by Nina Lindsey
He didn’t know whether to be more surprised by the fact that she’d thought of decorating the cottage—given what he’d seen of her apartment, home décor was not her forte—or that she’d done it so well.
There were red-checkered curtains, a woven rug under the coffee table, and a quilt tossed over the old sofa. She’d put up framed historical photos of the tavern, placed a little artichoke-shaped teapot on the stove, and spread a sky-blue comforter on the bed strewn with fluffy pillows. A little bowl of potpourri sat on the counter, which accounted for the cinnamon smell.
“It’s incredible.” He rubbed his hands on his jeans, not knowing what to think. “But you didn’t have to do all this.”
She shrugged. “I don’t know much about decorating, but your mother could probably teach Martha Stewart a thing or two. I thought she’d enjoy it more if the place was spruced up a little.”
“Thank you.” Shame rustled in his chest. He scratched his head. “Uh, sorry for being kind of an ass earlier.”
“Kind of? You mean like Voldemort is kind of evil?” She closed the stepladder and stored it in the closet. “Look, I tried to explain about Max. I never intended to go out with him again while your parents are here, so just chill out, okay? We’re not going to pull off this live-in lovers thing if we argue about the women constantly hitting on you or the one date I’ve had in months.”
She’d had one date in months? Interesting.
“In fact, that kind of talk needs to be off-limits, or one of us is going to slip up,” she added.
“Okay.” He forced himself not to pry further into her comment that she wasn’t going out with Max again while his parents were here. Did that mean she intended to see him after they left?
Jesus. He had to get his shit together. Less than a week, and already it felt like an earthquake was rumbling underneath his quiet, carefully constructed life.
All he’d done was ask Rory to step in a little farther, to cross the invisible line that had always existed between them, and the next thing he knew, they’d had a hotter-than-hell kiss, she was moving into his house, and he was getting insanely jealous about her lunch date.
“I’m sorry.” He held up his hands and approached her. “I’ve never seen you on a date. Turns out I didn’t like it, even if you’re my fake girlfriend. I got possessive.”
Faint amusement rose to her eyes. “Territorial.”
“What?”
“That’s what Max said after you left. That you were territorial.” She frowned and crinkled her forehead. “Then he said something like—if the Prescott sisters were planets, we’d inspire a whole new international space race.”
She shook her head and straightened one of the sofa cushions. “Anyway, I didn’t really understand what he was talking about, but clearly he was getting some back off vibes from you.”
“Good.”
Rory looked up sharply, her gaze crashing against his. Tension threaded the air. He flexed his fingers.
“Don’t go out with him again.” The command came out gruff and scratchy.
She blinked. “I wasn’t going to. And not because you ordered me not to,” she added.
Grant ran a hand over the back of his neck. “You don’t like him?”
“Of course I like him.” She spread her arms out in irritation. “Everyone likes Max. Not only does he look like Captain America, he helps animals, for heaven’s sake, and he’s really smart, easy to talk to, friendly, knowledgeable—”
“Point taken.”
“If it hadn’t been for you glowering at us from halfway across the room, I’d have enjoyed lunch with him. I did enjoy it, in fact. But obviously I’m not looking for a relationship, and even if I were, Max isn’t the kind of guy I’d want to be with.”
“What, you want a stupid, unsociable, mean boyfriend who kicks puppies?”
Rory laughed. It was a genuine, full-bellied laugh that rang through the cottage and settled somewhere deep inside Grant. Had he ever heard her laugh like that before? Apparently not, if the sound turned him into a bowl of mush.
“Okay, no.” She shook her head, still smiling. She was pretty with a scowl. She was stunning with a smile. “I meant that, despite what Destiny’s Oracle card reading said, Max and I are not romantically compatible. I hate the word chemistry, but maybe that’s what it was. I liked talking to him about the integration of veterinary software systems, but I didn’t want to kiss him.”
Grant tried to ignore an upwelling of relief. “If all you talked to him about was software systems, then I’m guessing he probably wasn’t dying to kiss you either.”
