One Hot Second

by Stacy Gail

  “We’re only a mile or so outside of Bitterthorn, aren’t we?” Parker looked at the two live oaks standing guard over the dirt drive he’d turned into, evidently pleased by the picturesque tableau. “Somehow I thought a ranch would be much farther from town.”

  “We’re visiting a property that used to be a huge spread, but has since been broken up into smaller, more manageable parcels. The ranch house itself was built in the mid—to late-1800s. I think you’ll like it.”

  “What kind of ranch is it now?”

  “That’s what I’m out here to find out.” The long straight drive led to a farmhouse with definite Victorian overtones. It rambled this way and that, thanks to wings that had been added over the years. A velvety green lawn glided under huge oak trees, from which hung a white-cushioned porch swing that almost looked like a bed. A creek flowed out back beyond the house, and there was just a glimpse of a postcard-perfect wooden bridge arching over the water.

  “This place is gorgeous.” The moment the car had come to a stop, Parker was out into the dappled shade, marking each wing of the house with an expert eye. “The additions give this structure an informally gracious, Southern look, don’t you think? And Frank Lloyd Wright would have approved of how well this place blends in with its surroundings, considering all the limestone and oak they must have harvested right in the area to build it.”

  Chandler had to smile at her enthusiasm and again thought of telling her about his own house. If she thought this place had a Frank Lloyd Wright feel to it, she’d hyperventilate if and when she ever saw his place. “I’ve never really thought about it. To me, it’s just always been a really cool house.”

  “Always?” Curiosity glowed in the glance she slanted his way. “Is this your house?”

  “No, but your instincts are good. This property used to belong to my grandfather, so I spent a lot of time here as a kid. Now it belongs to someone else.”

  “Who?”

  “Let’s go and see.” Hauling a camera bag out of the back of the car, he guided Parker up the sturdy porch stairs and grinned at how her gaze bounced everywhere, from the plank-floor porch to the casement windows etched in deep red. It was a hell of a thing, to be turned on by a woman’s intellect. Every damn time he saw her marveling at some little detail he hadn’t even noticed—no doubt cataloguing approximate dates and eras—he had to fight the urge to wrap his arms around her and squeeze until she squeaked. That in itself was weird. He’d never been the spontaneously hugging type of guy. Parker was a different kind of woman—open and funny, and strong enough not to be intimidated by anything he threw her way. There wasn’t a man alive who could resist that combination.

  Maybe it was because everything about her was so temporary that he wanted to hold on to her, he considered as he rang the bell. Even with her standing by his side, it was like some part of her was as substantial as smoke and she’d be gone with the next strong wind. Which was exactly the case. Why the hell did he have to keep reminding himself of that?

  The heavy, carved front door swung open. “Welcome...to Walnut Grove Inn!”

  “Holy crap.” Chandler rolled his eyes at the young woman with ebony pixie-short hair, brown-gold eyes and a maniacal, ear-to-ear grin. “Daisy, that can’t possibly be the name you’ve decided to use for your B and B. Not only are there no walnut groves within a hundred miles of this place, that title’s already taken.”

  “B and B?” Beside him, Parker looked from one to the other. “When I looked into places to stay, there was no listing for a bed and breakfast.”

  “That’s probably because we’re not open yet. Daisy Pomerantz, Chandler’s cousin and constant pain in the neck,” the perky owner greeted as she ushered them into the large foyer dominated by a welcoming rock fireplace, now filled for the summer with emerald green ferns. “You’re Parker Radclyffe, right? Thank you so much for coming to our little heaven on earth to restore our ancestor’s home. I know it sounds nuts, but I feel like something’s been missing in my heart since the mansion went poof.”

  “If there’s anyone who would understand that, it’s Parker.” Before he knew he was going to do it, Chandler rested a hand on Parker’s shoulder and let it linger until her gaze shifted to lock with his. “Daisy has high hopes for turning the old homestead into the first B and B Bitterthorn has seen in fifty years. If anyone can do it, she can. I think my cousin was born with an extra battery pack.”

