Something to Prove

by Kimberly Lang

  “Well, they did pay for it. But it’s not like I regret getting it, mind you. I had a very good time in college.”

  “If that’s true, then why’d you come back here?”

  The answer to that question had always seemed so obvious, but then, Helena had never been the one asking. “My family and friends are here,” he tried by way of explanation, then decided it sounded weak. “And I couldn’t think of anywhere I might like better.” Since that answer was also rather lame, he turned the tables. “Why didn’t you come back?”

  “Because I could think of a hundred places I might like better.”

  “Like Atlanta?”

  “That was one possible place. Mainly I wanted a city where I had options and there was always something exciting going on.”

  “You kept things pretty exciting around here.”

  “Let’s not go there. I’m still within arm’s reach of my knitting needles,” she teased. “I just didn’t want to be bored, because yes, boredom is a proven breeding ground for Hell-on-Wheels-style shenanigans,” she conceded sarcastically. “But then I discovered the joy of anonymity, and that was the best thing ever.”

  “That was actually one of the things I didn’t like about Auburn.”

  “You like being a big fish in a little pond, huh?”

  She made it sound bad, somehow, and it put him on the defensive. “It doesn’t suck, you know.”

  “That depends on the fish.”

  She’d said it matter-of-factly, but it landed hard, making him realize he’d never really given it much thought. “Helena—”

  “Sorry,” she interrupted with a shrug. “I didn’t mean for that to sound so judgmental. I think it’s great you have that big family and are so happy here in Magnolia Beach. Being happy is what’s important.”

  This evening had gotten odd, shaking his willingness to follow the original game plan. And while he’d made his name as both a quarterback and coach by being able to read the other team quickly and adjust accordingly, he was, unfortunately, without an alternate plan. Still, he had to try something or else abort entirely.

  But with the door now hanging, he was, for all intents and purposes, finished with his work here. He started cleaning up. Carefully casual, he said, “Well, that’s the last of it. I’m done.”

  “Seriously?” Helena looked around. “I guess you are. I can’t thank you enough.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  “I’ll get my checkbook.” She stopped to test the door on her way into the kitchen. “That’s nice. Grannie will like it.”

  He debated with himself as he picked up his tools, but a second later he heard Helena ask, “How about a beer? I think we should celebrate.”

  Well, that made things easier. “Sounds great.”

  Two hours and he didn’t know how many beers later, he and Helena were sitting on the rug in the living room. She had her hand pressed against her side, fighting a stitch from laughing so hard, as he told her about the time Eli and his dumbass friends decided to streak through the ribbon ceremony of the county fair—something that happened five years after she left town.

  “So then Eli trips and ends up sprawled on the ground in front of the stage, wearing nothing but the Batman mask Mom made him in sixth grade. His friends, of course, just left him there, and as he tried to get up, he got tangled in the bunting hanging off the stage and sprawled flat again.”

  Helena seemed to be fighting for breath. “Oh my God, that’s priceless.”

  “No,” he corrected, “the priceless part was watching Mom walk over there, seemingly as cool as could be, and placing the quilt she’d just won second prize for across his genitals before walking away.”

  Helena howled and nearly fell over. Righting herself, she wiped at her eyes. “See, Grannie never tells me the good stuff.”

  “I doubt Ms. Louise found it amusing, as she was onstage getting her blue ribbon for her jam at the time. It kind of stole her thunder.”

  Helena snorted as she pushed to her feet. “Another?” At his nod, she headed for the kitchen, and he followed.

  She was still chuckling as she opened the fridge. “Public nudity. That’s not even on my long list of sins.”

  “Pity.”

  Helena’s jaw dropped as she turned to look at him.

  “Hey, you could have made a lot of teenage boys really happy.”

  “I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that,” she said primly.

  “Why? You may have had half the county boys scared to death of you, but it wasn’t because of your looks. You, unknowingly of course, were the star of many a fantasy of the senior class. Juniors and sophomores, too. Hell, probably even a few freshmen.”

