by Jane Porter
What he knew.
Who he was.
Something inside him shifted. He felt some of the tension he’d been carrying around with him ease. He smiled wryly. “The hotel needed to be saved. It’s part of me, and Marietta, and it was supposed to be demolished. The building had been condemned, and I couldn’t let it happen. So I didn’t.”
Her gaze held his, her expression intent. “Do you regret saving it?”
“No.”
“Even if it… hurts you… financially?”
“Jane’s been talking.”
Taylor pursed her lips. She appeared to choose her words carefully. “The whole town’s been talking.”
“Not surprised. But I have good instincts. I think it’s going to be alright.”
“You’re sure?”
“Yes. Because even if I have to sell it at some point, and even if I take a loss, I’ve still won. I’ve given something back to my hometown. I’ve created something that my children and grandchildren can enjoy. And that makes it all worth it.”
Taylor looked down at her plate, and blinked, fighting the most ridiculous urge to cry. Her eyes had burned and turned gritty as he’d talked about creating something for his children and grandchildren. She understood his love for old buildings and the past. She’d always been fascinated by old black and white photographs of Montana’s past. If she looked hard enough into one of those photographs she could imagine herself there…
“I wish I could have seen the Graff before you restored it,” she said. “But maybe it’s good that I didn’t. It would have made me sad.”
“She was too beautiful to be neglected like that,” he agreed.
For a long moment Taylor said nothing, her emotions turbulent, her thoughts whirling. She shouldn’t say what she was so tempted to say. She shouldn’t even be feeling what she’d been feeling all night.
She should get her purse and coat and go home right now.
Right now without saying a single thing about the ball. Or maybe, possibly going to the ball with him.
She couldn’t. She’d already told him no. She’d made up her mind. Taylor wasn’t flighty. At least, she’d never been flighty before…
Taylor swallowed hard and reached for her leather satchel. She needed to leave before she said something she might regret.
And yet her heart raced. She couldn’t remember when she last felt so torn.
“I’m glad we did this,” she said. “It was nice. Thank you.”
“I enjoyed it, too.”
She pulled the satchel onto her lap, and reached for her wallet.
He saw her open the wallet and shook his head. “I’ve got this.”
“It’s not a date,” she answered.
He smiled. “I know. But I can write it off. It’s probably harder for you.”
“That’s true. There is no budget at the library for meals or entertainment. Not even for technology.”
Troy placed several twenties on the table. “Which will change when Margaret’s gone in June.”
“I hope so.” Taylor glanced from the bills to Troy’s chest, where the snug Henley hit, just beneath his collarbone, exposing taut tone muscle and golden skin. He was obviously able to get some sun in California. Lucky man.
And then suddenly before she even knew she’d committed to the idea, she blurted, “Troy, I was thinking about the ball.”
“I’m not surprised. You’ve been working very hard on the committee.”
“I meant. I was thinking about…” Her voice faded. Her courage faded. She couldn’t do it. Couldn’t put herself back out there. It was too embarrassing. And she shouldn’t be going to the ball. She’d already told both Jane and Troy that. To change her mind now showed lack of stability and judgment. Besides, he might have already found a date.
That stopped her cold.
She studied him, taking in his straight nose, the high cheekbones and his firm mobile mouth quirking in a half-smile. He was so masculine and relaxed… so confident.
She was not.
She’d never had his self-assurance. “Were you able to find a date?” she asked, thinking it was one thing to talk books and technology and historical renovation with him. It was another to discuss… dates. “I was certain you would. Just wanted to be sure. I hate to think I’ve left you in the lurch.”
The corners of his lips curved higher. “Haven’t found another date yet, no.”
Her heart fell. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s my fault. I haven’t asked anyone else.”
“Why not?”
“I wanted to go with you.”
Her pulse jumped. “I see.”
“You do?”
“Yes.”
But she didn’t, and Taylor almost kicked herself under the table for saying things she didn’t mean, because she didn’t see. She didn’t understand. She didn’t understand why Troy would want to go to the ball with her. But somehow, between leaving the library and finishing her apple pie a la mode, she wanted to go to the ball with Troy.
As friends, of course, she added hurriedly.
But she did want to go. She wanted to be part of the historic night and see the ballroom all lit up with pink lights and taste the chocolates and sip champagne…
And it would be fun to go, with him, provided it wasn’t romantic. Provided they were… just friends.
Taylor squeezed her satchel, thinking she was most definitely in over her head and yet she was going to press on, and just do this. Of course he could reject her. She fully expected a rejection any moment. “Troy, I was thinking—” her voice quavered, broke, courage once again stalling. She stared across the table at him, no longer certain of anything.
Troy heard Taylor’s voice quaver and crack before she went silent. He watched the color storm her cheeks, and then saw her bite down into her lower lip, teeth ruthless and intent.
He was quite interested in what she’d have to say next. “Yes?” he prompted.
“Maybe I could go to the ball… with you,” she rushed and stumbled through the words, before pausing to meet his gaze, her chin lifting fractionally, almost defiantly, “if we went as just… friends.”
