, which would kill him.
“Did you hear that Shiloh is pregnant?”
Trace shook his head. “I don’t even know who that is.”
“A friend of Delaney’s.”
“For a girl who left town under a cloud of suspicion and returned kicking and screaming, she sure has developed a lot of friends around this place.”
“Sort of like her aunt.”
“Sure thing.” Phoebe Hart not only knew everyone in town, she knew everyone’s entire family tree.
“Well, Shiloh and her husband are trying to get financing for a room addition on their little house on Picket Street before the baby comes. Delaney recommended you for the job.”
Trace lifted a brow. “And you know this how?”
“Phoebe.”
He grinned. “Of course.”
“She also told me that Finley’s Market is planning to expand. You might want to stop in and talk to Caleb.”
Caleb Finley and his wife had inherited the business in the last year, and the changes they’d made had increased business tenfold. The market had been bursting at the seams for months. Caleb also happened to be best friends with Delaney’s boyfriend, Ethan. A great string of connections for recommendations around town. A lousy string of connections to screw up by letting his attraction to Avery get out of control.