  She leaned against the counter and crossed her arms over her chest. “You’re kidding me.”

  “Why would I? You were gorgeous even then.”

  “Including you?”

  “Including me.” He’d said it without thinking, but Helena was now looking at him funny, and he regretted the confession. Ah, hell. At the same time, wasn’t this kind of his plan?

  A small smile pulled at the corner of her mouth. “You thought I was gorgeous?”

  “You don’t need to fish for compliments. You know you were. Still are.”

  There was a long, heavy moment as the whole mood shifted and the air turned thick and hot. “Careful there,” she warned.

  She’d started it, so he didn’t see the need. And while her tone had been casual, the pulse point in her neck was fluttering, and her chest was flushing pink. That might not have been his best, most suave move, but she was thinking about it now, and that was what counted. “Why? It’s true.”

  There was a long, disconcerting silence as Helena studied him, and it kept him in place, waiting for her to decide.

  The deep breath she took stuttered in her chest, and she licked her lips, sending a bolt of heat through his blood as it rushed south so fast, he felt light-headed.

  Then she smiled at him.

  That smile was a match dropped on gasoline.

  Helena took a step forward, closing the space between them. Her mouth was under his, an almost gentle kiss that clashed with the fire racing through him. Then she sighed against him, twining her arms around his neck and pulling his head down to hers, and the kiss went from gentle to hungry in a heartbeat.

  There was a disconnected moment as his brain rushed to catch up, trying to make sense of Helena, here, in his arms, kissing him. As her lips moved to his throat, though, brain and body clicked, narrowing his focus to this, now. A tug on her hair brought her mouth back up to his, and her knees buckled under the onslaught.

  He let her anchor against his arm while his other hand traced the flare of her hip and curved around the indentation of her waist. Her rib cage heaved under his fingers, and her head fell back with a sigh as he traced the curve of her breast and palmed her through the thin cotton.

  “Ryan . . .”

  The sound of his name, breathy and broken, on her lips caused his pulse and temperature to spike.

  Good Lord, he wanted to take her here and now, up against the refrigerator, and the slide of Helena’s hands down his back, up under the hem of his shirt and around to play across his chest wasn’t exactly helping him gain control. With a groan, he hauled her up, wrapping her legs around his waist, and pressed her against the cold metal door.

  Helena gasped and arched against him, her nails digging sharply into his skin.

  There was no way he was going to make it up the stairs to her bedroom. He dug his fingers into her hips to steady her, then covered the short distance to the kitchen table, setting her on the edge.

  Helena fisted a hand around the neck of his T-shirt, pulling him down on top of her as she lay back. The table, built of solid pine with sturdy legs, held steady, accepting their weight with only a tiny creak.

/>   Her dress rucked up nearly to her waist, giving him full access to those lean thighs that squeezed around him with surprising strength. Slowly, savoring each inch of skin, he slid the dress the rest of the way up and over her head, leaving her only in two pieces of silk before leaning down to kiss her again. He felt her hands on the hem of his shirt, pulling it up, until he had to break the kiss to remove it. She locked her ankles behind his back and trailed her hands over his chest and arms.

  Trapped between her thighs, he balanced on his elbows to look at her. Eyes closed, hair rioting around her head, lips swollen from his kisses . . . “God, you’re beautiful.”

  He hadn’t really meant to say it aloud, but when her eyes opened and she trailed her hand across his jaw, he was glad he did. The sexy, appreciative smile nearly did him in. She grabbed his belt buckle and tugged. “Come here.”

  He held back, shifting his weight to one arm and tracing the smooth swell of skin above the edge of her bra with his fingertips. Cupping her through the silky fabric, he retraced his path with his tongue, feeling her nipple pebble against his palm. He flicked his thumb across it, causing her to gasp in pleasure.

