He shrugged, not wanting to discuss his woodworking. That would bring in the outside world, the broken promise he’d made to himself, and the need to figure out where to go from here.
“It’s probably the only time I truly feel at peace.”
Except the past few hours he’d spent here with her.
“I know you said you haven’t sold them in the past, but have you ever considered it? Selling your furniture as a business, I mean?”
Maybe if things were different, if he were someone else or lived somewhere else, but—
“That’s not something I can pursue now.”
“I understand,” she said, squeezing him tighter. He reveled in being close to her, in feeling she wanted it as much as he did.
She trailed her fingers through his chest hair. “Wyatt, we need to talk.”
He stiffened. Every guy knew nothing good ever followed those four words.
“About what?”
“What just happened between us.”
“Which time?”
He felt her smile against his skin. “Both. I didn’t plan this.”
He played with her hair. “You think I did?”
“Of course not. What I meant was I’d thought about it, I’d even tried to convince myself it wouldn’t be an issue, but I never thought it would actually happen between us.”
“Do you regret it?” He held his breath and waited.
It felt like an eternity before she answered. “No. But I need you to understand that it doesn’t change anything. This isn’t going to stop me from doing my job. And once it’s done, I’m leaving.”
He winced at the pain that darted through him at her words, but he knew she was right. Because he felt the same way. “It’s possible I blacked out a couple of times because it was that good, but I’m pretty sure I didn’t propose, right?”
“Right,” she said, her tone uncertain.
“Although . . .” He moved quickly and pulled her across his lap, spanking her backside. “I’d definitely propose to this ass. It’s perfect!”
She squeaked in surprise, then slapped his chest. “You’re such a jerk! You scared me half to death!”
He growled against her neck and she laughed and bent her head, trying to dislodge him.
Another thing about her body he’d recently discovered. She was extremely ticklish.
“You’re not the only one in a difficult situation. I’m still the mayor of Bradleton and I have to advocate for my town.” He stared into eyes that had gone somber with his words. He cupped her cheek. “But can you deny we’ve been drawn to each other from the moment we met?”
She could. But she’d be lying.
She nestled into his palm. “No.”
“And this . . . this was incredible, right?”
A slight smile curved her lips, and she shrugged. “It was all right.”
She’d pay for that later. “Then what’s the harm in us enjoying what’s between us while you’re here?”
He’d asked and answered this question hours before. He knew the harm. It was the reason he’d decided to pump the brakes on a personal relationship between them.
But that was before. Now that he’d had a taste of her, he couldn’t give her up.
He wouldn’t.
She pushed away from him. “But can we do that? Can we ‘enjoy what’s between us’ and not let it affect the reason I’m here? How do I know you won’t use what we do in here against me out there?”
“Hey. Caila. No. I would never do that to you.”
She exhaled. “Even if you don’t like my . . . recommendation?”
Fuck! This was getting way too complicated.
But he didn’t care what he’d thought earlier. He wanted her and he had to help his town. He’d figure out a way to have both.
Later.
“Even then. But we can cross that bridge if we ever come to it. Right now, it’s miles away.” Or two weeks, give or take a day. “I say we have some fun.”
Her brows pulled together and she looked away from him.
He could feel the conflict warring inside her. Fear reached into his chest and constricted his lungs, making it difficult for him to breathe. She could say no, say this wasn’t worth it.
He wasn’t worth it.
She shook her head softly.
He blinked as the acidic scrape of bile teased the back of his throat—
She trailed a finger down his arm. Tilted her head so her hair fell over one shoulder. Smiled. “What do you have in mind?”
Thank God! The giddy rush of relief rendered him momentarily speechless.
But when it came to her, he seemed to recuperate quickly. He reached into the glass on the nightstand and pulled out an ice cube.
“How about a little frosty foreplay?”
Chapter Fifteen
Walking through the kitchen back at Sinclair House on Monday afternoon, Caila caught sight of her reflection in the microwave. Thankfully, her hair looked decent, even though she hadn’t followed her normal conditioning and detangling routine after her shower.
She’d been . . . delightfully preoccupied.
Wyatt didn’t seem to have an issue with being involved with a black woman, but she wasn’t ready to give him the orientation on black hair care. Especially when she could think of a much better use for their time together.
Oh my God. Stop grinning like some giddy teenager who’s been asked out by the most popular boy in school!
Though how could she stop smiling after the previous day and a half spent with Wyatt? The man’s skills in the bedroom were the stuff of legends.
And she didn’t regret any of it. Even if it never happened again, she knew the memories of that night would stay with her for the rest of her life. Something to reflect on when she got back to Chicago and her twelve- to fourteen-hour days. Or maybe she’d listen to Ava and her friends and family and start dating again. Clearly, her strong response to Wyatt was fueled, in part, by her lackadaisical love life.
What if what she felt with Wyatt was unique to him? He made her feel sexy and cherished and desired, and if she didn’t watch herself, she’d become addicted to the way he looked at her.
Ten days. She had ten more days until Joe came back and she’d get access to the financial reports. And once Endurance got her report and backed out of their contract with Chro-Make, Wyatt wouldn’t want to see her again.