He, on the other hand…
“I don’t know about that.” She gave an offhanded shrug. “Tech talk can be pretty sexy, when it’s done right.”
“Yeah?” He narrowed his eyes, certain he shouldn’t go down this path and already knowing he was going to. “Prove it.”
“Well, there’s the obvious.” She ticked the items off on her fingers. “Hard drives. Hot swaps. The pleasure of big pipes and large bandwidths. Joysticks. RAM. Open source. Penetration testing, and probing for exploitable holes…”
“Hmm.” He shook his head and tried not to stare at her lips. “Too easy.”
Her eyes sparked with the intrigue of a challenge. She stepped closer and made a horizontal motion between them.
“This space is our shared boundary.” She lowered her voice to a husky drawl that would have made a phone-sex operator envious. “When two separate parts of a computer system exchange information, they need to cross the boundary and connect…or interface. In technology, interfacing can refer to the way a person experiences a computer and its hardware, output, and functions. Sometimes you can both send and receive data through an interface, like a touchscreen. People do the same thing. They cross a shared boundary to connect.” She wiggled her fingers. “And they use touch to create and control responses.”
Grant knew he shouldn’t have started this, but damned if he was turning back now. He hated retreating.
“Still not feeling it.” He shrugged. “If I were nice guy Max, I’d have paid the bill and politely thanked you for joining me.”
“Ah, but you’re not nice guy Max.” Stepping closer, she tracked her gaze over his features. Her brown eyes gleamed. “You’re cranky, territorial Grant who thinks a singing fish is a work of art and who turns cooking into a porn show.”
For a second, he wasn’t sure whether her assessment of him was flattering or not, but he didn’t care either way. She was looking at him with such brewing heat, and her lips were so fucking ripe for the taking that his body tensed with both the urge to kiss her and the knowledge that crossing that boundary again was dangerous.
“Touchscreens are input devices.” She brushed her fingers against his jaw, her attention drifting to his mouth. “They react to pressure. Some absorb ultrasonic waves created by a touch. Sometimes a touch generates an electrical charge. Input. Output.”
Her touch was generating a reaction, all right—waves of lust and a hot charge going straight to his groin. Not only had she just won this challenge, she’d left him in the dust.
Time to catch up.
He took hold of her waist and pulled her closer. Their lower bodies collided. Rory widened her eyes as his growing erection pressed against her.
“Don’t even think about telling me I didn’t prove it.” A husky note still entwined her voice.
“You proved it. Tech talk can be sexy…when you do it, at least.” He slipped his hand under her chin and tilted her face up to his. “But it doesn’t make me want to kiss you.”
Consternation flashed over her expression. “What does, then?”
“You.”
He covered her mouth with his, and the instant their lips touched, a hard surge of relief filled him. Like he’d found something he’d lost…or never had in the first place.
Rory let out a little gasp and curled her hands around his arms as she parted her lips. Their tongues touched. He pulled her closer, digging his finge
rs into her hips. His head filled with her taste, her scent, the feel of her lush body against his.
If he’d had any more questions about why he was so jealous and possessive of her, the answers flooded over him like the tides—he liked her, he wanted her badly, and she was as responsive as a feather touched by the wind, which was so fucking fascinating when paired with her sharp attitude.
He wanted to know more about her than how she took her coffee, and he ached to find out how explosive they’d be in bed together.
For all her straightforward, tough-girl snark, she was as pliable and sweet as taffy. She wound her arms around his neck, pressed her luscious curves against him, and returned his kiss as if she, too, was increasingly desperate for more.
“For the record,” she whispered, her breath brushing his lips, “if I were looking for a relation—”
“Hellooo!” Outside, a car door slammed.
Rory’s eyes widened. Grant couldn’t think past the heavy thump of his heart.
“We’re here!” His mother’s voice sang through the air. “Are the lovebirds home?”
Chapter 10
Rory yanked herself away from Grant so fast she stumbled backward. Her breath rasped hotly in her throat. Lust fogged her brain.
They stared at each other, the air flooding with shock the instant before a shutter slammed over his expression. Just like that, the heat disappeared from his eyes and was replaced with calm poise as he turned to the front door.
