by Katy Paige
This fall’s trip had twelve grannies visiting Yellowstone Park under the protection and direction of Carl and Nils Lindstrom, although Zoë couldn’t help wondering if the Lindstroms maybe needed a little protection of their own. These ladies sounded feisty!
For his part, Nils seemed pleased—and perhaps a little relieved—to have one other young person joining the excursion, and Zoë couldn’t deny that she was sort of looking forward to the adventure. Or would have been, if it didn’t mean leaving Paul.
She opened the door to the Prairie Dawn and it swung back fast on its spring, that familiar summer camp sound reverberating in her ears as she made her way to the coffee counter where Maggie stood, elbows on the counter, laptop in front of her.
“Heya, Zoë,” she said, pushing the laptop away and gesturing to a bar stool. “Sit and rest.”
“Morning, Maggie,” she answered. “Think I could get a cappuccino?”
“Extra foam?”
“Sure,” Zoë said, pulling up a seat.
Maggie turned to the counter behind her, then glanced back at the three or four patrons scattered around the café before catching Zoë’s eyes.
“I’m glad you stopped by. Been wonderin’ about you.”
“I haven’t told him yet,” Zoë whispered.
“Didn’t think so. He’d have come in here ragin’ if you had.” Maggie turned to her as the coffee brewed. “What’re you goin’ to do?”
“Actually? I’m going out of town for two nights. Put a little, um, distance between us. Get my courage up. Then I’ll come back and tell him first thing.”
Maggie blinked at her. “Where are you goin’?”
“Tour. With the Lindstroms. With, um, Nils and Mr. Lindstrom. And a bunch of old ladies.”
“A bunch of old ladies? Heaven help Carl Lindstrom,” Maggie grinned. She slid the hot mug over to Zoë then headed to a table in the corner who had gestured for service.
Graham sauntered up beside Zoë, hands on his hips, which held a leather utility belt slung low and manly. His eyes dipped meaningfully to her cleavage and lingered there before he looked up with a lazy grin.
“Mornin’, Zoë,” he drawled in his heavy brogue. “You’re lookin’…fine.”
She shook her head lightly at his flirting. “You are a very bad boy.”
“You dinna know the half of it, lassie.”
“But I’m betting you’d love to show me.”
“You name the time and the place. I’m easy.”
“You don’t say.”
“Hey, now. You’re the hottest thing Gardiner has to offer.” He straddled the stool beside her, legs wide open, facing her, one knee lightly brushing her hip.
“You think so?”
His eyes slipped to her breasts again briefly and his mouth turned up into a teasing grin. “Yeah, I’m pretty certain.”
“What if I said I’m taken?”
“Do you have a virtual someone too?” he asked mockingly, making air quotes with his fingers when he said “virtual someone.”
“What if I did?”
He scoffed. “I’d say ‘screw virtual.’ The real thing’s right in front of you.”
“A very, very bad boy,” she amended, sipping her coffee and grinning playfully at Graham.
***
Paul loved Monday mornings.
He loved the way every Monday felt like a fresh start, a chance to touch kids’ lives and make their teenage years the best they could possibly be.
But tossing and turning until two o’clock in the morning didn’t make for a very bright-eyed and bushy-tailed principal this particular Monday. His body clock still woke him up at six-thirty, but he was hurting from a lack of sleep. There was only one answer for it: a double espresso from the Prairie Dawn. Paul had just enough time to get there and still make it to school.
Giving himself permission to explore his attraction to Zoë hadn’t helped diminish his guilt over Holly. Paul still had serious feelings for Holly, despite his pull to Zoë. He was in deep, dark water with these two women and he knew it. One of them was going to be rejected. One of them was going to be hurt in the long run.
