by Stacy Gail
“Chicago, huh? That’s one of my favorite cities when it comes to architecture.” He stood so close. Close enough to make her skin tingle in anticipation of being touched. Just thinking about it made her head swim. “I can only imagine the culture shock. Did you like it there?”
“It was where I needed to be.” Some shadow moved across his expression, so fast she thought she might have imagined it. “My goal was centered on making the Herald a better paper. I would have gone to the ends of the earth to learn how to do that.”
“Luckily you didn’t have to go that far.” And it was lucky this town had someone so dedicated to their local paper, an institution that didn’t exist in so many other small towns. “I thought there was something about you that screamed big city.”
“I spent most summers in Dallas with my grandparents when I was growing up. Every winter it was either Aspen or Vail, and spring break and vacations usually translated into Miami Beach or the Bahamas.”
“But you always came back.” She looked into his eyes, those deep, cognac-to-pale-gold eyes, and had to consciously stop her hand before she could fan herself like some clichéd Southern belle suffering a bout of the vapors. “Why?”
“Bitterthorn’s my home.” After a lingering moment where his gaze continued to tangle with hers until she could hardly breathe, he moved to the cabinet. When he returned with several disks, she lifted the heavy fall of hair off her neck and fanned a hand at the overheated flesh there. “I told you Texas was hot.”
“It’s not Texas.” Good grief. Did she actually say it out loud?
“It’s not?”
“No.”
He set the disks on a table beside her. The sound seemed loud in the sudden stillness as he moved close enough to brush against her. It could have been an accident, but they both knew it wasn’t. He’d invaded her space and wanted to see what she’d do about it. “Then what is it, Parker? Tell me what’s got you so...hot.”
He knew, the bastard. “I’m hot because...”
Chandler lowered his head and inhaled. Breathing her in. Though he wasn’t touching her, somehow it was the most intimate thing she’d ever experienced.
“Because?”
“I’m hot because of you.” With a rashness that had always gone hand-in-hand with the rest of her mercurial personality, she made her gaze slam into his with the vaguely mad hope that it would melt him just as he melted her. “Satisfied?”
“Nope.” Then he smiled, and the hunger in it was enough to make her breath back up in her throat. “But I’m hoping I will be. Eventually.”
“Damn.” She shuddered, and it made his smile widen. “When it comes to flirting, you don’t take any prisoners, do you?”
“Flirting’s for indecisive suckers who may or may not know what they want.” She was so absorbed in watching his bow-perfect lips form the words, she almost missed his move behind her. That was why she jumped when he took the mass of hair she held off her neck. “I don’t know if it’s right or wrong to say it—and right now I don’t give a damn, either way—but when I look at you, Parker, I know exactly what I want.”
She opened her mouth to say something—she had no idea what—when air danced over her skin. The sensation was so cool and unexpected, goose bumps broke out as he blew on her hot skin. Her pulse skyrocketed while her knees threatened to liquefy. Yet all he was doing was blowing a soft, cool current of air over her too-hot flesh. If he touched her...
Touch me. God, please touch me...
His mouth brushed against the sensitive skin of her exposed nape. In an instant, her ability to speak vanished like it had never been. Somehow that single, feather-soft caress ignited her nerves with invisible fire. Her eyes fluttered closed, an unconscious move to more fully revel in the tactile delight of his touch. The feel of it was so unexpected and sweet she couldn’t stop her breath from catching, and that one sound of unmistakable arousal all but screamed in the room’s stillness. His whispered huff of laughter tickled along her skin even as he let her hair slowly cascade through his fingers.
“What’s the matter, Parker? Too much for you?”
The teasing tone almost buried the challenge in the words, and it was a challenge she couldn’t pass up. With her system still sizzling, she turned to face him, only to be caught by the devouring hunger in his eyes. She’d been fooled by his tone into thinking this was just for fun, but there was nothing playful about how he watched her. He was focused on her with an intensity that had the power to shut out everything in the world but him. She lifted her mouth to his, overwhelmed by that absolute attention, and let herself fall into him.
If she had thought a faint little kiss along her nape could ignite a fire, the erotic friction of his mouth against hers was downright nuclear. Every instinct she possessed told her she wasn’t alone in that sensation; she felt more than heard his breath catch in a disturbance she understood all too well as he pulled her so close their bodies fused from chest to knee. The difference in height and contours thrilled her, unleashing a fluttery excitement to effervesce through her veins. Their combined body heat was so deliriously molten it made the temperature outside seem downright temperate.
A perfect match, an absolute fit. There was no other way to describe Chandler’s mouth on hers. She’d thought she’d understood basic physical perfection in how separate parts could form a whole; she’d seen breathtaking examples of it in architecture, from the stone monuments of the Mayans to the dry-stone walls in West Ireland. Hell, even the weirdness of a glass pyramid in the middle of the frigging Nevada desert had a kind of Bizarro-World rightness to it.