  Helena writhed under his mouth as he eased down her torso, and gooseflesh spread across her body. The whimpers timed perfectly with the skin and muscles jumping under the touch of his tongue. He wanted to explore, take his time, but he was too on edge and those sexy sounds were priming the pump, leaving him feeling like a teenage boy who’d never touched a woman before.

  He licked a trail along the edge of her panties to her hip, then pressed his tongue against her center through the already damp fabric.

  Helena cursed and bucked and grasped for purchase on the tabletop. When that failed, she sat up, grabbed his jaw, and pulled him to his feet. Hot kisses branded his chest as she worked his belt and zipper, and then it was his turn to cuss as she palmed him.

  He stilled her hand with one of his own, fighting for a single ounce of self-control. It nearly killed him.

  He put a finger under her chin and tilted it up. The desire in her eyes nearly sent him to his knees. Slowly. Slowly. “If you continue like that, this will be over before you know it.”

  “I think I can keep up.” She pulled his forehead down to hers. Her eyes met his as her hand started to move again. “Next time. We’ll go slow next time.”

  That was all the permission he needed. As he pushed Helena back flat on the table, everything became a blur of hands and lips and skin. She wasn’t shy, and between her eager participation and moans of approval, Ryan was shaking with need as he steadied her hips and pressed inside.

  Her breath hissed out, and her eyes met his evenly as she locked her legs around his waist to hold him in place. He leaned forward for another kiss and slid the last inch, his groan mingling with Helena’s sigh as their hips met. Twining his fingers through hers, he began to move, watching the pleasure play across Helena’s face until her eyes rolled back in her head and she nearly arched completely off the table with a keening wail.

  The world went fuzzy around the edges as he exploded, and he collapsed atop her, sweating and heaving. When he was able to think again, he became aware of Helena’s fingers tickling softly down his spine.

  Pants around his ankles, naked ass in the air, sprawled on Ms. Louise’s kitchen table . . . He probably looked ridiculous, but, damn, he didn’t care.

  He wasn’t sure where he found the energy, but he managed to lift his head a few inches. Helena was flushed and mussed, her hair damp around her temples, and her face was rubbed slightly red from his five o’clock shadow. But she had a smile on her face. A damn satisfied one, he noted with a touch of male pride.

  “Not that I’m complaining,” she said, “but can we move upstairs now?”

  Half a second ago, he’d felt half-dead and would have claimed he’d never be able to move from this spot. But that smile . . . Well, it felt like pure adrenaline shooting straight into his veins.

  “Grab the wine.”

  * * *

  Helena no longer had control of her major muscle groups. She was precariously hanging half off the mattress, her right arm and leg brushing the floor, but she couldn’t seem to actually move anything in order to change the situation. She was a noodle. A sated, sweaty noodle.

  Fortunately, Ryan reached for her and slid her back onto the bed, spooning her against his front. Where he found the strength, she had no idea. He’d done everything short of turn her inside out in his efforts over the course of the evening. She knew from his work on the house that he was a thorough, inventive, patient perfectionist, and she was currently grateful—ever so grateful—for those traits.

  For the first time in, well, ages, Helena felt like her head was clear and the tension she’d gotten so accustomed to carrying was actually gone. It seemed the phrase “Sometimes you just need to get laid” might actually hold some merit.

  But that didn’t make this less crazy. It was one thing to toy with the idea, maybe even ponder it deeply, but actually sleeping with Ryan was just short of insane. And it wasn’t like she could blame it on the beer; she’d had enough to give her a buzz and relax her, but not enough to obliterate her higher-thinking skills.

  The simple fact was that she’d wanted Ryan, wanted this, and she’d made the choice.

  But now what?

  Ryan, it seemed, was a postcoital snuggler, and it almost felt too intimate—which was absurd, considering what they’d just done with and to each other. She was definitely okay with the sex; the snuggling, though, she wasn’t quite sure about. She groaned as she pushed up to a sitting position and moved her hair out of her face. It felt like one giant tangle, and she didn’t even want to imagine what it might look like.

