by Tawna Fenske
“Nothing wrong with liking a good story.”
“So dull I’ve worn my hair the same since middle school.”
“I like your hair.”
“So dull the last serious relationship I had was my ex-husband.”
Wally was quiet for a second. “I didn’t know you’d been married.”
Reese shrugged. “I thought I’d slip that in there while we were being jovial.”
“Good plan,” he said. “I don’t mind. I’m just surprised, that’s all. Did it end badly?”
“No, we’re still good friends.” She settled back in the seat, feeling a little warmer now that she was out of the rain and basking in the comfort of the car heater. “That was the problem, really. The friendship was terrific, so we thought the marriage thing would just come naturally. Turned out we’re lousy spouses.”
“How so?”
Reese looked out the window, trying to come up with the words to describe what had gone wrong between her and Eric. “It wasn’t anything dramatic like adultery or abuse. I think we just mixed up the kind of love you have for a friend with the kind of love you should feel for the person you spend your life with.”
“Interesting,” Wally said. “You always hear people talking about the importance of marrying your best friend.”
“That’s just it,” Reese said. “He’s still one of my best friends. But there has to be more than that. Passion. Affection. The desire to have each other’s back no matter what. That soul-deep connection that seems to come naturally for so many happily married couples.”
Her tone had turned wistful, and Reese kicked herself for going so far down that path on a first date. Not that there was any way of turning it into a normal first date at this point.
“I’m sorry,” Wally said. “About your divorce, I mean.”
“It’s fine,” she said, shaking her head. “He’s remarried to a great woman, so everything worked out okay.”
“Not everything. You’re still single.”
Reese frowned. “Why does everyone always assume that’s a bad thing? Maybe I like being single.”
“Do you?”
She thought about that a second. “I’m not sure. I’ve thought so for a long time, but maybe I’m just kidding myself. Marriage was so much harder than I thought it would be. I’m not looking to try again anytime soon. Maybe ever.”
“Really? You’ve given up on marriage?”
Reese shrugged. “I don’t know. I know it can be good. Lord knows my parents are still disgustingly in love. I just don’t think I’m cut out for it.”
“Maybe you just haven’t met the right person.”
“Maybe I’m just not the right person myself.”
Wally arced a turn down the gravel road leading toward the vineyard. “Kind of a weighty conversation for a first date, huh?”
“Yeah, sorry. Maybe we should save abortion and physician-assisted suicide for the second date?”
He grinned. “Are you offering a second date?”
Reese felt her face grow warm again, and she was thankful for the car’s dim interior. “If you’re interested, sure. If nothing else, it’ll give me a chance to prove that stoned alpacas, confrontations with my grandfather’s jealous lover, and trips to the police station aren’t part of my everyday routine.”
“That’s too bad.”
He pulled up in front of her little house, and Reese held her breath for a second, wondering if he’d kill the engine or just bid her a quick farewell. Which did she want?
Wally put the car in park and kept the engine running. “Thank you for coming out with me, Reese. I had a nice time. Did you?”
“Yes,” said Reese, a little taken aback. “Yes, I guess I did.”
He smiled and took her hand. “Good. I’m glad.”
He lifted her hand to his lips and planted a chaste kiss on her knuckles. Then he set her hand back in her lap and smiled.
Hardly the make-out session Larissa was hoping to hear about, but Reese knew she wasn’t really the sort of woman who inspired men to pounce on her in the front seat of a Subaru.
“Goodnight, Reese.”
“Goodnight, Wally. Thanks again for everything.”
“My pleasure.”
Reese climbed out of the car and trudged up the walkway to her house. She never locked her front door, so she pushed it open and flicked her porch light off and on a couple times to let Wally know she was safely inside. She closed the door behind her and leaned against it, basking in the few moments of solitude she had before Larissa arrived.
Instead of peace, she felt a wave of guilt.
She’d been so certain Clay had fallen off the wagon. So sure he’d been the one to do something wrong, to end up in jail for fighting or public drunkenness or God knows what else.
Judgmental bitch, she muttered to herself as she pulled off her boots and wriggled her toes on the sisal mat at her front door.
Well, hell, how many times had she gotten calls just like that one? Calls when the worst thing really did turn out to be true.
She’d lost count of the drunken messages, the trips to the police station, the rowdy bar fights, the times she’d had to scrub puke out of her car.
Why wouldn’t I think the worst?
Still. Maybe she owed him an apology.
The headlights of Clay’s truck swung down the driveway, and Reese turned to the window to watch him move slowly along the gravel. The old Clay would have come blazing up the road at twice that speed, heedless of small rodents or dust flying up behind him to coat her grapes. The new Clay was certainly more cautious.
Reese reached for the door.
An apology. She could give him that much.
Clay killed the engine in front of Reese’s house and stepped out of his truck. Larissa was sound asleep in the passenger seat, so Clay walked around to the other side and opened her door.
“’Riss?”
Nothing. Just a small snore and a thin ribbon of drool connecting her bottom lip to the hem of her skirt. He hesitated, feeling a small pang of sadness for her. It seemed a shame to wake her.
