by Joya Ryan
If Miss Baughman wanted to play tough with all her talk and rules, so be it.
“Fine. Enjoy your cold shower.” Keeping his eyes on her, he waited for her move. Laura Baughman was a walking, talking game of Texas Hold’em. He’d give her credit, she had a good poker face, but if he called her bluff enough, eventually she’d fold.
She stood still, dripping on his hardwood floor, and what he wouldn’t do to lick those beads of water sliding down her neck and thighs. Damn, he wanted to make her drenched and dripping in a different kind of way.
She looked at her feet for a long moment, as if debating her options.
“I just need a hot shower,” she finally mumbled.
“Okay.” This was good! She was coming close to that common ground. Now if only he could stop thinking about making her come . . . He stood and walked toward her, not stopping until he was close enough to feel her breath. “I can help you with that,” he rasped, leaning in enough to make sure she felt his body heat.
She eyed him, obviously annoyed, but there was a flash of desire in those molasses eyes, and that got his blood pumping a little faster. She might be freezing her ass off, but she felt the pull between them, too—that much was obvious.
“You’re not going to be satisfied until I beg, are you?” she asked.
“Oh, I’d love it if you begged. But in a very different way than you’re thinking.” With his grip fastened around the long neck of his beer, he slowly ran his knuckles up her thigh, making even more goose bumps break out. “But for a shower? I’d be happy with a simple please.”
She pressed her lips together, as if her pride willed her to remain stubborn. Time to push. Because if he didn’t, he’d keep coming after her. He knew it. Laura Baughman was his kryptonite, and had been since high school. She needed to push him away and stay away, or he’d keep coming for her. Despite the consequences.
“Look at yourself,” he cooed, inching just a little closer until the tips of her breasts brushed his torso. She sucked in a breath, and so did he. Because he could feel those pebbled peaks stabbing through the thin towel and the cotton of his shirt, raking against him. “Look how cold you are. You must be aching . . .” Closer still, until his mouth was right over hers. “Desperate for something . . . hot.”
“I am,” she breathed. When she looked at his lips, then licked her own, he was ready to pounce. Sweep her up and toss her on the couch, rip that stupid towel away and bury himself inside her until, yes, she begged. Begged him to never stop.
But he went slowly. This was a battle of wills, after all.
“Then just say the word and I can make life easier for you,” he said.
She looked down, and he was pretty sure she could see firsthand the effect she had on him. She blinked a few times, a fog lifting from her brown eyes. Shock plagued her face. She glanced at his cock, which was obviously and painfully tenting his jeans, and Lord have mercy, she bit her bottom lip.
“Looks like I’m the one making things hard on you,” she whispered. “And I don’t need you to make anything easy on me, Jacob Lock. Because I can guarantee you there’s nothing easy about me.”
With that, she spun and walked out his door, that world-class ass swaying and bare feet slapping against the hardwood as she made her way out the front door, leaving him with his own hardwood problem and in need of a cold shower himself.
“Believe me, I’m well aware of that fact,” he called after her.
Her response was the slamming of his front door.
Chapter Three
Laura had never needed a drink so badly in her life. That cold shower of hose water did nothing to calm her nerves after her encounter with Jacob. She was desperate for vodka and her best friend. Which were both on the other side of the bar door.
She parked around back and stared at the ocean for a moment. The town had been built along the sturdy cliffs lining the Pacific, and with the vast blue water as an endless backdrop, it was easy to feel small in a big world that was currently wrapped up in a tiny town.
Speaking of blue, Jake’s eyes are incredible . . .
Shut up, brain!
Frickin’ Jake.
She pinched the bridge of her nose and thanked whatever God was looking out for her that she’d mustered the courage to walk away from him earlier. Because a very big part of her had wanted to stay. The way he looked at her was hotter than any water she’d hoped for.
