by Candis Terry
He shrugged. “Long story. Can I please come in?”
When his gaze slipped down the front of her tank top again, she folded her arms. No need to give the man a free show. “Fine.” She stepped aside and he walked in. Oscar arched his back and hissed.
“See,” Dean said. “He hates me.”
“He just doesn’t understand the fine art of playing with an egg-shaped ball for a living. He prefers yarn.”
Dean’s head whipped up and a huge grin curved his sensuous lips. “See what happens when I leave you alone for a few days? You become a total smartass.”
She shrugged. “I could be worse things.”
“I’d pay money to see that.”
She sighed. Looked away. Anywhere other than at him and those gorgeous eyes, that slightly dimpled chin, and those big shoulders and broad chest. He overwhelmed the place with his over-the-top masculinity. And he made her want to peel off his clothes, push him down to the floor, and have her way with him. “And why was it that you wanted to come in?”
“I told you the other night that I wanted to talk to you about the charity. You didn’t give me the chance.”
“You started off the conversation by kissing me against my will.”
“You didn’t seem to mind it so much at the time.”
“You weren’t paying attention.”
“On the contrary.” Another smile deepened the dimple in his chin. “I was paying very close attention.”
“Does everything you say have to be filled with sexual innuendoes?”
“Why, Emma, I was referring to the Packers hat you were wearing. Which is why I yanked it off your head. If you ask me, you caused my team to lose.”
“I had nothing to do with that. Maybe you should talk to that over-inflated-ego-driven backup QB.”
He liked the way she thought. Giving the second-stringer a piece of his mind was exactly what he had planned. “I’ll do that, just as soon as I get to training camp.”
He tossed his coat on the chair and pointed a finger at Oscar. “No drooling on the sleeve this time, cat.” Then he sat down on her sofa, leaned back, and folded his hands behind his head like he owned the place. “So how was your date?”
She sat on the far end of the sofa and tucked Oscar up onto her lap for protection. “I’m not discussing my social life with you, Dean.”
“Why not?”
“Because it’s none of your business.”
“Of course it is. I care about all of the Letty Silverthorne Sunshine Camp’s board of directors.”
“The what?”
He reached out and took her hand. For a few silent moments he inspected her fingers as if searching for the secret of life. Then he looked up at her and all the tease had disappeared from his eyes. “That’s what I wanted to talk to you about the other night, Em. I’m putting together the organization’s board of directors and I’d like you to be a member.”
“Me?” She pointed to herself and Oscar jumped from her lap. “Why?”
“Because this organization is important. And because I want to know it will always be given the amount of respect and consideration it deserves. I want every action to be reviewed by the people I trust the most. My dad, my sisters . . . and you.”
Emma couldn’t have been more surprised. Or more honored. “But, you’ve only known me for a short time.”
“Honey . . .” He gave her hand a little squeeze. “I know you better than most people. I know you like to be kissed right here.” He gently touched the curve of her neck. “I know you have a tiny little mole at the top of your right thigh. I know—”
“Okay!” She moved away from him and those talented hands, even though she wanted to feel them roam all over her body again. “I get it. You think you know me.”
“Regardless of what people choose to think of me, Emma, I’m a pretty good judge of character. There isn’t a doubt in my mind that you’re the right person to sit beside my father and sisters on the decision-making for this organization.”
“That’s quite a leap of faith.”
“Someone once told me you’ve got to keep an open mind.”
“Smart person.”
“Yeah. She was. Just like you.”
Emma thought about his proposition while he sat next to her and tempted her with his amazing scent and blatant masculinity. While he teased her with that smile that said he could do all those wonderful things she’d dreamed about since she’d last been in his bed.
She bit her lower lip. Concentration was really, really hard when you had that much of a sensory overload.
“Tell you what,” he said in a smooth, low tone. “You sign on for the inaugural year and after that, if you’re dissatisfied, you walk away.”
The word dissatisfied and anything to do with Dean Silverthorne did not belong in the same thought.