And yet, he couldn’t bring himself to text Holly the truth—not that she’d been answering his texts anyway while she was at her conference—and tell her that he’d met someone who was distracting him. He knew he should; he prided himself on being truthful, practicing integrity, living his life aboveboard. But the honest reason was that he was sure Holly would break things off with him, and after weeks of the most amazing correspondence of his life, he wasn’t prepared to lose her.
Nor, however, was he interested in staying away from Zoë, even going so far as to show her a respect borne of true affection last night when he refused to join her in her bedroom. He saw her eyes. He knew that if they’d ended up on her bed, there was every likelihood they would have slept together. But he didn’t want that for them. He liked her too much to rush things, no matter how much he wanted her.
Not to mention, if he slept with Zoë, his hands would be tied, and he’d need to break off things with Holly immediately.
It hadn’t been easy to say no to Zoë, especially once he realized how much it had hurt and embarrassed her, which was never his intention. There was nothing, literally nothing, he wanted more than to feel his skin pressed up against hers, his lips against hers, pushing into the softness between her hips as she raked her nails down his—
He forced his thoughts to safer waters, but Zoë’s face emerged in his head again quickly. What was it about Zoë that was so irresistible to him?
He sighed. He didn’t need to enumerate her virtues. The list was long and grew with every moment he spent with her. Something about her called out to something in him. He couldn’t stay away.
Which is why seeing Graham pressed up against her at the coffee bar made him want to strangle the kid. He flinched, watching through the window as Zoë giggled and flirted with the randy twenty-year-old. Something inside of him clenched with jealousy and anger at the sight of them together.
He pulled open the café door and strode to the bar, pushing the seat beside Zoë out of the way so that he could stand directly behind her, facing Graham.
“Paul! I never get to see you before school!” Maggie smiled warmly as Zoë shifted in her seat, turning to face him, her knee and elbow touching him, her brown eyes warm and surprised as a smile spread out across her pretty face.
“’Morning,” she said, in that sexy, breathy voice of hers.
He couldn’t help smiling back, despite the close proximity of Graham. “’Morning.”
Was she thinking about how they parted last night? Of his confession of how much it hurt to say no to her? Why the hell had he said no? What an idiot!
“How’d you sleep?” she asked.
“Not great,” he answered honestly. “I was…distracted. You?”
“What’re you drinkin’?” Maggie interrupted, her hands braced on the counter before him.
“Double espresso, Mags. To go.”
He glanced down at Zoë to find she was still staring up at him. Graham peeked around her shoulder.
“Och! Don’t you look smart today, Mr. Principal. Sharp as a bloody tack, you are!”
It took Paul a moment to realize that Graham was referring to his ridiculous tie. It was a drab tan color, covered in moose antlers, interspersed with the words “Moose on the Loose” in bright right intervals.
Given to him at Christmas by one of his Special Education students, Paul made a concerted effort to put it in the rotation more frequently than others. Whenever Ida saw him wearing it, she gasped, running down the hall to hug him, and chanting “Moose on the loose…moose on the loose!” in her high-pitched, childlike voice.
Okay. So, it wasn’t the sharpest tie ever, but seeing Ida’s blue eyes so pleased and excited made it one of his favorites, hands down. Not that Graham would understand or respect such a story anyway.
Paul turned to Zoë, ignoring his young nemes
is.
“You still coming for dinner?”
“Planning on it,” she said, but her smile faded a little from happy to tentative. “Should I bring anything?”
“Do you have a specialty?” he asked, hoping to cajole that big smile back.
“I do, actually,” she said, grinning. “Don’t plan dessert. I’ll bring what I need.”
“A dinner party!” exclaimed Graham. “Why, I’d love to come! Thanks so much for the—”
“Thanks, Maggie,” said Paul, interrupting Graham and taking his coffee from Maggie. “Does seven work?”
“Works fine for me,” said Graham.
“You’re not invited.” Paul finally acknowledged him with a curt glance, before looking back down at Zoë.
“See you then,” she said, biting her lip.
He shouldn’t have.
He knew it even as he bent his head toward her.
