French Roast

by Ava Miles

  His sigh carried across the space. “I like to see you this excited.”

  She shot ahead of him, not wanting him to see her devastated expression. “That’s not much.”

  “Hey!” he called, but couldn’t catch her.

  All the way down the mountain she struggled with herself. Brian’s reaction made her think they could never work together after all. Her traitorous mind spun scenarios of Mac Maven’s mysterious offer. Jack had emailed her back mid-week with a glowing review and then followed up with a call, but he’d been just as darn cryptic as his friend both times. She couldn’t turn off her curiosity button. What did Mac want from her anyway?

  Brian was breathing harder than she was when they reached his truck. She unclipped her boots and felt his hands on her waist, turning her toward him. “Look, we’ll work it out. Everything’s going to be fine.” His voice was about as soothing as a dentist who was about to start drilling for cavities. “I don’t like color. That’s no surprise. I’m a guy. I’m looking for something understated. I don’t want the décor to outdo the food. Let’s set up a meeting for sometime this week and go through all of the details.”

  She almost rolled her eyes. Some boring place that didn’t cater to families wouldn’t last eight months in Dare.

  “Hey.” He tipped up her chin. “When we used to come here and make our wishes, what did you used to say? I can’t remember.” He put his arms around her. Her head fell to his chest without her conscious realization.

  “I talked about making it big. Like my grandpa. Being a major town player.” No change there.

  “That’s all?” he joked.

  “I had other dreams.” Jill didn’t mention that the main wish she’d made on that boulder was to be Mrs. Brian McConnell someday. She pulled away, opened the car door, and reached for her boots. When the lace on her ski boot wouldn’t untangle after a minute, she let out a low shriek.

  “Let me help,” he said from outside the vehicle. He’d been watching her struggle. “You need to be more patient.”

  But that never had been one of her virtues.

  Brian sank to his knees and angled her boot onto his thigh. The sun illuminated his face as he frowned, working slowly with the knot. His puffy lips reminded her of what he’d given her today. That he’d wanted to give her pleasure without taking it for himself. Her concerns about the restaurant faded. He was back. He was here. And he wanted to be with her. What could be more important?

  “You got pretty tangled up here,” he muttered.

  You’ve got that right.

  He slid one boot off, a gentle hold on her ankle. As he pressed her stocking-clad foot into her hiking boot, Cinderella and the glass slipper popped into her mind. The handsome prince on his knees, his touch loving, his face indulgent—exactly how Brian looked in this moment.

  She fell back against the seat as a major realization descended. The girl inside her had always loved Brian McConnell. Now she knew for sure that the woman inside her did, too.

  Too bad Prince Charming hated every idea she had for their place together. He might be able to cook, but it was becoming abundantly clear that he had no head for business. She could run the castle, and she didn’t want to have to smash her glass slipper on his sparkling kitchen floor to drill that home.

  Chapter 7

  Peggy didn’t understand how Meredith and Jill had corralled her into joining them on a girl’s shopping trip to Denver. Jill had announced she needed lingerie after the successful Valentine Day’s picnic with Brian. D-Day was dawning, Jill said—the Deed Day.

  Great, like Peggy needed to know her friend had picked out a day to get it on with Brian.

  Still, the two sisters made her laugh, and she’d been wanting to see Denver. So far the tour sucked. They’d spent three hours in Cherry Creek Mall.

  She detested shopping, especially this lingerie binge. The bright colors, lacy teddies, and padded cups had her stuffing her hands deeper into her well-worn jeans. Padded cups? Heck, she wished they had something to squash her “girls” down.

  Didn’t they understand jiggling was embarrassing? Busting into a crack lab and pursuing a fleeing suspect with your girly parts bouncing like basketballs suited a porn flick more than it did real life. Cops weren’t supposed to have cleavage. She couldn’t lean over a perp and squeeze out a confession with her décolletage sticking out.

  Jeez. These people must think women sat around dreaming of situations where they could push ‘em up, push ‘em up, way up.