Which was fine. All of the complications just proved why it had to be temporary between them. That was all it could ever be. Long-term, her focus had to be on getting her life back on track.
One mistake. One night when she’d let disappointment get the best of her. She worked so hard for everything she’d had. She couldn’t lose it. Not because of a man.
That would make her no better than her mother.
Though she allowed herself a moment to indulge in the scenario where she brought Wyatt Bradley home to meet her mother. Mona would probably work herself into a feminine flutter reacting to all of that male fineness.
And she truly believed that Pop-Pop would’ve loved him. Wyatt reminded her of her grandfather in so many ways. He was smart and considerate and he cared about others.
And those gorgeous pieces he’d created. She wondered if he’d sell that Scandal table to her. It would look great in her office.
Who would’ve guessed the pretty boy had such depth? She remembered when they’d first met. She’d assumed the calluses were due to golf, tennis, or some other gentlemanly sport. Instead, he’d gotten them shaping wood, and the hotness of that imagery seared into her brain, making her incapable of thinking of anything else but his hands on her body.
Her phone’s text ringtone broke through her reverie. She pulled the phone from the pocket of her running pants and checked the screen. A message from Wyatt stole her breath.
I can still taste you on my tongue.
Heat rushed into her cheeks and, look, that smile was back. She typed in her response. Is that a good or bad thing?
His respons
e was quick. It’s good because you tasted so sweet, but bad because I can’t focus on anything until I have you again.
I wish I could help you in some way.
You can. I want to see you tonight.
She poked her tongue into her cheek. See me? Is that all you want to do?
Hell, no. But it’ll be a start. Say you’ll come. It’ll be fun. Intimate.
Dragonflies dipped, then soared inside her belly. I’m looking forward to it.
Maybe she was a giddy teenager. Is this what it had felt like? She wouldn’t know; she’d been too focused on her schoolwork to indulge in relationships. The same with college and her job after she’d graduated. She’d had sex and she’d enjoyed it. But this playfulness, this aching yearning, the keen anticipation of seeing him again . . . This was all new.
And she rather liked it.
She was laughing at the tongue out and peach emojis he’d texted back when the doorbell rang.
“Jada!” Caila was surprised to see the teenager from the bake sale.
“Hi.” Jada looked down at her shoes.
“What are you doing here?”
“I don’t know. I shouldn’t have come.” Jada turned to go.
“No, it’s okay.” Caila gestured to the porch swing. “You want to sit and talk?”
Jada closed her eyes and nodded. “If you don’t mind?”
“Of course not.”
They sat. Jada placed a tattered string backpack next to the porch railing, the beautiful wild curls tamed into a pouf on top of her head, bouncing with her movement.
“Shouldn’t you be in school?”
“The week after homecoming we’re always on fall break.”
“That must be nice.”
“Not really. At home, I have to take care of my little sister and brother. I prefer school.”
“I did, too. Most kids aren’t like us, though.”
Jada rolled her eyes and shoved her hands into the pockets of her Bradleton High Cougars sweatshirt. “All they care about is who’s hooking up with whom and trying to get famous through YouTube or Instagram.”
The correct usage of “whom.” Caila smiled, remembering her high school years. The hard work and pressure to make good grades; the nights spent studying while everyone else was drinking and partying; the teasing and bullying because she hadn’t been like the other kids.
It had all been worth it. If there was one thing she wanted Jada to understand, it was that she wasn’t alone. High school was tough, but if she remained focused and didn’t let anything distract her, she’d achieve any goal she set for herself.
“For me, it was kids trying to get on The Real World or America’s Next Top Model.”
“So stupid.”
Yeah, it was.
“How’s Handmaid’s Tale going?”
“I finished it yesterday. I’m reading this now.” Jada reached into her bag and pulled out a book.
“Y: The Last Man?”
“It’s this graphic novel series about a guy and his pet monkey who are the only two males to survive a global event that killed all other living mammals with the Y chromosome.”
A world without men? There were times when Caila didn’t think that would be such a bad thing. Although after yesterday, she didn’t feel like she could completely commit to the notion.
She tapped the cover of the book. “Your reading habits are very eclectic.”
“Don’t look down on comic books,” Jada said. “Comics theory is an actual field of study offered in colleges.”
Huh. At the price of a college education these days, Caila wasn’t sure she’d waste the credits on something that frivolous.
“Is that what you’re interested in?”
“Oh no.” Jada dismissed that idea with a wave of her hand. “I want a career where I make money, so I can help my family. I’m going to be a lawyer.”
“One of my best friends was just appointed to the bench in California.”
Jada’s eyes widened as if Caila had announced she personally knew Beyoncé. “You’re friends with a judge?”
“I am.” A thought occurred to Caila. “Do you have an email account? If so, I can pass it on to her. If you want to talk to her or ask questions. She’d be a great resource.”
“Really?” Jada’s gaze was bright and hopeful. “You’d do that? For me?”
Caila’s heart melted a little.