But Chandler’s kiss opened her eyes to a new reality. It was possible to believe, if only for a moment, that two separate pieces were capable of truly becoming one. She didn’t care that they were strangers. Nor did it bother her that she would eventually put Bitterthorn in the rearview mirror, whereas he had roots buried so deeply in this town it called him back, no matter how far away he roamed. Differences were irrelevant. All that mattered was that fate had crossed their paths to give them this delicious gift of rightness. If anything, her wanderer’s existence had taught her to enjoy whatever came her way while it lasted. Relationships, friendships, even places she’d once called home—were like shooting stars to her. If she could find happiness in the time that they were in her life, then she considered herself lucky for having experienced it at all.
Parker wasn’t sure who took the kiss deeper by opening their lips. All she knew was that they were in a freefall of heady bliss, and she ached to push the limits without applying any brakes. Her pulse shook her as his tongue toyed with hers, the fingers he’d threaded through her hair tightening to pull her more fully into the kiss. A euphoric weightlessness drugged her senses as their tongues danced in an act so much like sex, the cleft between her thighs pulsed with a sweetly agonizing heat. A fractured moan whispered from her mouth and into his as the tension in her most intimate place coiled in anticipation of something more. Something greater.
She wanted him. Strangers or not, client or not, she wanted him with an ardent hunger that made everything else fade.
And yet, they were only kissing.
But there had never been a first kiss like this in her life. She doubted there’d been one like this since kissing had been invented. There was no hesitation, no uncertainty. It was straight-up mouth-to-mouth sex without a hint of apology in sight. She didn’t want to apologize for something so pure. If there was such a thing as magical chemistry, she was only too happy to give herself over to it while she had the chance, and be all the more thankful for having found it. She could only hope he felt the same.
His taste lingered on her tongue as they at last broke apart. By degrees she became aware of faint sounds from the street outside, the raggedness of his breathing that matched her own, and that long, invitingly blank worktable behind him. All too well she could pictu
re putting that blank surface to good use. She’d push him back until his ass—an ass she suspected was just as firm as the front of him had felt as she’d plastered her body against his—bucked up against it. She’d coax him to sprawl back on it like a sacrifice waiting for her to do her worst. And what she wanted to do was nothing short of ravishment. She didn’t know what else to call the fierce desire to rip the shirt off his body so she could find out if he looked as solidly built as he’d felt.
Wow. Since when had she become the kind of woman who wanted to rip men out of their clothes?
For his part, Chandler absently touched his mouth, as if trying to hold on to the heat. “I’m not sure, but I think we just won the prize for best first kiss.”
It was ridiculous, how his roughened voice pleased her. “There’s a prize for that?”
“If you don’t feel like you just won something, then I obviously didn’t do it right. Maybe I should try again.” Before he could take a step toward her, someone called his name from the main floor. Shooting the narrow stairs an irritated glance, he ran a hand through the hair her fingers had tousled and bent slightly at the waist, as if in pain. “Damn.”
Her sentiments exactly. “Problem?”
“Ha. I like your smart mouth.”
He had the look of a man who liked more than just her mouth. It was enough to make her heart hammer against her sternum so hard she half-feared he’d hear it. “My smart mouth likes you back. Kind of a rarity for me since I’m on the job, but what the hell. You only live once, right?”
“Right.” His eyes narrowed when his name was called again, but he still refused to move away from her. “You know what they say—fortune favors the brave. That’s how I’ve always lived my life, and I’ve got a feeling you’re the same way.”
“I’m not exactly a shrinking violet.” And when she left Bitterthorn, the last thing she wanted was the regret of not exploring their chemistry while she had the chance. “Besides, what harm can a little kissing do?”
“For starters, I forgot where we were. Makes me think you’re the most dangerous thing to hit Bitterthorn since the Bill Whitley Gang blew through these parts.”
She perked up. “An outlaw gang was here? Did they rob this building? Did they do any structural damage that can be seen today?”
“I give up.” With a shake of his dark head, he headed for the stairs. “If you need anything, Doris or Oliver upstairs will be able to help you.”
* * *
The muted thunder of dump trucks growled all the way from across the town square to where Chandler sat in his booth at Mabel’s Diner. A glance at his watch told him the town’s strict noise ordinance was being well-heeded, which didn’t surprise him in the least. Parker, consummate professional that she was, could no doubt quote the town’s commercial building ordinances backward, so naturally at half past eight in the morning the demolition work on Thorne Mansion swung into action, and not a minute before.
A thrill of satisfaction hit as he dug into his syrup-soaked short stack. Not for the first time he suspected Declan Thorne Senior would have approved of rebuilding the mansion. No matter how much red tape he’d had to cut through, everything he’d endured to make this day happen had been worth the headache. The tenacity he’d inherited from the founders of Bitterthorn would make Thorne Mansion a reality once again.
No matter how satisfied he was, though, it wasn’t enough to drown out the excitement that had him so ramped up it was a challenge just to sit still. With the promise of a new Thorne Mansion rising like a phoenix from the ashes came a woman who knocked him completely on his ass. Despite his best efforts, he couldn’t carry a thought to an end without having Parker tangled up in there somewhere. Here he was on the verge of the Herald’s deadline, a time when he was nitpicky to the point of obsession, yet his brain kept zeroing in on Parker’s kiss. The way she’d fit her mouth to his was like sex itself. Her tongue had explored him as if she’d discovered he was her favorite flavor.