“Okay.”
His dark brows lifted. “Okay?”
“I’ll do it on two conditions.”
“Which are?”
“No touching.” Her index finger popped up. “No kissing.” Her middle finger joined the pop-up party.
He chuckled. “I don’t know where your head is at, Emma, but I came over here to strictly talk business. You’ve made it clear you’re dating Jesse and I have to respect that.”
“You do?”
“I swear I will keep my hands to myself. If there’s going to be any hanky-panky, you’ll have to be the one to initiate it.” He stood and extended his hand. “Deal?”
She nodded and placed her hand in his. He used that leverage to pull her into his arms for a hug.
Great. Two minutes into the deal and he’d already broken her first rule.
CHAPTER TWELVE
While heavy snow fell from the late-afternoon sky, Dean stood inside one of the guest cabins with Amylynn Swain, a transplant from the great state of Alabama. She was also the decorator he’d hired to add a few of his own personal touches to the lodge house and to completely overhaul the guest cabins. Her southern-accent-flavored comments made him wonder how much all this would cost him.
Amylynn was a pro and she didn’t come cheap.
With hair the color of maple honey and deep brown eyes, she was also beautiful. But any stirrings in his system were surprisingly only those for the transformation of the seldom used guest cabins into giant playhouses for kids like Brenden Jones.
“So, were y’all thinking of keeping at least one of the cabins available for non-camp guests? The two-bedroom we just left has the potential to be perfect for high-profile visitors.”
“I don’t plan to have many personal guests. The ones who do visit I thought could just stay in the main house.”
“If you don’t mind me throwin’ a little suggestion your way . . . Deer Lick is the perfect place for summertime fundraisers. You have fishing and hiking, mountain-biking, and even the golf course available for a celebrity tournament. All right at your fingertips. The Cottage Motel isn’t much to look at or stay in, so you might want to consider having the capability of converting your cabins into private getaways for your rich and famous friends. All you have to do is keep the furnishings in storage until you need them. Everything could be transformed in less than two days.”
Dean smiled. “That’s a great idea.”
“Why, thank you.” She flashed him a big toothy grin and gave a little jerk of her head. He’d recognize that pep squad gesture anywhere. If he guessed right, his decorator had once been a cheerleader for the Crimson Tide.
“Now.” She rubbed her manicured hands together. “Shall we head on up to the big house? I’ve been dying to see it.”
“After you.” Dean swung his arm toward the door.
After slogging back through the snow, they entered the house from the French doors off the back deck that led into the English country kitchen.
“Oh, my. A double oven. An island with both a chopping block and marble area for baking tasks.” Amylynn batted her lashes. “Every woman’s dream.”
What
? They didn’t dream about doing it on top of all that marble? “I’m pretty good with a grill, but that’s about it.” He gave her the same nickel tour he’d given Kelly, then led her upstairs to the master bedroom. “This is the room I’m interested in changing,” he said.
“It’s huge.” Amylynn crossed the room toward the river rock fireplace in the center of the far wall. She smoothed her hand across the pine mantle, then she strolled to the double set of French doors and looked out over the snow-covered deck and the lake beyond. “And it’s not being used to its fullest extent.”
“Right. I was thinking of furniture a little less cheesy,” he said, referring to the pine-log bed and dressers, “The style works okay with the house, but it’s definitely not me. And I want the biggest bed available.”
Amylynn lifted a nicely arched brow as if she wondered what he had planned. She sat on the mattress with a little bounce on the moose-and-bear-motif quilt. “No wonder. This is only a queen size. You’re definitely more in the . . .” Her gaze scanned him from head to toe. “King-sized category.” Then she lay back, spreading her arms out like a snow angel. “But it is comfortable.”
She lifted her head. “Does this level of bounce work for you?”
“I’m sorry, am I interrupting something?”
Dean turned at the sound of Emma’s voice. She stood in the doorway, one hand on the frame, the other raised to the blue knit scarf draped around her neck.
