As she opened her mouth to let out whatever subpar comment had formed, he passed the back entry to Corbett House and turned right into a driveway on the opposite side of the street.
“What’s this?” She stared at the compact brick Cape Cod.
“My house.”
“Your house? Your house? But—”
She glanced over her shoulder toward the big house where he’d grown up. His gaze followed.
“You thought I was living there? Under my mother’s roof?” His mouth twitched. “And under her thumb, presumably.”
“It’s not that. I…” Assumed. Yup, she’d assumed, and now she felt like an ass. “With Nell to raise… It can’t be easy to be a single father. And it would make sense to have your mother help with child care.”
“No, it wouldn’t.” He gave her no opportunity to respond. “Or is it that you thought that in my mother’s house you wouldn’t have to worry about your virtue? That I would behave like a perfect gentleman?”
“Of course not—I mean… I don’t mean you wouldn’t be a gentleman anywhere. Everywhere. And I’m not worried.”
She was protesting to air.
He was out of the car, and the door closed behind him with a thunk that made her jump. He opened the passenger door and held out a hand to her.
“Steve, maybe it would be better if we did this another time.”
His hand, outstretched at her eye level, didn’t waver. It was a dare. Just like coming to his house was.
She didn’t run from dares. Besides, if he thought that kiss had changed things, better set him straight now.
“There’s nothing scary here. If you won’t take my word for it, take Nell’s.”
“I’m not scared.” Defiantly, she placed her hand in his, but then got out on her own steam so it was more like they were holding hands than anything else.
Rather than make a big deal of it—that had been her mistake at Laura Ellen’s house—she stepped away, extending their arms almost straight out. He grinned but released her hand before leading her in the back door.
The kitchen was extraordinary in its ordinariness. White painted cabinets, pine stools pulled up to the outside of the counter that separated the working area, French doors that would open to a deck in good weather. Practical flooring and easy-to-clean counters. No restaurant-grade appliances or gourmet touches here.
Her attention snagged on wipeable boards marching across one wall. Three were marked with calendar grids under headings that read This Month, Next Month and The Month After. Notations written in red, blue or green, like the one under Tuesday saying Town Hall Field Trip, clogged the boxes.
“That’s quite a calendar system.”
It was also an insight into his life as a single father. She hadn’t realized the full impact of that status before—single father. A man raising his daughter alone, since Lily left when Nell was a baby.
Had he been scared? Spent nights up with a crying baby? Wondered if a fever warranted calling the doctor? Worried that he wouldn’t do enough, or might do too much, for Nell?
“That calendar is all that keeps Nell and Gert and me from sinking into chaos. And sometimes not even that works. Let me take your coat, then go on into the living room where it’s more comfortable while I make coffee. I’ll light a fire, and that should take the chill off. Unless… You’re not scared, are you?”
“Not scared at all.” But her moments of empathy for his years of single parenthood sank under a renewed tide of being on guard.
In the living room she staked out a dark blue wing chair set at right angles to the couch.
“Sorry about the mess,” Steve said, grabbing two open books from the ottoman that matched her chair. “Obviously, I didn’t plan on having anyone over. That should relieve you about this being a plot.”
“I didn’t think—”
“Sure you did.” He bent to scoop newspapers from the couch. The motion stretched his shirt across his back and shoulders, and his jeans across his narrow hips. “And if I’d been smart I would have thought of it. I’ll be right back.”
The print couch was cushy and comfortable. More books, a stuffed dinosaur and one green mitten were on the end table between the chair and couch. An open cabinet held a TV. Bookshelves flanked a fireplace. The mantel held three photos of Nell and a framed child’s drawing of a house that a generous viewer might think resembled this one.
“Okay, here we go,” Steve said. He dropped a legal pad and pen in her lap, then took a seat on the couch with another pad. “Any ideas how to tackle this?”
She picked up the pad and pen. No more noticing how fabric stretched when he moved. No paying attention to the way his fingers wrapped around a pen, the way his hand moved over paper with a faint sound of friction. She was going to concentrate on the task ahead of them. Only that.
Steve dropped his pen to the legal pad and stretched.
Annette abruptly twisted away and searched for something in her purse on the far side of the chair.
He got up to add a log to the fire. It was an act of defiance. The previous time he’d added a log, she’d acted as if it were a commitment to staying the night.
“So you’re going to look into grants and tax breaks if we could get historical status for Bliss House,” he said, “and I’ll check on reverse mortgages.”
“With Remtree?” Her voice sounded strained. “He’ll never agree. Nobody from that side of Tobias will help her.”
He turned from the fireplace. “I’ll check with Rob first, but don’t count out Tobias. I’m part of that side of town, and here I am. Besides, I believe in this town.”
“Of course you do. Kids who get dollars under their pillow after a tooth falls out believe in the tooth fairy. Kids who find the tooth still there in the morning without a dime doubt the first time and stop believing the second.”
“If you gave the tooth fairy a second chance, why not a town?” But he knew it wasn’t the town he was talking about.
“I gave Tobias a thousand chances, because I had no choice. I was stuck here.”