  Exotic mannequins with nipples were propped up all around in various sex get-ups, some of them so obscene she wanted to shield her eyes. These weren’t the androgynous figures she’d grown up with at JC Penney. She eyed one lone guy fingering a black lace mesh body suit. What in the hell was the purpose of putting on something that made you as buck naked as a jaybird? Plus, wouldn’t it rip? Was that the point?

  “You should try this on, Peg,” Jill suggested. “It compliments your dark hair.”

  The purplish nightie’s price boggled her mind. How could it cost that much when there was hardly any fabric? Plus, she lived in a winter state. She’d freeze her ass off wearing something like that.

  “I’ve got a kid. Remember? I can’t prance around the house in that.”

  “It’s all about intention.” Jill held up a neon-green padded bra. “If you buy it, you’re telling the universe you’re ready for some action.”

  “I’m a single mom. That’s not high on my priority list.”

  “Tanner is going to love that, Mere,” Jill told her sister, who was holding up a black lace teddy.

  Peggy shuddered. “Please, that’s my brother you’re talking about.”

  “Like you don’t know we have sex.” Her sister-in-law dropped it in her pink shopping bag.

  “I don’t need any details.” She shifted on her feet. Would it be impolite to suggest they meet up later?

  “Oh, come on. There has to be something you like,” Meredith said.

  “Look, I sleep in a T-shirt and sweatpants.”

  The lone guy dug through the bra bin like he was digging for gold, making Peggy wonder if he was a cross dresser.

  “Didn’t you wear lingerie when you were married?”

  The guy picked up a black bra studded with silver spikes. Dear God, it was straight out of an old Madonna video. He dangled it, eyes as bright as a drug user’s. She looked over at the security guard and wondered what kind of crap he had to deal with in this joint. There couldn’t be enough money in the world to entice her to work here.

  “No, not really. Frank wasn’t into that stuff.”

  Jill snorted. “Every man likes lingerie, trust me.”

  “Not Frank.” She stilled. He’d cheated on her, hadn’t he? Maybe he had been interested in all this crap. She walked over to the cosmetics aisle to give herself some room. The cloying fragrance made her eyes smart.

  Who the hell cared if Frank liked this stuff, anyway? If he cheated on her because she didn’t wear some scoop-your-boobs-up bra, then he was even more of a weasel than she thought. She shrugged it off. Her hands sought out her badge in her purse. She knew who she was.

  “Hey, Peg, do you think Brian will like this?” Jill held up a tropical print nightie.

  If you’re going to a luau. “Jeez, I don’t know. Stop asking me. Do I look like I’d have a clue?”

  Jill shook it like a burlesque performer. “Come on, you work with guys. Would they find this hot?”

  “Why don’t I send a photo to the sheriff?”

  “Haha. Seriously. I want my first time with Brian to be perfect.”

  Her head started to pound from all the questions and the perfume. God, gunpowder from the firing range smelled better than this nonsense.

  “So long as you’re putting out, men don’t care. All this crap is for a woman’s confidence.”

  Meredith slung an arm around her shoulder. “As someone who wore La Perla after her divorce for that very purpose, I can confirm that you’re rig
ht. However, I will add that your brother loves this stuff almost as much as I do.”

  Peggy gave her a light shove. “Jeez, could you give it a rest?” Maybe if she changed the topic, Meredith would lay off. “Jill, I’m glad you’ve finally decided you can trust Brian enough to let him into your pants. After all these years you could wear a potato sack, and he’d still drag you to bed.”

  “Probably true, but I want to reward him. He’s shown incredible patience.”

  “I’ll bet,” she drawled and realized how cynical she sounded. “You’re blushing again.”

  “I need to go to the doctor. See if there’s a pill.”

  “It’s called embarrassment. Now, please have mercy. I really need to leave this store. If I have to watch that guy touch one more thong and wipe his mouth, I’m going to tell him to take a hike. Plus, it stinks like a whorehouse in here.”

  “You ever been in one?” Jill flicked another bra into her bag.