“I knocked but no one answered,” she said with a rushed apology.
Censure darkened her eyes. Go ahead, honey, think the worst of me. “Come on in, Emma. Amylynn and I were just talking business.”
He could almost hear Emma’s lips form the words, I’ll bet.
She took two hesitant steps into the room. Her eyes darted from him to the bed where the decorator had risen from the mattress and now stood with her professional edge back in place.
“I got your message to meet you here,” Emma said.
He went to her, placed his hand on the small of her back, and guided her toward Amylynn.
“Emma, this is Amylynn Swain from Big Mountain Decorating. I’ve hired her to refurbish the guest cabins and the master bedroom.”
Emma walked forward. The two women shook hands and exchanged awkward pleasantries. Then Emma turned to him and stuck her hands in the pockets of her cream-colored coat. “Why did you want me to meet you here?”
He stepped behind her, eased the coat from her shoulders, and tossed it on his bed. Great excuse to lure her up here later. Just in case she changed her mind about the no touching or no kissing stuff.
“How about we all go down to the kitchen and have some coffee while Amylynn fills you in on the details.”
“Why does she need to fill me in on any details?” Emma asked him as he escorted her down the staircase.
“Because you’re on the board of directors, honey. I need your approval.”
“What about your dad and sisters?”
He guided everyone into the kitchen. “They’ll get a vote later.”
While they all sat at the huge kitchen table, sipping coffee and exchanging ideas, Dean watched enthusiasm light up Emma’s face. Before he knew it, she had made suggestions of adding more yet still cutting costs. When she learned of the celebrity golf tournament fundraiser, she jumped into the brainstorming with ideas of a barn dance, a fishing tournament, and even a sleigh ride / dinner package fundraiser for the winter months. No doubt about it, Emma was a natural-born doer.
By the time he’d walked Amylynn to the door, Emma had even chipped in her two cents’ worth with ideas to make his bedroom super yummy. Her words, not his. He did recognize, however, that pleasing a woman in the bedroom wasn’t all about giving her a trip to heaven between the sheets.
When he came back into the kitchen, he found Emma had kept busy by rinsing the coffee cups and placing them in the dishwasher. The high ceiling in the room dwarfed her, but she looked perfectly at-home in front of the huge window that overlooked the cluster of pines following the banks of the river. She’d look perfect in any room of this house, he decided. And it did not go unnoticed that when she was here, the place felt a whole lot less empty.
It was then that Dean remembered something his mother had said years ago.
It takes more than furniture and knickknacks to make a house a home.
He thought of his stylish-yet-impersonal condo in Houston. Comparing it to the home in which he now stood, he realized his mother was a very, very wise woman.
“Let me help you with that.”
Emma lifted her head as Dean’s long strides brought him to her side. He took the dishtowel from her hands and shut the dishwasher door.
“How was school today?”
Emma felt her eyebrows shoot upward. “You’re asking me about school?”
He shrugged. “If I came by your house after I’d gotten out of practice, wouldn’t you ask me how it went?”
“Yes.”
“Then there you go. Just making conversation.”
Nothing about Dean was just this or just that. She’d known him long enough to recognize that every move he made was as calculated as if he were on the ten-yard line computing the play it would take to get the ball into the end zone.
The voice mail he’d left her had sounded urgent. Otherwise she may very well have blown it off.
She looked up to find him watching her. Like he hadn’t eaten all day. And she was a Happy Meal. As his intense gaze perused her up and down, pausing at all the interesting places, Emma realized no man had ever looked at her like she was lunch. Or dinner. Or, heaven forbid, a midnight snack.
Dean looked ravenous.
She didn’t want that to feel good.
She didn’t want the slow heat rising up into her chest to confirm that she had fallen for a man who was wrong for her in every way that mattered. There were no brakes on that bullet train.
“Hungry?” he asked.
“As a matter of fact, before I got your message I’d planned to go to dinner.”