“Friends,” he repeated, looking at her, and trying not to obsess over the fact that her glasses were slipping down the length of her small, straight nose and he itched to lean forward and push them back up. Not because the glasses annoyed him on the tip of her nose—they didn’t—he found it quite endearing. She looked like a very young and very pretty librarian. He’d always had a thing for smart girls, book girls and here was the epitome of a smart, book girl before him.
A single, smart book girl. Who also happened to be quite level-headed, and sweet.
Well, her soft pink lips looked quite sweet. He found the bow shape of her lips incredibly appealing. They were the lips of a pin-up, not a prim librarian, and Troy wondered if she’d kiss like a pin-up, or a prim librarian. He was tempted to kiss her now just to find out.
It probably wouldn’t do.
It might just scare her off.
As it was, she wanted to be… friends.
“I would hope we’re friends,” he said pleasantly, lazily.
“Yes, but only friends,” she said, emphasizing the friends part yet again. She sat up taller, shoulders squared. “I was thinking I might enjoy the ball if it were purely platonic between us.”
She might enjoy the ball… if it was purely platonic between them.
His lips twitched.
But she wasn’t done yet.
“Troy, you seem like a nice man, but here’s my quandary—”
“Yes. What is your quandary?” he asked.
She pushed up her glasses, and sighed. “You are Jane’s ex and I appreciate that there’s nothing between you now, but it makes me uncomfortable, knowing that you were together and that she continues to have… some feelings… for you, so it’s best that we be just friends. Nothing romantic. Which is why, if you still need a date for the ball, I’m happy to be that dat
e, but I just want to be sure we’re on the same page, about… romance… and things.”
“If Jane were not in the picture, would your feelings be different?” he asked, amused.
Taylor hesitated, frowned, and then tugged uneasily on her ear lobe. “I can’t say. I don’t know. No… I don’t think so. I think I’d still only want to be friends with you. I don’t think a romantic relationship would work between us.”
She was so earnest that Troy bit down on the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing out loud. Thank goodness he’d grown up in a family of boys and had developed a healthy sense of self-esteem. He might have found her rejection bruising otherwise.
It took him a moment to gather his thoughts.
“What is it about me you don’t like?” he asked.
“It’s not personal—” Taylor broke off, frowned, dragged her coffee cup and saucer closer to the edge of the table. “Well, maybe it is. And that’s not fair of me, but the fact that you and Jane have history, and the fact that Jane continues—” she broke off again, her cheeks turning pink. Her gaze fell to the table, her long black lashes dropping to hide her eyes. She pushed the saucer again. “She’s my friend, my good friend, and I don’t want to create problems for you, or her, or me.”
“Most admirable,” he said, meaning it, finding everything about Taylor interesting and refreshing. “But you do know that Jane and I were friends before we dated, and we dated briefly as an experiment—an experiment that didn’t work out—but we managed to preserve and protect our relationship, so that we continue to be good friends today.”
“How long were you… together?”
“I don’t know that you could say we were ever truly together.”
“Jane was in love with you!”
He frowned. “I know she says that—”
“You doubt her feelings?”
Troy stifled a sigh. He shouldn’t have ever gone down this path. “No, I don’t,” he said firmly. “But Jane and I only dated for a couple weeks. Two and a half. Three. For a total of five dates. I knew it wasn’t right on date one, but I liked Jane so much. I liked her fire and ambition. She’s a great girl, and a marketing genius. It was easy to spend time with her. But at the end of the day, I didn’t have… romantic… feelings for her.”
Taylor stared at him from across the table, her eyes wide, expression somber. “Then you shouldn’t have slept with her.”
Troy’s jaw dropped. “What?”
“You should never sleep with a woman you don’t have feelings for.” Taylor’s soft full lips pressed into a hard, uncompromising line. “Women fall in love through making love. It’s a bonding thing for us. Hormones and chemicals and—”
“We never slept together,” he interrupted, irritated, not just by the direction their conversation had taken, but by Taylor’s low opinion of him. “We never had sex. Jane and I had too much history to just jump into bed together.”
For a moment Taylor said nothing, gazing at him intently from behind her big glasses.
For the first time since they’d sat down she seemed to have nothing to say.
Good.
He was fed up with this conversation, as well as having to defend himself. He didn’t even know why he felt compelled to defend himself to a little mouse. Except for some ridiculous reason he wanted her to understand how the relationship with Jane had been. Not how Jane had wanted it to be.
“Not everybody clicks,” he said crisply, battling his impatience and annoyance. “Not every man and woman belongs together.”
He saw a flicker in her wide green-brown eyes and a tiny pulse begin to dance at the base of her throat and he wished to God he could read Taylor’s mind right now and know what she was thinking. Feeling.
Did she truly have no feelings for him at all?
Or was she that protective of Jane?
Or was she simply… scared… that they were so different?
“A relationship can’t go the distance without friendship and mutual respect,” he said, “but there must also be chemistry.”
“Chemistry,” she repeated, before chewing on the inside of her soft lower lip.