  Ryan rolled to his back and draped his forearm over his eyes. “Honey, I’m done. I don’t think I could get it up again if my life depended on it.”

  He’d said something similar an hour ago and ended up recanting the statement. Ryan must have remembered that as well, because he lifted his arm far enough for her to see one eyeball. “And this time I mean it. You may have killed me.”

  “Actually, I’m going to get some water. If I can get my legs to work, that is.”

  “Good luck with that. I may not move until next week sometime.”

  “And exactly how would I explain your campout in my bed to the good people of Magnolia Beach?” she teased.

  “Maybe they won’t notice I’m missing.” There was a tiny note of hope in his voice.

  She shot it down gleefully. “Fat chance.”

  “I can dream, can’t I?”

  “You can’t set yourself up as the big fish in the little pond, Mayor Tanner, and then complain about it.”

  “Watch me, Hell-on-Wheels.”

  The nickname didn’t bother her this time, and since she’d kind of started it by calling him “Mayor Tanner,” she just snorted as she slid carefully to the edge of the bed and tested her legs. They were wobbly but working. Her quads, though, launched a major complaint as she went down the stairs.

  She drank the first glass of water as if she’d been in the desert for a week. Her initial thirst sated, she sipped at her second glass and stared out the window. Magnolia Beach was small enough not to cause much light pollution, so the stars were visible—unlike the view of the sky from her apartment in Atlanta. In a way, seeing the stars made her feel disconnected and small. Unimportant. She had a small circle of friends in Atlanta, but a certain amount of disconnect was important and expected in a city that size. Otherwise, it was too easy to get overwhelmed with it all.

  Here, she knew almost everyone over the age of thirty—their families, their histories, their biggest hits, and their most embarrassing moments—but she wasn’t really a part of any of it anymore.

  Anonymity could be great. But feeling small in a small town wasn’t fun.

  And it drove home the fact she real
ly didn’t belong here, making her wonder if her rush to jump into the sack with Ryan had been born just as much from a need to connect with someone—anyone—as from physical attraction.

  But that didn’t make sense, either, because, if so, she would have been more receptive to Tate’s advances.

  Tate.

  Damn it, what was she going to do about Tate? If this hit the grapevine, her rejection of his advances might look like she was holding out for Ryan. That would just add insult to injury.

  Oh yeah. This was complete insanity.

  And now she needed to get Ryan out of here before she became grist for the rumor mill again.

  She filled a second glass of water for Ryan and made the slow, painful trek back up the stairs to her bedroom.

  The little shepherdess lamp on her nightstand, long ago defaced with a marker to give her a more acceptable gothlike appearance, cast just enough light to be flattering. And it certainly flattered Ryan, giving his tanned skin a nice glow and creating defining shadows around the musculature of his chest and arms.

  Goodness, he was just pretty. She might make bad choices, but she had damn good taste in whom to make them with.

  He was staring with a frown at the Wolverine poster that hung on her wall opposite the bed. “I find it disconcerting that Hugh Jackman just watched me have sex. It’s like he’s judging me or something.”

  She snickered. “Maybe he was. You get high marks, though.”

  “Thanks. But still . . .” He took the glass she offered and drank deeply.

  “So I had a Hugh Jackman crush. He was really hot in 2001.” She looked around. “This room is a little bit like a time capsule, though, isn’t it?”

  “You should redecorate.”

  “In all that spare time I have?” She grabbed her robe and pulled it on, suddenly modest now that they were just talking. “I guess I could at least pull down the posters and put away some of the junk. You don’t know how creepy it was to come home and find my room almost exactly as I’d left it.”

  “That’s creepy, but not as creepy as an adult man having sex in a room that looks like it belongs to a teenager. I almost feel dirty.”