“Those weren’t chances, those were expectations, always expecting the worst—and self-fulfilling prophesies being what they are, that’s what you got.”
“You’ve got the order wrong. That’s what I got, so that’s what I expected. And now look at what this town wants to do to Miss Trudi.”
“You’re not doing Miss Trudi any good by blaming the town, Annette. It’s not Tobias trying to bully some poor old lady for the hell of it. There are serious issues. Bliss House is an eyesore that’s costing the business owners and homeowners nearby. You think it’s fair to them to have their business go under and their property values drop because she’s failed at keeping that place in any kind of shape? And that’s the hell of it—knowing how much she hates knowing she’s failed at this. It sucks, but that’s the truth.”
God, when was the last time he’d spoken such unvarnished truth? When was the last time he’d simply come out and told someone what worried him?
Feeling oddly heady, he added, “And it’s not going to get easier. It’s just going to get harder.”
Then he looked at Annette.
He swore under his breath. “Annette, don’t… I didn’t mean to be harsh—”
He reached to her, but she stood, moving away from him.
“No, it’s not you. It wasn’t what you said—well, it was, but not how you said it. That was…human and real and…refreshing.”
“Nice to be refreshing.” He chuckled and earned a watery smile in return, though it edged toward wariness when he came closer.
“It’s what you said about Miss Trudi and what a mess she’s in.” She crossed her arms at her waist, not looking at him. Her breasts rose and fell as her breathing quickened. The motion visibly pushed her nipples against the fabric of her top. “It’s so impossible.”
He stepped closer, demanding that she look at him. She did. Their eyes locked. He held the connection as he shook his head.
“Nothing’s impossible.”
Her gaze dropped from his eyes to his mouth. Her mouth softened. Then she slowly raised her lashes, revealing the rich brown by maddening increments. But what he saw there was worth any amount of excruciating wait.
He leaned into her, the force of that movement and of his mouth on hers opening her arms so nothing separated them but a few layers of clothes as he wrapped his arms around her waist. That was still too much between them—but so damned much better than the thousands of hours without touching her at all.
She spread her fingers across his cheeks, slid them into his hair, then stroked one hand across his shoulder before looping it around his neck—as if there were any chance he might pull away.
At Miss Trudi’s the kiss had caught her by surprise—hell, it had caught him by surprise—but this one, this one they’d both seen coming. And neither of them had backed away.
The joy of that pounded in his head. He changed the angle of the kiss and stroked his tongue into her mouth, tasting her quick moan with fierce satisfaction. And then her tongue met his, matching its renewed exploration.
His hands at her waist brought her hips flush against him, then slid to her derriere to hold her even tighter. He wanted to fall into her, drive into her.
Slow, slow. His mind issued the order, intent on not letting his fierce need frighten or overwhelm her.
He wanted to hold her so he could rock against her in a rhythm only they knew. Instead, he forced his hands to the small of her back, still holding her tight but the urging not quite so blatant. She made a sound deep in her throat as he slowly slid his open hands up the center of her back, feeling the rasp of her bra strap against his palm but imagining only the flow of her flesh. He cupped her head and kissed her long and deep. Then soft and slow.
There were infinite kisses between him and Annette. He wanted them all.
Eyes closed as he explored her taste, he traced with his thumb the remembered curve around the back of her ear, down to the turn of her jaw, along the decisive line of her chin. It seemed to him that if he could capture the true perfection of these curves, turns and lines he might hold the mysteries of the universe. At least his universe.
He released her mouth only long enough to slide his hands between them, pushing back the fabric that kept his touch from her.
Like a blanket of fire, a fierceness smothered all but his need of her. She was his. She had to know that.
Buttons fell before that need. He stroked his hands across her shoulders, carrying the straps of her bra down. His palm was cradled against her breastbone, sliding down to caress the full sweetness of her breasts. To take her into his mouth, to—
She jolted against him with a wordless cry. An ice shower would have been easier to ignore.
Holding her shoulders, he forced himself to straighten his arms to gain distance. Backed up against the side of the chair, she had her hands crossed over her breasts, her head down.
He swore in a stream under his breath.
“I can’t, Steve.”
“I’m pissed at me, not you.” He touched her hair, a silken brush against his fingertips, then dropped his hands to his sides and stepped back. “I’ll get your coat and take you home—”
“You don’t have to do that. I can call or—”
“I’m taking you to Max’s, Annette.”
He turned in the doorway. She’d already restored order to most of her clothes, though the third button down was still undone. The puffiness of her lips and the flush across her cheeks she could do nothing about. Thank God she didn’t try to hide them behind that frosted glass.
“Do you want to know why I gave up swimming competitively in college?” he asked on impulse. “Because you’d come into my life.”
Her brows dropped in puzzlement. “I never objected to you swimming or—”
“I’m not blaming you, Annette. I’m thanking you. Can’t you hear the difference? In high school, when I was living at home, I needed the pool for the solitude. In the water for those long hours of practice I was totally alone. Totally myself. That’s how I coped. Shutting out the world. But you showed me I didn’t have to do that. Maybe I didn’t learn as much as I could have, but I started.”