He eyed the lip, seeing how her white teeth bit down into the pink plumpness and he wished it was his mouth on hers.
If only to know if they had chemistry.
It would be such a relief if there wasn’t anything between them. It would be the best thing for both of them if he kissed her and he felt nothing… absolutely nothing.
He should kiss her and find out.
Kiss her and be done with this foolishness.
They weren’t meant for each other. Troy didn’t do long distance relationships. Troy didn’t ever intend to live in Montana again.
“You didn’t have chemistry with Jane?” Taylor asked quietly.
“No.”
She fidgeted with the small ceramic saucer. “How did you know?”
“Because when I kissed her I felt…” He shook his head, not wanting to go there, not wanting to expose Jane but he felt caught, trapped. The villain and blackheart.
“Yes?” Taylor prompted, her voice but a whisper.
“Like her cousin or brother.” He hated saying all of this aloud. He wanted to protect Jane then, and now. “She’s smart and witty and perfect… for someone else, that isn’t me.”
He drew a deep breath, feeling awful. He’d disliked breaking the news to Jane eighteen months ago, and didn’t enjoy revisiting the topic now. “I ended it quickly with her. Perhaps that was the most hurtful part. We had a great date the Saturday night before, and she was expecting another great date, but instead over dinner I told her that although I cared for her, it wasn’t going to work. Would it have been easier by text or email or voice mail? Yes. But it wouldn’t have been fair to her. I don’t lead women on. It’s never been my style.”
For a long moment Taylor studied him, her fine arched brows pulled in concentration. “So you could just be friends with me?”
“Absolutely.”
He saw relief in her eyes. And then he ruined it all by adding, “As long as I didn’t physically desire you.”
Her brows shot up. Her shoulders squared. “You wouldn’t desire me.”
“No?”
“No. I’m not your type, and you’re not my type—”
“What is your type?”
She gestured a hand in his general direction. “None of this.”
He should be insulted. Instead he nearly choked on smothered laughter. “Why not?”
“Because we’re total opposites. We’re oil and water. We’re salt and pepper—”
“And yet all those things go so well together.”
She glared at him even as her cheeks glowed pink, a dark luscious pink that made her eyes shine and her lips look positively edible. “We won’t go together. We won’t… click.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“I can feel it.”
And yet her eyes were very bright and that little pulse at the base of her throat was beating wildly. Erratically. She was very aware of him, and very much engaged in the moment. And Taylor might not admit it, might not even know it, but she was as curious about him as he was about her.
And he was very curious about her right now. About her mouth and her taste and her smell…
“Perhaps you’d feel better putting it to the test?” he drawled, smiling inwardly as her eyes sparked and her teeth came down on the bottom lip again. “That way you can rest,” he said, his blood hot in his veins, his body heavy, thick. “Relax,” he added, “reassured that you are right, and that there is… nothing… here.”
Silence followed.
The silence crackled and burned.
She licked the seam of her lips as if her mouth was suddenly too dry.
Just like that, he hardened. At thirty-six Troy Sheenan didn’t walk around with erections, or get spontaneous erections. He wasn’t aroused by merely pretty faces, either. Not anymore. Because he craved more from a woman than lips and
breasts and a firm butt.
He needed more. He needed his mind engaged and his senses engaged. Like they were now.
His pulse drummed harder, faster.
She wondered if there was chemistry.
He’d bet a thousand dollars—no, five thousand dollars—there was serious chemistry here, and she was either too innocent, or too inexperienced to recognize it. But this tension, this heat, this frustrating and yet wonderful anticipation was chemistry.
“Lean forward,” he said.
“What?”
“I’m going to kiss you and see if I feel anything. If I don’t, then I can safely promise you that if you went to the ball with me, it’d just be as platonic friends.”
“But if you do?” she whispered, brows knitting.
“Then I’d probably have a difficult time just viewing you in a platonic light.”
“So we couldn’t go to the ball.”
“Or we could, and we’d both have a lot of fun, knowing that we’re attending a very special event for Marietta, something that might not ever happen again. We’d dine and dance, and sip champagne, and I can promise you that there would be no other woman in the ballroom that I’d rather be with, than you.”
Taylor stared at him and swallowed hard.
Tired of talking, fed up with thinking and waiting, Troy leaned across the table, captured her chin in his hand, and covered her mouth with his.
Chapter Six
‡
His mouth felt firm and cool against hers and yet somehow the pressure of his lips against hers, made her skin burn and her lips tingle.
Hot, electric darts of sensation raced through her, making her ache.
Making her want more.
Her lips parted beneath his and she felt the tip of his tongue on the inside of her lip and she nearly whimpered at the pleasure of it.
He ended the kiss, stroked his thumb across her cheek and then sat back and regarded her from beneath lowered lashes.
“Well?” Taylor whispered, amazed that a kiss could feel so good.
“I think we can be friends.”
Her heart fell. He felt no chemistry with her, and it’s what she wanted. At least, it’s what she told herself she wanted. But hadn’t she also told him the very same thing?