“Grant?” Joanna Taylor called. “Are you in here?”
Rory wasn’t as good an actor as Grant, so she turned away quickly to try and compose herself. She was throbbing. Her insides ached with desire.
“Mom.” His deep voice held just the right amount of surprise. “You were supposed to arrive tomorrow.”
“Surprise!” A whiff of Chanel No. 5 filled the cottage as Joanna approached the door. “Your father finished a project early, so I convinced him to come down today. Of course, the big goof had to make several stops to check his messages, but he promised not to work while we’re here. Rory! How are you, dear?”
Fixing a smile on her face, Rory turned to greet the older woman, who was a vision of casual elegance in a linen pantsuit and chunky gold jewelry.
“Nice to see you again, Mrs. Taylor. Welcome to Bliss Cove.”
“Oh, heavens, call me Joanna. Is this the cottage?” Removing her large sunglasses, she stepped inside. A slight frown dipped her mouth. “Oh, my. It is small, isn’t it?”
“I did warn you.” Grant glanced past his mother’s shoulder. “Where’s Dad?”
“Finishing a call.” Joanna rolled her eyes and set her YSL purse on the counter. She sniffed the air. “Is that potpourri? I’m afraid I’m a bit allergic to synthetic scents.”
“Mom.” Grant’s tone hardened.
“We’ll just take it away.” Rory grabbed the little potpourri pot and pushed open a window. “How was the drive?”
“Oh, lovely, dear.” Joanna ran her finger over a counter in the kitchenette and examined whatever specks of dust she’d collected. “It’s wonderful to be reminded of how beautiful the Pacific Coast is.”
“So this is your place, huh?” Edward Taylor stepped into the cottage, the breadth of his shoulders and sheer height making the space seem even smaller than it was. “No wonder it’s called the Mousehole.”
“The Mousehole is the tavern, Dad.” Grant folded his arms, his jaw tensing. “This is the cottage. My house is over there…” he pointed to the north, “…and the tavern is the building you saw when you drove up. The other building is a rental space for parties and classes.”
“It’s charming, isn’t it, Edward?” Joanna picked up a corner of the comforter and rubbed it between her fingers. “Let’s go take a peek at your house, Grant.”
Rory drew in a sharp breath. Grant caught her eye, and an unspoken message of faint panic passed between them. They’d intended to unpack her stuff and set up this afternoon. Instead, all of her boxes and suitcases were still stacked in his living room, and there was zero evidence of her living there.
“Actually, why don’t you come to the tavern first?” Grant spread his hand out toward the door. “Have a drink, get something to eat. It’s close to dinner. You must be tired from the drive.”
“Yes!” Rory spoke with such enthusiasm that Joanna looked at her in surprise. “Go relax for an hour or…um, three. The house isn’t quite ready for visitors yet.”
“Oh, we don’t mind, dear.” Joanna waved a dismissive hand. “We’re just delighted to be here.”
“Come on, Dad. I’ll make you a martini. Extra dry with a twist.” Grant took firm hold of his father’s arm and steered him out toward the tavern.
With a little shrug, Joanna picked up her purse and followed. After Grant set his parents on the path around the tavern to the front door, he poked his head back into the cottage.
“I’ll get them situated and meet you back at the house.”
“Go,” Rory hissed, pulling her cell phone out of her back pocket. “Keep them occupied. I’ll take care of the house.”
He hurried after his parents.
Dialing Aria’s number, Rory ran toward her car. “Aria? I need your help, but you can’t ask questions.”
“Can I ask what you need my help with?”
“Get a bunch of girly stuff together for me. Some of your jewelry, shoes, even a dress or two. Novels with people kissing on the cover, maybe a few things from Moonbeams, like scarves and a crystal lamp or something. Do you know what I mean?”
“You mean stuff that you’ve never bought in your entire life.”
“Exactly. Put it all in a box and bring it over to the Mousehole within the hour.”
“The Mousehole? But…okay, no questions. I’ll be there.”
“Don’t go into the tavern. Just come around the back to Grant’s house.”