He walked out of the room to retrieve their coats, and with any luck to retrieve his control, too. He wanted her. Bad. He felt the aching proof of that. But was he prepared for what was at risk if this had gone any further?
He handed her the coat instead of holding it for her to put on. Not trusting himself to come that close, or to set her mind at ease? Hell if he knew.
With his jacket on, he turned to find her fiddling with the end of her scarf.
“I’m glad if anything we…if our being together helped you in any way. Very glad.” Her head came up on those last two fierce words. “But it doesn’t change— I wasn’t fair just now, and I’m sorry. But I want to be clear about—” The end of the scarf made a tight circle in the air as she gestured. “I didn’t say anything before—I mean, when you kissed me at—”
“We kissed each other.”
“—Miss Trudi’s, that was sort of, um, sealing what we’d said.” She pulled her coat on with quick, jerky motions. “That we’d made peace. But this—”
“That kiss had nothing to do with sealing a statement or making peace. And neither did this. I’m an ass for pushing too hard and too fast, but I’m not going to pretend I didn’t want this and more. And I think you do, too. I hope you do.”
She was shaking her head. “If I’d thought you were misinterpreting—”
“I didn’t misinterpret.” He gestured for her to precede him toward the door. “I had the complete and full translation from the way you felt and the way you touched me. And you didn’t say anything because you didn’t know what to say.”
She looked at him, then immediately away. “Yes, well… Now I do. This can’t—won’t—happen again.”
“You can say can’t. I won’t say won’t.”
Even if he should.
Driving all his life in Wisconsin had benefits. Like even though the snow was coming down with determination and the plows were just starting their rounds, he knew how to drive in the stuff well enough that he had plenty of concentration left over to ask himself what the hell had gotten into him.
Maybe it wasn’t such a benefit.
He knew what got into one part of his anatomy. But what about his head? Even if they somehow got over what happened—a damned big if—the fact remained that she’d be leaving in a month. No. Half of that. Two weeks and two days before Juney was back on the job.
So what kind of hell was he letting himself into by getting all tied up about her again? Those first months after…
Her voice coming abruptly in the silence of the car brought a stirring not only in his groin, but in the nerves up the back of his neck and along his arms. And that was a kind of answer to his question. Not one he liked.
“Was it a surprise to you that Lily was pregnant?”
The meaning took longer than the sound to register, and then she had his complete attention. He cut her a look. She wanted the answer to be yes. Would that make a difference? Win him a pardon?
“Where does that question come from?”
She looked out her window. “You’d been seen together. You and Lily. A few weeks before the wedding.”
“Ah.” The gossips had run to her. Damn. Damn. If he’d known that… But even if he’d known, could he have reassured her with a partial truth? Giving her the whole truth then had been so far outside his view of their roles that wondering about it now was a hypothesis without any basis in reality—useless to consider.
“Ah? Is that all you’re going to say?” She was ticked, but with a sort of ironic amusement, too.
“No. I’m going to say that the timing was interesting, don’t you think?”
“What does that mean? The timing was interesting?”
“The timing—Lily and I were seen together a few weeks before the weddi
ng. You told me before that you knew who and what and when. But did you?”
She didn’t see the significance, that was clear. He could tell her. Tell her all of it. But… Two weeks and two days.
“But that isn’t what you asked, is it?” For this answer, he wouldn’t tell her later. That was the best he could do. “Was I surprised when Lily came in to the church and announced she was pregnant? I was damned surprised she burst into the church. But, no, I wasn’t surprised she was pregnant. I already knew that.”
Stupid. Entirely stupid to feel such disappointment. Just because he’d kept the rings… Just because her hormones…
Oh, God, she’d wanted him. Right there, right then.
But chemistry had led her astray before. From the earliest days of their dating, she’d had doubts—Steve Corbett and poor little Annette Trevetti? Come on. But never when he touched her. As simple as holding her hand, as tender as kissing her, as powerful as making love with her—she had never doubted the sincerity of his feelings when he had touched her.
And she’d been wrong.
Maybe he had loved her in his own way, but not in the way she had needed. Not so completely that he didn’t want another woman.
And that memory had materialized just in time. A few minutes longer, another stroke of his tongue in her mouth, another slide of his hand over her skin, another— But there hadn’t been. Because she had remembered. Remembered more than her desire for him.
Of course he’d known Lily was pregnant. How could he have been so calm in the church if he hadn’t known?
Yet, she had seen him calm in other moments of great distress. When Zach left, Steve had clamped down. Even though she knew he was concerned about Zach, he hadn’t talked about it.
She frowned. That wasn’t entirely true.
It’ll be okay, Annette. It’s another of Zach’s rebellions, but everything will smooth over by the wedding. Don’t worry.
Why can’t you rebel? Annette had thought. Then squelched it as disloyal. Now she recognized that she’d been wrong. Steve didn’t make a show of rebelliousness, he simply lived his life. Not an easy task for a son of Lana Corbett. As Zach’s taking off showed.
Wedding of the Century Page 16