He had no business kissing her in a public place in front of his friends and maybe even on display for one or two of his student’s parents.
He had no business staking that sort of claim on her; the sort of claim that says: She’s mine. But between Graham flirting with her and knowing he had to make it all day before seeing her again, plus that damn blood heating lip-biting thing she kept doing, he just couldn’t help it.
He brushed her lips with his, sighing as he felt her hand move to rest on his cheek, cupping it gently. When he drew back, she looked dreamy, drunk, and definitely wanting more.
Good. Remember that when I leave, and Graham is all over you.
“Seven,” he said again, gazing into her dazed eyes.
He didn’t dare look back at Maggie as he turned and headed out the door.
***
It had been a long day not thinking about Zoë.
He reminded himself not to think about her when he made the morning announcements and he forced himself not to think about her when the president of the school board stopped by with new budget guidelines. He pushed her out of his mind when he got between two fighting seniors in the lunch line and he made sure she didn’t cross his mind when he visited the music room to check on the freshman play rehearsal.
By the time he walked home that evening, it was all he could do not to stop by her inn, take the stairs two at a time, knock on her bedroom door and bury his tongue in her mouth, his hands in her hair, his—
Instead he tried not to look over at the temptation that was the Mountain View Inn as he passed and hurried to his own house where he had a shower to take, a salad to make, potatoes to bake and steaks to marinate before grilling. He was no gourmand, but any man worth his salt could grill a steak.
By the time the doorbell rang at seven, everything was ready. The table was set with matching plates and he had lit candles, feeling a little silly, but unable to remember the last time he’d invited a woman to dinner. He was dressed casually in jeans and a long-sleeved gray T-shirt and ran his hand through his drying hair once before opening the door.
She was wearing the long black skirt she’d worn for coffee on Saturday night, but she’d paired it with a white button-down shirt left open at the neck and tied in a knot at her waist. He didn’t know how she’d gotten her hair mostly into a stubby, little ponytail, but she had, and wisps of black hair framed her face. She had silver bracelets on her wrists that clinked together and a silver anklet that jingled as she walked past him. Blood rushed from his head, racing south with gasping speed. Miss Temptation. In the flesh.
She smiled and sidled past him into his house, slipping off her shiny black flip-flops by the door and turning to hand him a brown paper bag of groceries.
“I promised I’d make dessert,” she said, cocking her head to the side.
He was staring at her. He’d barely moved since opening the door, but he raised his hands to take the bag.
Damn! Get it together!
“You look…” he started, letting his eyes start at her pert ponytail, trail down her neck to the swell of her breasts, to her small waist, down the column of her skirt to the sparkling silver anklet. “…like Susanna.”
She chuckled lightly, holding his eyes, pleased. “She’s fictional.”
“Not anymore.”
“I’m not that exotic,” she demurred.
“You are to me.”
Her cheeks flushed pink, but she didn’t look away. “Why?”
“Because you look like you look, and you show up here suddenly out of nowhere and make me feel…”
“Feel what?”
His lungs filled and emptied painfully as he searched her eyes. Helpless.
“Oh,” she breathed. “I see.”
But instead of letting him kiss her, she turned away from him, stepping into the kitchen.
Paul glanced down at the bag in his arms, trying to compose himself, which was difficult since he wanted to drop the groceries on the floor, grab her arm and carry her up the stairs to his bedroom like a Neanderthal.
“Some of that needs to be refrigerated,” she called from his kitchen, bending down to pick up Cleo and cradle the little dog in her arms.
Was it crazy that he felt jealous of his dog?
Paul took a deep breath. “Sure.”
He followed her to the kitchen, shaking his head briefly, trying to clear it. He placed the bag on the kitchen counter.
“Would you like a drink?” he asked.
“Yes!” she said, chuckling lightly.
Thankfully, it broke the tension between them.
“What do you want? Wine? Beer?”