“Oh my god, you are killing me. Not even one teeny little question?”
“Hurry, please.”
Ending the call, Rory started the car and drove to a side street off Starfish Avenue, where Madeline Fox’s bath-and-body shop Naked sat housed in a pristine white, glass-fronted building. Given Joanna’s worries about synthetic scents, Rory thought she’d better personally scrutinize any and all products brought into Grant’s house.
The instant she stepped inside Naked, she felt like a bull barreling through a china shop. Everything was white, soft music played from speakers, and glass shelves held dozens of jars and bottles of lotions, creams, oils, and God knew what else women slathered on their skin. All were packaged with distinctive blue-and-white labels and the tagline Get Naked.
“Hello, how can I…Rory?” Madeline Fox looked up from the computer, her perfectly plucked eyebrows rising.
“Hi, Madeline.” Trying not to appear too panicked, Rory hurried to the glass counter. “I need some lotions and stuff.”
Madeline blinked, then composed her perfect features into a welcoming smile. “Of course. You’ve never been here before, have you?”
“No. Anything’s fine, really. Just nothing synthetic.”
“None of our products contain synthetic ingredients.” Madeline’s eyes frosted over a tad. “We use fresh, organic fruits, vegetables, and essential oils to craft rich, hydrating products intended for—”
“Sounds fantastic.” Rory dug her wallet out of her pocket. “Give me some lotion, shampoo, makeup and stuff.”
“Is this for a gift?”
“No, it’s for me.” Rory pulled out her credit card.
“Oh. Well, that’s wonderful. Have a seat.” Madeline indicated a stool in front of a lighted mirror. “We always begin with a holistic diagnostic so we can personalize your products to your skin type, lifestyle, environment and the—”
“Madeline.” Rory forced a smile. “I am in a crazy big hurry here. I don’t need a holistic diagnostic, really. I just need a bunch of lotions or whatever. Please.”
Madeline pursed her lips, seeming n
ot to know whether to be irritated or amused. “All right, but I’m going to give you products from our Natural Beauty line so that you don’t end up with competing scents or applications.”
Rory tried not to grit her teeth. She held up her credit card as if it were a tablet of the Ten Commandments that had to be obeyed.
Madeline smiled and strolled to a shelf. As Rory checked her phone for the time, Madeline brought an array of bottles and jars to the counter.
“So for your morning regimen, begin with the lime-scrub cleanser.” Madeline unscrewed the lid and thrust the open jar under Rory’s nose. “It’s very light and refreshing.”
“Great.” She took a whiff and wondered if Grant had key-lime pie on the menu today. “As I said, big hurry here. Wrap it all up.”
Ten minutes and a ridiculous amount of money later, Rory rushed back to Grant’s house just as Aria was pulling up in her old van. Her sister hauled two cardboard boxes out of the back.
“I have a thousand questions.” Eyes bright, she hurried up the front steps as Rory unlocked the door. “No, a million.”
“Suppress them.” Rory dropped the Naked bag in the foyer and took the boxes from her sister. “And please don’t tell anyone about this.”
“You went to Naked?” Aria peered into the bag. “What did you get? Is that lip gloss and body wash? What is going on?”
“Those are questions.”
“First, you were spotted in Grant’s car.” Aria lifted her thumb. “Then you call and tell me to bring girly stuff to Grant’s house.” She held up her forefinger. “Then you buy lotions, lip gloss, and body wash at Naked, of all places, when you usually just get whatever soap is on sale at the drugstore, and for some reason you’re bringing it all into Grant’s living room.”
She extended another finger. “Callie might be the one with the PhD, but it doesn’t take an advanced degree to figure out that something very interesting is going on here and that it has something to do with Grant.”
“No questions, Sherlock.” Rory gave her sister a quick hug. “Now go away.”
She shooed Aria out the door and sprang into action. Since her own belongings were meager, she hauled all of her boxes into a utility closet near the back porch. In the bedroom, she yanked open drawers of Grant’s neatly folded clothes and stuffed them with her T-shirts, jeans, and underwear.