Hell, she couldn’t weigh that much. He unbuckled her seat belt and reached under the seat to grab a blanket. Wrapping the soft wool around her, he hoisted her out, pausing to kick his truck door shut as he headed up the walk with her in his arms.
Larissa moaned softly in her sleep but didn’t stir. Clay was trying to figure out how to knock on Reese’s door without waking Larissa when the door swung open and Reese stood there in her bare feet looking up at him.
“She’s asleep?” Reese whispered.
“No, I clubbed her over the head and wanted to bury her dead body in your backyard.” Clay stepped around her into the warmth of the living room. “I’d actually say passed out is a better description than asleep. I think she had a lot to drink.”
“Not the first time,” she said, biting her lip. “We can put her in the guest room. I keep a bed made up for her.”
Clay raised an eyebrow. “You have a guest room in this place? Doesn’t seem big enough for an extra dish towel.”
“I like my house. It’s plenty of room for me, my rescue animals, and the occasional drunken guest,” Reese said. “Right in here.”
Reese held open a door, and Clay carried Larissa through it. Reese bent forward to pull the covers back so Clay could set her down on the bed. He reached for the sheet, ready to pull it up to Larissa’s chin.
“Hold on, let me take her shoes off,” Reese said. “Er, shoe. She’s missing one.”
“Probably left it in my truck. I’ll go get it.”
“We can grab it later. Let’s just get her tucked in.”
“We don’t have to undress her, do we?”
Reese laughed. “You may be the first man who didn’t jump at the chance to remove Larissa’s c
lothes.”
Clay shrugged and said nothing.
Once they had Larissa tucked in, they moved silently out of the room. Reese shut the door behind her and padded barefoot into the kitchen, her black dress brushing the soft hollow at the back of her knees.
Clay followed, intending to make a hasty retreat. He just needed to grab ’Riss’s shoe and get out of here. Lingering with Reese would be bad, especially now that he’d slipped up twice and kissed her. Jesus, it was like he was trying to screw up all his friendships.
Then Reese reached up to pull two glasses out of a cupboard, and Clay promptly forgot his exit strategy. Instead, he watched her dress ride up the back of her thighs, exposing a pale swath of skin that looked so soft he itched to run his finger over it. The dress was some sort of silky material, and it hugged her curves without being obscene. He watched her calf muscles flex, watched her bare arm as she—
“Don’t you think so?” Reese asked.
Clay’s mind came crashing back to the present. Shit. What had she just asked him? He tried to think of a tactful way to recover.
“That’s an interesting question,” he said. “Maybe if you rephrased it, I could give you a broader answer.”
Reese blinked at him. “Okay,” she said. “The ice we get from the well out here always tastes better than the crap we get in restaurants, wouldn’t you agree?”
Dammit.
“Right,” Clay said, and rested his elbows on the serving bar as Reese set a glass in front of him and poured cola over the large chunks of ice.
He watched her for a moment as she lifted her own glass to her lips to take a sip. Clay picked up his glass and drained half of it in one gulp. He set it down and looked up to see her studying him. He cleared his throat.
“How are all your animals?”
“Good. Leon’s recovered from his bender, Oscar the orphaned opossum is almost ready for solid food, and Axl taught Earwax the raccoon to sit up and beg.”
“That’s everyone?”
“No, just the ones you’ve met. There’s a skunk with an injured foot, a kestrel with a broken wing, a couple fawns I’m bottle feeding—”
“Wow. You have your hands full.”
“I like it. You’re part of the reason I got serious about animal rehab in the first place.”
Clay looked down at his hands, not sure how to take that. Reese certainly had a soft spot for lost souls. Is that what he was to her? The thought reminded him of the drunk girl snoozing in the guest room. He cleared his throat. “So, Reese. Does Larissa get wasted like that a lot?”
Reese twisted her glass in her hands, considering. “Occasionally. More than I wish she did, but not like—”
She stopped and bit her lip. Clay knew why.
“Not like I was? A drunk, you mean?” He saw Reese flinch. “Not yet, but she could be headed that way. I remember her doing that a lot in college, and the fact that she’s still at it is a red flag.”
“I appreciate your concern,” she said, her crisp tone suggesting she definitely didn’t.
Clay sighed and wrapped his fingers around the glass again. “I’d be a jerk if I didn’t say something, Reese. I know what it’s like. And I know you think it’s your job to take care of all the living creatures in need. I’m just saying, keep an eye on her.”
She looked up at him, tears brimming in her eyes. “I know,” she murmured. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I’m still being a bitch to you.”
“It’s fine, Reese. It’s fine.” Clay shook his head, trying not to notice the glitter of her tears. It felt like a sucker punch to the spleen knowing he was responsible for making her cry.
Again.
He drew in a breath, struggling to do even that. Suddenly, the room felt very small.
“Don’t cry, Reese,” he said.
A stupid thing to say. She turned her face away from him, and he saw the first tear slide down her cheek.
Shit.