  “And you’re here to help me get the word out that we’re nearing completion,” Daisy announced, jamming her hands on her narrow hips. “Which do you want to do first, take pictures of the renovations we’re making, or interview me to show the world how awesome I am?”

  “Renovations.” Parker held up a hand, her eyes widening. “Please tell me you haven’t gutted this magnificent place by putting in hot tubs and track lighting.”

  “The hot tub’s out back on the far end of the deck overlooking the creek, and all the light fixtures are pretty much the wagon-wheel variety that have been there since I was a kid. By law, we did have to have the whole place rewired and upgraded to today’s code, as well as installing Wi-Fi and cable for all the rooms, but that’s it. I’ve got to admit, it’s nice knowing the place isn’t going to burn down to the ground due to outdated wiring.” Clearly not sure whether to be amused or defensive, Daisy looked to Chandler. “A real stickler, isn’t she?”

  “I wouldn’t have her any other way.” He smiled when Parker shot him a pleased look, and wondered just when she’d be ready for him to have her, period. “I’d like to get your interview going, Daisy. But I can’t do that until I know what you’re going to call this place. Why don’t you just use the old ranch’s name?”

  “Are you kidding? The Flying P Inn? Honestly, I have no idea what possessed Grandpa to call this place something that sounds like airborne urine.”

  He sighed. “You can’t use Walnut Grove.”

  “Relax, I was just trying it on for size. What about Crabapple Farm Inn?”

  “Didn’t Trixie Belden live there?” Parker asked.

  “Honeydukes?”

  “You mean like the Hogsmeade sweet shop just outside of Hogwarts?”

  “Noble House, then.”

  “Ah, a James Clavell classic. Great book, by the way.”

  Daisy crossed her arms, disgruntled. “You certainly are well-read.”

  “So are you, obviously, but I think Chandler might be right on this one. You’re probably better off coming up with a name that’s uniquely suited to this property.”

  “Ugh, I’m drawing a blank. How about the paper just runs a pictorial montage of how the inn is shaping up, and we can have a contest on what its name should be?” Daisy looked to her cousin before an ominous clang crashed somewhere deep in the house. “Holy cats, that sounded wrong. I’d better go before my spiffy new stove winds up looking like a scratch-and-dent floor model. Think about it, okay?”

  “Name notwithstanding, if energy and enthusiasm can make this inn a success, it’s in the bag.” Chandler took the camera out of its case and glanced at Parker. “Wanna be my model?”

  “That doesn’t make loads of sense, since I don’t have anything to do with the place.”

  “So?” He drew her to the fern-filled fireplace, over which hung a large oil portrait, and pressed the camera’s button before she was ready for it. Definitely a keeper. “What I should do is interview you. I’m sure I’d get more out of that than Daisy’s usual flight of ideas.”

  “She loves what she’s doing. Flights of ideas are part of the package.” Instead of being a cooperative photo subject, Parker looked up at the painting. “You know, I’ve seen lots of portraits like this on the other side of the pond, but I never expected to find one in Texas. With that sash running across his uniform, a red robe pooled around him and greyhounds at his feet, this guy looks like European royalty.”


  “He was. That’s Maximilian I, the first and only European emperor of Mexico and former archduke of Austria. He was supposed to have slept near here when he was making his way down to Mexico near the end of the Civil War. There’s another portrait of him and his cousin Leopold, who acted as Maximilian’s translator, but obviously Daisy didn’t think that one was regal enough to put front and center.”

  “So I guess this is Texas’s version of ‘George Washington slept here’?”

  “I suppose so, though it sounds lame when you put it like that. Whatever you do, don’t bring this painting up in Daisy’s presence,” he added, grimacing. “That’ll just inspire her to find a way to prove old Max actually did stay here before he was executed in 1867. I don’t even know if this place was around in 1867.”