How had he done that? He brought out conflicting emotions. Made her feel so uncomfortable, so annoyed, so . . . hot. Hannah had told her about hate screwing. Apparently, people who didn’t like one another still hooked up, and it was supposed to be intense and fun. Hot, even. Hot being a key word in Laura’s world lately. Because she was either raging hot or freezing cold . . . both of which were Jacob’s fault.
Yep, time for a drink.
She got out of her car and walked around to Main Street. Yachats, Oregon, on a Friday night wasn’t exactly hopping. It was, however, alive. The cobblestone sidewalk was the same as she remembered, a light gray stone that always seemed a bit damp from the sea breeze. The ocean crashed in the background and was only 172 steps from the town square. She knew because she’d counted when she was eight. Nothing had changed, and it felt like home.
The salt in the air was comforting, and for a moment, she could feel her mother’s voice on the wind. She was home. Now she just had to keep it that way. It took effort to thrive. And that’s what she’d do.
She opened the door to Goonies, the local bar, and took two steps inside. She would have taken three, but Hannah’s loud screech stopped her, and the black-haired beauty was sprinting from behind the bar and straight at her.
“Look at you!” Hannah said, hustling to Laura with spread arms. “I’ve missed you!”
Hannah all but crashed into her, and Laura felt so much love in the one hug.
“I’ve missed you, too,” Laura said and hugged her friend. Even though she’d been in California the past ten years, they had stayed close over Skype and the phone. Hannah had visited a handful of times and was her best friend since birth. No distance would ever change that. Laura’s father never came out to California despite Laura offering to buy his ticket. So she was grateful she had Hannah.
“So you work here now?” Laura said, looking around.
“Yep, hoping to do more than just work here one day. Maybe own,” Hannah said, looking around with pride. The place was rustic and fun. Smelled like roasted peanuts and saltwater taffy and beer. Ah, a bar on the ocean. Some smells never changed.
“You didn’t have to dress up for me,” Hannah said, looking her over. Hannah was in a tank top and ripped jeans and a black lap apron.
Laura looked down the front of herself. Sleek black pants paired with her last and now the only pair of heels she owned—which were bright red. Gotta love getting cleaned out in a divorce. Truth was, she was happy to start fresh. She hadn’t entered the marriage with much, and she’d left it just the same. She didn’t want her ex or his money or any ties to him. Which was why she’d walked away. But her outfit had her second-guessing how long she’d been gone. She thought a white top was casual, Friday-night evening wear. It was back in California. But judging by the crowd, she was wrong about her outfit. Very, very, wrong.
“I, ah . . .” Laura felt the sudden sense that while a lot hadn’t changed around Yachats—including the pool table off to the left, the massive open space near the corner stage where local bands came in to play, and even the LIFE’S A BEACH sign made of green paint and distressed wood hanging in the same place—she had, and it was her old small-town self she was trying to re-find.
“You look great,” Hannah said and clasped her hand. “Come have a drink.” She walked behind the bar and started refilling the cups of the patrons while Laura took a minute to look around. Wood floors that creaked with every step like a song. Ocean themes, like antique harpooning gear and shark teeth, scattered on the walls. She’d missed this place. Casual and simple and home.
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br /> But the longer she stood there, the more she felt out of place. Odd since it was home and yet felt so distant. Maybe she was more lost in her life than she’d thought.
Despite the country music blaring from the jukebox, she heard mumbles of her last name being thrown around. People around here apparently remembered who she was—or rather, whose daughter she was. But it was a small town. People usually knew of everyone at the very least.
Clearing her throat and deciding that she’d made it this far, she moved to get that drink. She walked to the bar counter, keeping her eyes forward as a woman with teased bangs and a leopard-print tank top stared her down.
She flashed a smile, and leopard woman smiled back. Brightly.
“Hi there, honey,” the woman said. She closed the few steps between them with intent strides, make her triple Ds shake and sway as she yanked Laura in for a hug.
Okay, so that was a fail in the politeness department, and Laura had no idea what to do. She couldn’t do much of anything other than inhale the unmistakable scents of spandex and White Diamonds perfume. The overly nice and apparently personal-space-unaware stranger was concerning, because the hug was lasting way longer than social norms would dictate.