  She rolled her eyes. “It was more of a crack house, not really the bordello type.”

  “Oh, the good ol’ days. Satin and lace. Men with cigars.”

  “You have a pretty romantic view of prostitution.”

  Meredith stepped in. “Okay, let’s try these things on. Peggy, I won’t ask you to come with us.”

  Her fingers rubbed her brow as they disappeared behind a cream and pink wall. The weirdo wandered her way, holding three black thongs and snap crotch teddies. God, imagine being the person who invented that. What a proud moment in science—or fashion—or whatever.

  The sisters’ laughter carried out of the dressing room. Who knew some girly outing would become a comedy show? Still, it made her smile, hearing them. They were like an alien species sometimes, but they always drew her to them.

  She texted Tanner to check on Keith, ending the message with, Save me. I’m in shopping hell.

  His immediate response pinged. Keith is fine. You decided to go. Save yourself. Is Meredith buying anything interesting?

  Her mouth twisted. I am so not describing your wife’s undies, she texted back.

  Sweet. Something to look forward to. Have fun. Snort.

  God, he’d been acting so weird lately. The Hale alien species had converted him.

  Crowding into a corner seemed like the smartest strategy. A brown velvet nightgown drew her gaze. It reminded her of a bear’s hide. Her fingers itched to see if it was as soft as it looked. She checked over her shoulder to make sure Meredith and Jill weren’t around and darted a finger toward it. The rich, smooth texture rippled. Finally a color she could approve of. Weren’t most men color blind anyway? Bold colors were wasted on them.

  Plus, this looked warm—well except for the missing sleeves. But the length was good. Then she realized she was thinking about taking it off, letting it fall in a puddle at her ankles. She needed to get a grip. Maybe it was that hideous smell, making her light-headed. The price tag boggled the mind. She could feed her and Keith for a month on that amount.

  “See something you like?”

  She spun around and shoved her hands in her pockets. Meredith raised an eyebrow. Jill gave a dopey grin.

  “You two sounded like drunk sorority sisters.”

  “This brown one would suit you,” Jill said. “It’s not slutty.”

  “I appreciate the character reference.” Peggy’s gaze slid back to the gown. “It’s not the worst thing in here.”

  “Hmm…” Meredith elbowed her sister.

  “I’m going to check out.” Jill said, grabbing Peggy’s arm.

  “I need to change a size.” Meredith sauntered off with a skip.

  Peggy waited by the counter as the clerk wrapped Jill’s medley of carnal clothing like it was fine china. This store was so weird. Why waste money wrapping stuff that couldn’t break in bright pink paper?

  Jill produced a flashy credit card when the clerk recited her total.

  “You know you aren’t going to have those on long enough to justify the debt.”

  “I don’t care. This is what you do when you date someone. Wear hot lingerie, have blistering sex. I’ve wanted to be with Brian for what seems like forever. Don’t ruin it for me.”

  This is what people did? She never had. “Sorry.”

  The sight of liquid gel pad breast lifters made her nose scrunch up. She could just imagine wearing one on a raid and popping it when some guy threw a punch. She’d die of embarrassment. The guys would never stop giving her crap.

  “Okay.” Meredith appeared at her side, having checked out at one of the other cash registers. “I’m ready.”

  “Me too.” Jill lifted her bags. “They should call this place Sex ‘R Us.”

  Peggy led the way out of hell. She gave the lone guy her scary smile, making him drop the underwear. Brightened her day.

  “Hey,” Meredith said, catching up. “I bought something for you.” She held out a bag.

  Oh, please don’t let it be something with animal print. She didn’t want to look, but she didn’t want to seem ungrateful. Peggy reached into the bag and her fingers brushed velvet. She stared at Meredith as she pulled the brown nightgown halfway out of the bag. Her mouth turned dry. “I…this is too much. Meredith, seriously, I’ll never wear it.” Still, her fingers curled around it.

  Meredith slid her arm through Jill’s. “Never is a long time. Please, it’ll hurt my feelings if you don’t take it. Think of it as an early birthday present.”