  “My lips are sealed.” She turned her attention back to him at the sound of the camera’s shutter. “Taking pictures of me isn’t going to help your B and B article.”

  “I know.”

  She laughed in obvious confusion. “You know? Then why are you doing it?”

  “Because you’re the only thing I can focus on.” In fact, he couldn’t take his eyes off her as he set the camera on a nearby table and closed the distance between them. Only when his lips found hers did he allow his eyes to close, immersed in the driven need to savor her.

  Chapter Six

  It was overwhelming, the feverish desire Chandler’s kiss ignited. Parker’s head swam with it as she reveled in the bold thrust of his tongue and hungry pressure of his mouth. Fire swept her skin to tighten her nipples as they pressed against the solid wall of his chest, before the heat concentrated at a pulse point between her legs. A shiver shook her to the core, and her headlong reaction awed her as much as the sensation itself. When had a mere kiss propelled her into a state of eager readiness? It was mind-boggling, how her body went from zero to sixty whenever Chandler touched her. He made her so hot, so needy. It was all she could do to keep up with the reality of how much she craved him, a man she’d known only a handful of days.

  Time didn’t matter. Not when a kiss turned her into a nymphomaniac. All she could do was enjoy the ride.

  Her eyes had closed to better enjoy the tactile sensations; the nerve-tingling warmth radiating from his body, the silk-covered steel of his lips, the velvet caress of his tongue. As she’d told him earlier, she had never been a shrinking violent—far from it. Life was a transitory thing, and when an opportunity packed with so much promise came along she knew to grab on to it with both hands. But there was something subtly different when it came to kissing Chandler. It wasn’t just a kiss. It was possession. A demand for all things feminine in her to mesh with all things masculine in him, and love every minute of it. It was a claiming, and a need to be claimed.

  No, this was nothing simple. At all.

  Every nerve in her body lit up like an overburdened electrical grid, threatening to blow her mental circuits. When she’d been riding beside him in the car, it had taken most of her strength to keep from reaching out to touch him. The craving of physical contact had been so strong it had become a hollow yearning deep in her chest. Now that she was in his arms, she had every intention of staying there until that empty ache was filled.

  Her palms cupped the curve of his shoulder blades to compel him closer. As she did so, she rubbed her breasts against him like a cat, until she knew the contours of his torso as well as she knew her own. A deep rumble of approval purred out of him, and he angled his mouth harder over hers. A thrill zipped through her as he threaded one hand through her hair while the other slid along the indentation of her spine to palm her bum. He lifted her up to rub against the hardening proof of his desire, and the delight that she wasn’t alone in her arousal stole her breath. Her hips curled into his in unmistakable invitation, and she tangled her tongue with his in an action that was like sex itself.

  Without warning he turned until he had her up against the wall by the fireplace. A new level of urgency tightened her muscles until she thought she was vibrating with it, the wet heat between her legs growing to the point where she could no longer hold back a low moan of need. She could sense the wire-taut tension in him as he thrust a thigh between hers, and she parted them without giving it a thought. What was there to think about? She wanted him inside her. Every part of her hungered for his sensual attention, and she almost laughed out of sheer euphoria when he pinned one of her hands over her head while his mouth slid to her neck.

  “I love those hot little noises you make.” He whispered the words against her skin before sampling her taste beneath her ear with a languorous, openmouthed kiss. “Do it again.”

  “Make me.” She could only hope the man enjoyed a good challenge.