“Wine.”
“White or red?”
“Red.”
“Merlot or Cab?”
“Cab.”
“Californian or Australian?”
“You know wine!” she said, smiling up at him.
“My parents insisted.”
“Like dancing lessons,” she said.
“Yeah.” He chuckled, then cocked his head to the side. “Did I tell you that?”
“You must have mentioned it,” she said quickly. After putting Cleo on the floor, she took a few groceries out of the bag, placing them in the refrigerator.
Paul took two bottles down from a wine rack that took up most of the space between the top of his kitchen cabinets and the ceiling. “Margaret River or Napa Valley?”
“Margaret River,” she said, closing the fridge door and folding the brown paper bag against her chest before tucking it neatly between his coffee maker and microwave.
“Over Napa?”
“Sure. Why not give an underdog a chance? The Aussie wines are some of my favorites.”
“You know your wine.”
“Maybe I dated a sommelier,” she said, leaning against the kitchen counter across from him, eyes sparkling.
He didn’t want to think about her dating anyone. In fact, the swift and furious desire to obliterate the memory of any other guy who had ever smiled at her—touched her, made love to her—suddenly overwhelmed him. He swallowed uncomfortably, staring at her teasing face, his pulse racing with irrational need and desperate want.
Taking a step toward her, he set the bottle down to her left before placing his hands on the countertop on either side of her. He felt his breath hitch to be so close to her again as her chest rose and fell, brushing against his every time she inhaled. She was beautiful as hell and she was no princess, but he wanted her more than he’d ever wanted another woman. Ever.
“I couldn’t stop thinking about you today,” he murmured, lowering his mouth to hers.
She shifted up on her tiptoes, which made her anklet jingle, and he pulled her into his arms roughly, groaning into her mouth as she stroked his tongue with hers. He lowered his hands to her hips and lifted her easily onto the counter in front of him, slanting his head to deepen their kiss. She raised her legs, her skirt riding up as she locked her ankles around his back, the anklet tinkling again as she drew him closer.
“I thought about you too,” she whispered as his lips skimmed the co
lumn of her throat, resting briefly on her pounding pulse. “I couldn’t wait for seven.”
“Me either,” he confessed, capturing her lips again, as his fingers curled into fists on her lower back.
He had never felt this kind of raw, visceral connection to a woman. Their chemistry far surpassed anything Paul had ever experienced, and he had to wonder if that made his attraction to her a once-in-a-lifetime sort of occurrence. Because it felt that way. It felt charged and fierce and unequaled.
She moaned into his mouth, arching her back, and his hands unfisted, his fingers sliding under her shirt to touch the hot, soft skin underneath. His body hardened in anticipation and he wondered if she could feel him, thick and throbbing, at the apex of her thighs where she held him. He hoped so. He wanted her to know.
Buzzzzz!
Through a haze of lust, Paul heard the oven timer sound, letting him know that the potatoes were ready.
Breaking off their kiss, he skimmed his lips across Zoë’s forehead tenderly before turning off the stove, then reached over her head to take down two wine glasses. Still perched on the counter, Zoë grinned at him before smoothing her skirt, which made her anklet jingle again.
“That is driving me crazy,” said Paul.
“Too bad,” she said, winking at him.
“Every time you move, it jingles, and it does something to me. Makes it so I want to touch you. So I have to touch you.”
He dipped his head and planted his lips on her neck for a fleeting moment, then pulled out the drawer beside her and rifled through it for a corkscrew.
“Miss Temptation,” she said. “When I saw it in a store window today, I couldn’t resist.”
“When I opened the door, it was like a fantasy come to life. I swear I wanted to…”
“What?” she murmured with wide, dark eyes trained on his. “What did you want to do?”
His breath hitched and he forced himself to look away from her, twisting, then pulling until the cork dislodged with a pleasing pop. He glanced back up at her.
“Take you upstairs,” he answered honestly.