“You are just gorgeous!” the woman said, clasping Laura’s shoulders and shoving her back to look her over. Laura felt like a rag doll next to the voluptuous woman intent on pawing at her. “My God, you look nothing like your father. So you must look like your mother. Wonderful woman, I’m told. I wish I could have known her.”
“Ah, thank you?” Laura said. “Forgive me, but have we met?”
“Not officially until right now,” the woman said happily. Her kind eyes had small lines at the corners from years of big smiles. Laura had to guess she was in her fifties. “I’m Roberta. Your father’s lady friend.”
Laura’s eyes shot wide. But before she could say anything, the woman yanked her in for another hug.
“He is just tickled to death that you’re back in town!” Again she released Laura but kept a tight hold on her arm. “Me and my Lusty Ladies group was going to come down to the flower shop next week to welcome you properly, but when I got wind that you’d be here tonight, I just couldn’t wait. Do you like coconut?”
Laura worked double time to process all the information and questions Roberta had thrown at her. First, her father was pushing seventy and dating this woman who . . . sure, seemed nice, but wasn’t his type. Or was she? Hell, she had no idea! But between the leopard print, the bosom, and the suffocating hugs, she had to find her brain. Because Roberta clearly knew about her, the flower shop, and—
“Forgive me, did you say Lusty Ladies group?”
“Yes!” Roberta pulled her in like she was telling a secret. “My friends and I read all those dirty romance novels and such and talk about it. It’s like a book club, only the steamier the better.” She winked. “We’re starting a new series next week. Cowboy with kink. Esther is bringing Chex Mix, and there’s always wine.”
Okay, Laura was officially lost somewhere between cowboy, kink, and trail mix. But one thing was certain, Roberta was . . . nice. Eccentric and chatty, but genuinely nice. Laura realized she hadn’t gotten a minute to process that her father was even dating, much less going to live with this woman—oh, and he’d sold the house—and now, it was all hitting at once. But she couldn’t bring herself to dislike Roberta. She wanted her father happy and, well, Roberta seemed at the very least that she could match his crazy, so that was a plus.
“I don’t think I’ll have time for a book club, but I appreciate the offer,” Laura said with a smile, trying to be polite.
“Oh, of course! You’re going to be so busy with that shop. Your father said you’re setting to improve it! Sell flowers and all. That’s great.”
Her dad was talking about her? That made her smile. It also gave her hope that this next month would go well since her father already seemed to be spouting his faith in her to others. Jake could take note of that. She could make this work. And she would.
Roberta got a ping on her phone and giggled as she read the text message.
“I have to get going—that’s your father now. His ears must have been burning.” She smiled. “And he sure knows how to text sexy and this is a code red.”
Ew! Laura could have lived the rest of her life not knowing that her father was apparently skilled at sexting.
“My shop is just a couple doors down,” Roberta called loudly as she grabbed her leather jacket of the back of a bar stool and waved. “You come see me, we’ll chat more!”
Roberta left and Laura realized her father had a more active sex life than she did. Which gave her the creeps, and now that drink she needed would have to be a double.
She made her way to the counter where, thank heaven, Hannah read her mind. A double vodka cranberry was waiting with a cherry floating on top.
“First time meeting your new stepmom, eh?” Hannah joked.
Laura finally shimmied her way between two older men, both in worn Carhartt jeans being held up by suspenders and smelling of sawdust and salt water. Coastal men through and through.
She smiled at the bald one to her left. He just stared like she was a different life form. So she tried the gentleman on her right. He had to be pushing seventy and sported a gray beard down to his chest. The option of making friends didn’t look promising.
She returned her attention to Hannah. “Yeah, I guess.” She took several hearty swallows of her drink.
“Well, gear up for a homecoming there, Queenie, because everyone is excited to see you.”