  Apparently he did. A growl escaped him as he anchored his knee against the wall at her back and hiked her up until she was semi-straddling him. With one hand still clamped to her backside he rocked her against him, and the friction between his leg and the juncture of her thighs grew white-hot. Her breath caught as lush pleasure bloomed at that place of contact, the muscles in her lower abdomen quivering with each delicious move. Another helpless sound left her as she chased the elusive sensation, pulsing her hips in time with him while she greedily recaptured his mouth. The tension deep inside twisted deeper, flirting with a mindless place in which she wanted to be lost, and the sweet ache in her cleft could only be satiated if he filled her—

  Another clang sounded, this time so violent it shook the wall at her back, and it was enough to bring Parker back to reality with an equally galvanic crash.

  “Uh-oh... Chandler! Hey Chandler, get in here and bring your camera, okay? I think we’re gonna need to document this for insurance purposes.”

  “Fuck.” His breathing was as harsh as her own, and he rested his brow against hers as if he didn’t have the strength to let go of her. “Just...fuck.”

  “At the risk of making things worse, I have to say I’d love to.” The desire had a life of its own, raging like a wild thing to be let out. It was so intense that for a moment a flash of genuine alarm hit at the thought that she might not be able to get it all out of her system by the time she had to leave. Then she pushed the irrational fear away. Nothing lasted forever—not her time here, and certainly not desire. “Unfortunately I think you’ve got other problems to handle at the moment.”

  “If I’d known Daisy was going to live up to her claim of being my personal pain in the neck, I would have gotten us out of here sooner,” he muttered half-humorously, then groaned when his cousin hollered for him again. “God, I’m going to have to carry the damn camera case over my crotch just to hide how hard you’ve made me. Think anyone will notice?”

  Despite the edgy need still prowling inside, Parker couldn’t help but laugh as at last he stepped away to retrieve the camera and its case. “Try thinking unsexy thoughts.”

  “At this point, more drastic measures are necessary.” With a careful breath he glanced her way, and a predatory look narrowed his eyes. “We’ll pick this up later.” It wasn’t a question.

  For some reason she couldn’t fathom, her throat snapped shut, making talking and breathing a near-impossibility. She could only nod, and it wasn’t until he disappeared down a hallway that she was able to force oxygen back into her lungs.

  * * *

  All in all, sitting outside the Nooner for every damn busybody in Bitterthorn to see was not Chandler’s idea of fun.

  “Shit.” He glanced again at the time on his smartphone before he opened a text window. A second later he closed it, irritated with himself. He’d already texted Parker three times and left a voicemail, all of which basically said the same thing.

  Where are you?

  Considering their business relationship, it was hard to believe she was ignoring him. But then, like an idiot he’d dived headfirst into screwing that up with making it personal, so the scenario
of Parker ignoring him made an unfortunate amount of sense. Maybe she was pissed about that. Or, maybe she was pissed he hadn’t followed up on the promise to finish what they’d started the day before. In all honesty, though, that response struck him as out of character. Parker didn’t seem that high-maintenance. If she was, he might have to try and talk himself out of wanting her so damn much.

  The hell of it was, he would have been more than happy to get back to where they were before Daisy interrupted, but fate had had other ideas. The server at the paper had decided to pick twenty-four hours before deadline to play dead. It had taken several calls and more than a few swear words before he was able to get things back online, and by then it was press time. It was two in the morning before he could officially call it a day, and there was no way he was going to make matters worse by calling her in the middle of the night.

  The result—he probably looked like an insensitive douche who kept a woman hanging just to show her who was boss.

  The thought made him grimace. When he’d been a stupid kid who thought being a man was all about how much he could swagger, power plays like that might have been used every now and again. But playing around with Parker like that never even crossed his mind. For one thing, he didn’t have time to fuck around. For another, he wasn’t that swaggering kid anymore, and he had no need to prove who was in the driver’s seat. Their chemistry was what was in charge, and it was so hot it made the current heat wave seem mild in comparison.

  No, scheming to get Parker into bed didn’t top the list of his personal priorities. What he needed to do was find a way to make time slow down. A week had already vanished in a blink of an eye, and while progress had been made on Thorne Mansion, he felt that he and Parker hadn’t even gotten out of the gate.