“Of course. Plus, us book nerds have to stick together,” she said, bumping the girl’s shoulder.
“That’s so cool. Thank you, Ms. Harris.”
“Call me Caila. In fact, I think I have one of her cards with me. How about I give that to you, and you can contact her when you’re ready? I’ll let her know to expect you.”
She stood just as the screen door opened, and Kevin stood in the doorway, his cheeks stained with that perpetual flush, his blue eyes glossy. “Mom made some strawberry pecan bread last night and I made sure to save you some. I can bring you a piece . . .”
The kid was sweet, but sensitively dealing with the never-ending adoration was draining.
“I’ve already eaten, but thank you. Maybe later. Kevin, do you know Jada?”
Kevin frowned. “I think so. I mean, we haven’t met but I saw you around school.”
Jada nodded. “I’m a year behind you.”
“You graduate in the spring?”
“That’s the plan,” Jada said.
Kevin’s gaze slid to Jada’s lap. “Did you know they’re turning that into a TV show?”
“They’re turning everything into a show.” Jada leaned forward. “Have you read it?”
“Uh, yeah!” He shoveled fingers through his blond curls. “Have you read Saga or Southern Bastards?”
“Saga’s on my list but I’ve never heard of Southern Bastards.” Jada paused. “Outside of my grandma cursing.”
Kevin laughed. “It’s about life in a small town where football is everything. Sound familiar?”
“Shockingly so.” Jada sat back and shook her head. “I live it, so I don’t know if I want to read about it.”
“It’s an interesting critique of Southern culture. It also has a kick-ass heroine. Try the first issue; see what you think.”
Caila tilted her head to the side. This was the first time she’d seen Kevin natural and relaxed and not in “puppy-dog eager” mode. He was actually pretty cute when his face wasn’t cycling through the colors on the outer spectrum of the rainbow.
Caila motioned over her shoulder. “Jada, I’m going to get that card. I’ll be back.”
She left them deep in discussion and headed to her room to find Ava’s business card. Her friend had sent her several from the first printing for her new position: The Honorable Ava Taylor, Superior Court of California.
Ava had been so proud of those cards, almost as proud as she was of her new judgeship, especially as it came in the first year she was eligible to be appointed.
When she called Ava about Jada, should she also mention what had happened with Wyatt?
No, not yet. The other woman didn’t need another reason to believe in her infallibility when it came to other people’s lives.
Caila sighed and slid her free hand in the front pocket of her jeans. “When you used the word ‘intimate,’ this isn’t what I had in mind.”
Not that she wasn’t charmed by the venue. The red barn and silo wouldn’t have looked out of place on a storybook farm. In real life, the effect was enchanting. Although the large wooden cutout jack-o’-lantern, with its slightly creepy gap-toothed smile, added a touch of kitsch to their surroundings.
“I know what you had in mind and I promise, we’ll get to that,” Wyatt said, the conviction in his low, deep voice bolstering his vow. He raised their clasped hands and brushed his lips over her knuckles.
Her nipples tightened into buds.
She gave in to the loopy grin that fought to break loose. “You can’t do that. People might see you.”
“That’s why we’re stand
ing over here, behind the Fun Barn.”
“Is it really called that or are you being facetious?”
He chuckled, and goose bumps danced along her skin. “I didn’t make it up. That’s what it’s called.”
She wasn’t sure she believed him, but she appreciated the segue. “The name may be real, but what about our reason for being here? Are we going to casually bump into the owner of the farm, who’ll tell me that this land has been in his family for generations?”
“Well, it has.”
“Uh-huh. And then will he let it drop that there’s a plot of land where they harvest the raw materials Chro-Make uses for the makeup?”
Wyatt maneuvered them so her back was against the barn and he stood in front of her, a hand braced above her head. “Do you get pleasure out of constantly busting my balls?”
“I thought we both got pleasure out of what I did to your balls.” She tapped a finger against his chin. “But seriously, my questions are legit. With you, there’s always an agenda.”
His expression was serious. “I just wanted to spend time with you in my town without hundreds of people watching.”
Oh.
Crap. Now she felt like a bitch. Not ready to meet his gaze or think about what he’d just said, she looked up. Away from the city, the stars sparkled bright against the velvet night sky. She could never see them that clearly in Chicago. It was an awe-inspiring sight.
Unlike the image over Wyatt’s shoulder. In the distance, tall corn stalks and another creepy wooden cutout, this time of a cartoonish ear of corn, proclaimed the entrance to a corn maze that gave Caila Children of the Corn vibes.
Nope, not doing that.
Wyatt sighed. “I love coming here. Each year, the Andersons open their working farm during the week of the Harvest Festival and offer pumpkin picking, corn mazes, a pumpkin mountain slide and”—he patted the wall above her head—“the Fun Barn.”
Sounded like something the children of the town probably enjoyed. And yet—
“Where are all the kids?” She hadn’t seen any since they’d arrived about twenty minutes ago.
“During the day, they’re everywhere, especially since schools are on fall break. But after eight p.m. you have to be twenty-one or older to get in.”
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