The night before had been the most uncomfortable he’d spent in recent memory. His brain had woven a Parker-filled fantasy that had carried on past the threshold of sleep. He’d awakened from a dream that had him slick with sweat and so hard he’d considered heading over to the Nooner to do exactly what everyone else did at the no-tell motel. Instead he’d gone into the shower and stroked himself until he went off like a goddamn fire hose, and it didn’t surprise him to hear Parker’s name echoing off the tiled walls.
It wasn’t that she was simply something new that had appeared on his all-too familiar horizon, he thought as he drained the last of his coffee. As much as he’d like to think his fascination was borne out of boredom, that wasn’t it. The ferocity of his attraction had no label. It pushed him past all the caution barriers in his head, past the point of where he could remember that getting involved with a worldly woman was about as stupid as juggling flaming torches while pumping gas. He only wished he could keep that in mind. The past had taught him that while he had a weakness for a certain kind of woman, that same weakness clashed with his life in Bitterthorn.
It was also possible he was worried over nothing. Maybe working Parker out of his system while she was here would be the best thing for him. That way he could wave her off with a fond but satisfied smile when it was time, and not have any regrets. And if that pursuit occupied every waking moment that she was here in his corner of the world, then so be it. This time around he’d know going in that it could never last. That should keep him from getting in too deep.
He hoped.
“...Thorne Mansion. Or, as I like to call it, the Thorne Eyesore.”
In the process of reaching for the bill, Chandler sighed when he recognized the voice. Mayor Weems. Naturally. He should have known this day was starting out too nicely.
“It hasn’t been looking its best since it went up like a torch, I’ll grant you.” The age-worn warble that responded could be none other than Monique Corazon, owner of Monique’s Unique Antiques and self-described expert of antiquities. No wonder she got on so well with the mayor. “But in its day it was a sight to behold, don’t you remember?”
“Unfortunately, yes. What I’d like to do is erase it from the town’s memory as if it had never been.”
“Why? When I was a little girl I used to imagine what it would be like to live in such a grand castle. I think everyone who grew up in Bitterthorn at one point imagined their dream home being something like the mansion.”
“Not me,” came the vehement reply. “I’m glad its remains are coming down at long last. By the end of the week, the last physical reminder of an era gone by will finally be wiped away forever, destined to become nothing more than what it is—small-town history that no one cares about.”
Chandler’s eyes narrowed.
“I don’t know about that, Patricia.” Monique’s voiced thinned with confusion. “That’s not how I understood the article that Chandler wrote in the Herald a few weeks back.”
“That’s another thing I’d like to see go,” came the flat reply. “It’s been my personal nightmare having a Thorne as the head of the town’s paper. He always slants things in a bad light to stir up trouble in the community.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, the Herald has improved a thousand times over since Chandler became editor. Ask anyone.”
“I don’t have to ask. I know. The Bitterthorn Herald did just fine without him and those lofty, urbanized ideas he learned up north.”
What. The. Fuck. The thought was so strong his lips silently formed the words.
Monique seemed to agree with him, if her huff of disbelief was any indication. “Have you forgotten, Patricia? The paper wasn’t doing fine. Far from it. It was filing for bankruptcy when Chandler came back home and saved it, when he was barely out of school and had no background when it came to running a business. But he did save the paper, and he did it with style
. This town wouldn’t even have the Herald if it weren’t for all his efforts to keep it alive.”
“There, you see? He waited until it was almost dead before swooping in like a vulture. Just like a Thorne.”
Good God. Someone needed to drop a net over this woman.
“Chandler Thorne can’t do anything right in your eyes.” Monique sounded almost as irked as he felt. He’d have to remember to offer her store a huge discount on ad space for this. “This community would be lost without its weekly paper and you know it.”
“Don’t get me wrong, Monique. I’m all for freedom of the press, and every community needs a newspaper. Just not a newspaper run by Chandler Thorne.”
“Last year, his exposé on the shady dealings at Farmers Bank, the foreclosure on the Xavier property and the arson that brought Thorne Mansion down was great stuff. And the evenhanded way he covered the brouhaha between the school board who voted for a pay raise of administrators but not the teachers actually changed the vote. The town’s teachers are now getting both the money and respect they deserve, and it’s all because of Chandler heading up the Herald.”
“You obviously aren’t reading between the lines, dear. It’s the way he phrases things that consistently undermines my authority.”
“Wait. Since when were we talking about you?”
“It’s always about me,” came the irritable reply.
Briefly Chandler fantasized about vaulting over the divider to throttle Mayor Weems. Too bad throttling people was generally frowned upon.
“If only I could find a way to remove Chandler as the editor-in-chief.” There was a scheming note in the mayor’s voice that made him roll his eyes. “Considering he owns the damn paper it would take a huge consensus of no confidence to make him even consider stepping down. At least I can dream.”