“With?”
She didn’t respond, allowing her silence to make him wonder.
His dark gaze wandered over her face. “And I ruined your evening?”
“Why don’t you look sorry?”
He shrugged. “I hate to eat alone. I have some steaks in the refrigerator.” He moved closer. Backed her up against the counter and reached behind her head to pull down two wineglasses from the cabinet.
She started to duck out of his way but then his other arm came up to remove a bottle of wine from the built-in wine rack. In a matter of milliseconds she’d become caught between his hot body and the counter. Everything started to tingle from her toes up.
“Potatoes. Some salad.” One corner of his mouth curled upward. “Have I whetted your appetite?”
Like he’d been dipped in chocolate fondue.
“You are coming very close to breaking the no touching rule, Mr. Silverthorne.”
His half-smile amplified as he lowered his arms and moved away to hunt for a corkscrew. “Lucky for us, the previous owners left behind a nice collection of wine.” He held up a bottle of Chateau Montelena Cabernet.
She didn’t know the difference between Two-Buck Chuck and Dom Perignon, but she was willing to learn. “I shouldn’t have any wine. I have school tomorrow.”
He twisted the corkscrew down into the bottle. “One glass won’t hurt.”
Said the spider to the fly. “School aside, I’m pretty sure it’s not a good idea for me to sit here and drink with you.”
“Why?” He pressed the wings of the opener down and the cork slid out of the bottle with a soft pop. “Do I scare you?”
Yes. “No.”
“Then what’s the big deal, honey?” Without looking at her, he poured a splash of the dark red liquid into each of the glasses. “I ruined your dinner plans. The least I can do is try to make it up to you.”
He handed her a glass with a nod. “Make sure that tastes okay.”
She lifted the glass to her nose. The perfume wafted up from the bowl and reminded her of New Year’s Eve, when he’d drunk cheap champagne from her paper cup and then kissed her. The slightly bitter wine had sweetened on his tongue. A hot shiver sizzled from between her legs up to her heart when she thought of all the creative things he’d done with his tongue that night and the way he’d made her feel wanted. Desired. Craved.
She took a sip and let the rich, exotic flavors of violets, cherries, and cocoa roll across her tongue. “Mmmm. Very good.”
Relaxed, he leaned back against the counter, one hand slipped into his pants pocket, the other held the crystal goblet. He watched her over the rim of the glass. Emma watched his throat work as he swallowed. She pictured that long, tall, muscular body naked. She thought of how his warm flesh tasted salty and sweet beneath her tongue. The urge to strip off his clothes and lick the smooth wine off all that delicious skin knocked her in her boots. She had to remember that she’d put herself on a No Dean diet.
“You’re right. It is good.” He took her glass and filled it. “I’m usually not a fan of wine.”
“Because you’re more of a beer-and-pretzels kind of guy?”
He opened the refrigerator door, reached inside, and withdrew two plastic storage bags of marinated steaks.
“Because wine goes straight to my head. Beer? No problem. Wine and tequila? I’m a total lightweight.”
“So I guess I won’t be asking you for a ride home.”
A grin spread across his perfect mouth. “I’ll give you a ride anytime you need one.” He plopped the bags of steak on the counter. While she digested the undertones behind his comment, he went back to the fridge and brought out a bag of mixed salad greens and yet another bag of what looked like seasoned, diced red potatoes.
“Judging by the amount of food you have there, I’ll guess you’re a big eater.”
An obvious smirk on his face confirmed he wasn’t thinking about steak. Hoo boy. She’d have to find a way to ignore all the crazy rip-his-clothes-off images in her head. She couldn’t keep doing this to herself. But it was difficult, because hidden behind that sexy facade was a man with depth. Oh, one might have to dig through the BS to find him, but he was there—brimming with gentleness, and sincerity, and complex layers. Even as much as he was all that, he was also not a man who could give of himself for more than a little while. And for a woman looking for forever? Not a good match.