“Just give me a second, okay?” she whispered. “It’s just—Larissa, and all this stuff with you and—”
He stood up, feeling awkward and stiff in his own body. The room seemed too hot. She wouldn’t look at him.
“Reese.”
He reached for her, pulling her to his chest for a comforting hug. He was surprised when she came willingly, more surprised when she molded her body to his.
His breath caught in his throat as the grassy-sweet smell of her engulfed him, making his head spin like he’d just downed a fifth of Jack.
She’s so soft.
His arms circled her torso, and his hands came to rest beneath the sharp points of her shoulder blades. He slid them down a little, just a few inches, to rest in the curve of her lower back.
It’s a friendly hug, just that. Just comforting a crying woman. A friend.
Reese moved against him and the word friend ran screaming from his brain, replaced by something else. Lust, maybe.
Urgency.
Get out!
He felt himself responding to her, though his brain was still yelling at him to move away from her, to get the hell out of this kitchen.
Your best friend’s ex.
Don’t shit where you eat.
Off limits.
Reese tilted her head to look up at him, and Clay’s head spun as he looked down into those wild green eyes. His hands seemed to move on their own, sliding down her back, cupping the curve of her ass as his mouth descended and found hers.
Then he was kissing her, kissing her hard as her fingers twined in his hair and her breath pressed her breasts against his chest. Her lips were soft and tasted like cola and something else, maybe wine—he couldn’t remember, it had been so long.
He tried to pull back, but he couldn’t. Somehow, his fingers found their way into her hair, tugging it free from its knot so he could feel it cool and slippery between his fingers. He slid his lips from her mouth and began kissing his way down her chin, her throat, her chest—
Reese gasped and drew back.
Clay swallowed, his hands stilled in her hair.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I shouldn’t have—”
“Stop.” She blinked at him, and he could have sworn her eyes were darker than before. Evergreen, almost. She licked her lips, and Clay felt himself grow dizzy again.
“Stop apologizing, I mean. My room,” she whispered. “Okay?”
And with his mind reeling with lust and desire and the warm, sweet smell of her, he could only manage one word: “Okay.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Reese had no idea what came over her. One minute she was attempting a sincere apology, steeped in worry about how she’d been treating Clay and whether Larissa’s drinking was something to fret about.
The next minute she was so dizzy with lust she tripped over her own bare feet as she dragged him toward her bedroom. She locked the door behind them and turned to face Clay.
Her body buzzed with desire, and a million crazy justifications whirled through her head.
It’s okay, he’s a friend.
It doesn’t mean anything, it’s just sex.
It’s not like we haven’t done this before.
“What?” Clay murmured, and Reese realized she’d spoken her last thought aloud.
“Nothing,” she said, and tugged at the hem of his T-shirt, trying to pull it over his head. He let go of her long enough to yank his arms free of the warm cotton, and then he was standing there in front of her, naked to the waist.
“My God,” she whispered and dragged her fingers down his chest.
Clay groaned low in the back of his throat, but his hands stayed at his sides. It was like he was suddenly afraid to touch her now that they were in a dark room with a bed and desire so thick she could see it in the air between them. Reese hooked her fingers under his belt and looked up at him. He wasn’
t meeting her eyes.
“What?” she asked.
He looked down at her. “You—I’m just—It’s just—” He took a breath. “If you need to stop, now’s the time.”
She tilted her head to the side, a little incredulous. “Stop? Why would I want to stop?”
Clay closed his eyes for a second, and Reese watched his hands ball into fists at his sides. She saw him clench and unclench his jaw.
“Do you want to stop?” she asked. “I didn’t mean to drag you in here like—”
“No!” he said, his eyes wide as his hands came up to cup her arms just above the elbows. “No, I don’t want to stop. But once we cross that line—”
Reese stood on tiptoe to kiss him, stopping his words with her lips. She pressed her body harder against him, her tongue finding his, her fingers sliding up and over the taut muscles of his back to pull him closer. His hands stayed on her elbows for a few more beats, then slowly slid down her rib cage and nestled around her waist.
Reese stopped kissing him long enough to look him in the eyes. “The line’s already been crossed, wouldn’t you say?”
Clay blinked down at her, seeming not to hear her words. He held her like that for a second, his breath coming fast, his pupils dilated. Then he slid his hands down over her ass and touched the hem of her dress. He hesitated there, his eyes fixed on hers.
“Want me to take it off?” Reese asked, not bothering to wait for a response. She let go of him and reached down to tug the dress over her head, trying to remember the sexiest way to do this. It had been so long. She crossed her arms and grabbed the hem, her arms making a natural X, crossing and uncrossing beneath the fabric.
Then she was standing there in just her bra and panties, suddenly self-conscious. She shivered.
Hell, it’s not like he hasn’t seen it before.
True, everything was a decade older, and gravity had had its way with a few things, but overall, she knew she still looked pretty good. She stood up a little straighter, wondering if she should have left her high-heeled boots on.
“Beautiful,” he said in a strangled voice, one hand coming up to brush the strap of her bra. “You’re so beautiful.”