  “My birthday’s in December,” she protested, her fingers betraying her by playing with the texture once again. When she realized what she was doing, she dropped it back in the bag.

  Jill nudged her hip. “Let’s do lunch. This is the best shopping spree ever! And I’m having sex this week. I am woman. Hear me roar. Okay, Mere, your turn.”

  “I am reporter. Hear me scoop.”

  Jill swung their still-linked arms. “Good one. Now you, Peggy.”

  “I am cop. Hear me shoot.”

  They both laughed like loons and slapped her on the back. The sudden tightness in her chest almost hurt. She stuffed the pink bag into her purse, reminding herself that girly things weren’t for her. She was a cop and a mother—first, last, and always.

  She’d throw the bag in the back of her closet when she got home where Keith wouldn’t look. Peggy McBride had no use for it—never had, never would.

  Even as she told herself that, another part of her cried out, making the feeling in her chest so unbearable that she pulled out an antacid for relief.

  Chapter 8

  Was there anything more rip-your-clothes-off hot than envisioning making love for the first time to the man sitting across from you?

  Well, there was the actual sex, but Jill would get to that.

  Her thigh brushed Brian’s muscular leg as he continued to talk through those seductive, bow-shaped lips. She imagined them trailing down her neck and going lower, nipping at her heated skin as her hands curved around his corded back, then trailed over his washboard abs.

  He sucked in a breath. “Stop looking at me like that.”

  “Like what?” she flirted back, reaching for his hand and stroking the palm with her newly manicured vixen-red thumb.

  “Like you don’t know. Seriously, you’re killing me. Right here in your damn coffee shop. You should call it Don’t Toy With Me instead of Don’t Soy With Me. Jesus.” He shifted in his seat, the hard line of his mouth pronounced.

  This man was toast—and she was going to be the butter. She’d studied the Kama Sutra all week until she knew it as well as the Gettysburg Address. Whether or not her body could twist into the “Splitting-the-Cicada” position like a Cirque de Soleil performer was another matter.

  “Sorry.” Brian tucked one of her corkscrew red curls behind her ear, his brilliant Bengal-tiger blue eyes soft and slumberous. Everything in her core settled into peace and certainty.

  “I love you, you know,” she uttered in a low voice, following her heart. Saying it today, before they had sex, seemed important someho
w.

  His eyes narrowed a fraction, but he rallied by raising her hand to his lips. “That’s a pretty important thing to say in a coffee shop,” he tried to joke.

  Her heart squeezed like it was a piece of meat on the grill clutched by his metal tongs. So, he wasn’t ready to say it back. Well, he would in time. Hadn’t he been showing her how much he cared over the past week?

  “Let’s get back to our plans.” Brian held her hand while he resumed talking.

  Her mind drifted to the emerald green negligee she’d selected for tonight. Aromatherapy candles would light their first steps into passion, give the room an exotic touch of musk.

  “Are you even listening?” Brian angled his head closer to hers. The overhead lights illuminated his dark eyelashes.

  “Of course,” she lied, her heart beating like she’d sucked down too many espressos. “Don’t I always?”

  His snort had her skin cooling. Jill settled back, watching his fingers caress the rough plans they’d drawn up for the restaurant. They weren’t discussing anything controversial today, just the layout. After what had happened on the Valentine picnic, they were dancing around their differences. Brian had gone to see Morty’s place a few days ago while she was working, and he’d liked it. Thank God Morty wasn’t planning on putting the space on the market for over month. Plenty of time for her and Brian to work out their creative differences, right?

  Her mind drifted back to that afternoon. His touch on her core, the sun warm on her face, the deep convulsions in her body. My God, she was going to experience it all again—tonight. It was going to be so much better with him. Her thighs contracted.

  His hands clapped in her face. “Earth to Jill. What is wrong with you today? You’re more spacey than usual.”

  Because Sex, Sex, Sex was flashing through her mind like gaudy lights at a sleazy Vegas strip club. “Words to make any girl’s heart pitter patter, Bri.”