“Everyone?” Laura asked. And she missed how her best friend called her Queenie. Hannah had been the emo goth girl, total opposite of Laura, and yet they’d always been best friends.
“Yep. Your daddy’s been talking about you coming home to anyone who will listen.”
“Clearly,” Laura said around another swallow, replaying the ambush she’d just encountered with Roberta.
“And everyone is excited to see how the small-town girl became the big-city woman and is back to take over Baughman.”
Laura laughed at Hannah’s flair for dramatics. It wasn’t as glamorous as that, and yet, Hannah always made Laura feel like she was more than another plain Jane. Sure, she’d been prom queen, but Laura had never felt like more than an average girl riding around on a float made of toilet paper. It was also why she was always chasing big, exciting things, because deep down, she worried she wasn’t exciting. Even her husband had grown tired of her. She’d allowed misery so long. But she was trying. Trying to stay. Trying to start fresh.
“Baughman?” Gandalf the Gray sitting next to her said abrasively and just looked at her, perplexed. “You’re Walt Baughman’s little girl?”
“Yes, that’s right.” Laura replied.
“So you’re running the shop now?” Gandalf asked.
Laura blinked and her mouth went dry. Wasn’t that the question of the day? She wasn’t running it, exactly. But she wasn’t about to spill the details to Gandalf here about how her father had given her a month to get along with Jake and make the flower shop a success before he’d intervene and pick a real boss.
Since she’d just shown up, and with the way everyone seemed to be eyeing her, her status as Walt’s daughter wasn’t a secret. The little flower shop was no longer that, though. It was a big operation with big machinery and big piles of supplies. But it was time for Laura to take what was hers and be proud. Only then could she make a name for herself in the town and sell her flowers. Not rocks and dirt like Jake. She had to set herself apart now if she’d ever be taken seriously and as her own person. Not the business. Not Jacob Lock’s sidekick. Nope, she was in charge of the flower shop. Time she owned it.
“I’m the owner and will be working at the shop as well,” she answered, feeling confident in that. Because she was ready to turn the flower shop around and oversee it. She just had to deal with Jacob Lock and how he’d been working in the warehouse for an eternity. �
�I’m going to revamp the floral shop,” she finished.
Hannah nodded in support while shaking a martini. But Gandalf just humphed at her.
“I thought that the shop mostly did gravel and lumber or construction-type supplies.”
“It was originally a floral shop,” she said. Granted, it had been turned into a home-and-garden store several years ago, as it turned out. And now, of course, it was a warehouse monstrosity of resources on a large scale. “I’m getting the shop back to its roots.”
“Ha-ha, pun intended?” Hannah said.
Laura smiled. “Yes!”
It was nice talking with someone who actually had a kind word for her. And seemed to be as excited as she was.
“This town doesn’t have a flower shop, you know. Since your dad stopped selling, everyone has to go to Lincoln City,” Hannah said with a wink. “You can corner the market.”
“That’s the hope,” Laura said. A twinge of excitement raced through her.
“Yeah, I’ve had to look around for flower crap and arrangements or whatever the hell they’re called, and it’s annoying going all that way.”
“You’re looking for flowers? For an event?” Laura asked. “You didn’t tell me about this.”
“It just came up this morning,” Hannah said, plopping a lime wedge in a Corona and sliding it down the bar to a random man. “My boss is dumping the planning for this event on me. It’s this party—”
“Can I get shot of Jack over here, Hannah!” a man yelled from down the bar. Hannah wiped her hands on her apron and nodded.
“Duty calls,” she said to Laura. “We’ll talk more later, but enjoy your admirers . . .” Hannah gave a wink that made Laura wonder what the hell she was talking about. With a devious smile, she scooted down to wait on the other customers.
Laura stood with her drink in hand to find a table. When she turned around, she was met with a wall of man and effectively spilled her pink drink down the front of . . . oh God . . . a police uniform.
“I’m so, so sorry,” Laura said, swiping at the stained chest now right in her face. The shiny badge and name tag read CLEARY.