by Emma Roman
“How did you get this cold this fast?”
“I d-d-didn’t r-r-realize,” she stuttered out, her teeth knocking together like a porch wind chime. “I have to get the water up.”
“Nope.” He lifted her from the floor and set her on the edge of her bed. There were sheets but no blankets. Not even a comforter to wrap her in. “Where the hell is your blanket? Your house is not warm enough to sleep without a blanket.”
He unbuttoned his flannel shirt and yanked it off, wrapping it around her bare shoulders. His gaze drifted down, unable to help noticing the curve of her breasts or the way her nipples were rock hard right beneath the thin dampened fabric of her tank.
“I don’t…” A single tear rolled down her cheek. “I forgot to buy one. I’ve just been sleeping in sweats.”
His heart dropped to the pit of his stomach and he wanted to punch the asshole that put her in the frame of mine where she’d forget her basic needs. “Hey, now.” Mick cupped her face and smiled down at her, hoping she didn’t pull away or yell and send him packing. She didn’t. God, she looked sexy wearing his shirt, her wet hair trailed down her shoulders and her blue eyes were bright—sadness and hope each battling for first place in line. He wanted hope to win. He wanted to see her smile again.
“I’m a complete wreck, I know,” she added, her voice breaking under the emotion. The sadness won and it pained him like someone was using a butter knife to dig a splinter from his heart.
“It’s just a small leak. Easily fixed. I promise.” His thumb stroked her cheek, wiping away an errant tear.
She raised a hand to cover one of his and her blue eyes changed from hopeless to hungry in a split second. Her pupils dilated and he could’ve sworn he heard her breath hitch—not just from the crying.
9
He was so close. He smelled so good. He cared so much.
At least it really seemed like he did. And he was nearly a stranger. She shouldn’t be attracted to him. She’d already talked herself out of this once. He was a client. Her first client. But he was everything she’d never realized she wanted in a man—rugged, bearded, country…kind. God, the kindness seeped out of him like the water seeping from her bathroom walls. Why couldn’t she have been more aware of character before she married Lance? Why had she let the fancy cars and jewelry seduce her away from her common sense?
Mick deserved someone much better than her. Someone that had their life put together and figured out. Hers was in boxes all over this house or hidden in various closets.
Still, it didn’t change the fact that the only thing she could think about was how his hand caressed her face. How she wanted to feel his lips against hers. How her heart was racing in her chest just thinking about it. How her belly had tightened and now thrummed inside her.
She stroked her fingers along the taunt tendons in his hand. His eyes gazed into hers and she couldn’t look away. Her lips parted, a silent plea for more. For him to come closer. To take what she wanted to give.
The spicy tang of his cologne hit her senses and she sighed, just a little, but it was audible.
He leaned closer, brushing his lips over hers tenderly almost hesitantly, as if waiting to gauge her response.
She whimpered just a little, parting her lips further, inviting him deeper. Everything faded away. Everything but him.
He slipped his other hand around the back of her neck and crushed his mouth against hers, sweeping his tongue deep into hers, exploring, dominating the kiss. All her worries and stress over the move. Over starting fresh in a new town. Everything disappeared, morphing into one thing—desire. She wanted him.
Then he stopped.
He broke the kiss. Released her face from his strong callused hands.
She wanted to feel those hands all over her. On her skin from head to foot. Instead he was backing away, a glint in his eyes spoke to their shared desire but he was shaking his head.
“I’m sorry, I was out of line.”
She opened her mouth to object. To tell him to forget her earlier rejections.
“I have a date tomorrow night and kissing you isn’t fair to her. Right?”
Laurel swallowed hard, trying to put her thoughts into some type of coherent order. Right? Wait? Was he asking for a way out of his date? At the moment the only thing on her mind was getting her hands on Mick, not on the fact that she’d already spent multiple phone calls talking him up to Felicity, convincing the woman to agree to drive the four hours it would take to get from Dallas to Somewhere. Laurel shouldn’t have called an almost-client, Lance was sure to find out somehow, but it was too late now. Those dice had been cast.
Dammit. He was right. He had a date. Felicity was on her way. Dammit to hell.
She wiped the back of her hand across her swollen lips and nodded. “Yes. Right,” she said, each word choked and difficult to say. “Felicity will be here tomorrow.” She shrugged out of his shirt and handed it back. “Thank you for the help. I’m sure I can manage now until I can get a plumber here tomorrow.”
“Yeah,” he said, his tone turning the word into more of a disappointed sigh than coherent response. He took the shirt reluctantly and headed for the door of her bedroom.
Please stop. Just turn around and come back. Laurel waited, but Mick didn’t stop. She sat frozen on her bed until the slam of her front screen door made every nerve in her body jump. Then the floodgates opened. She laid down, grabbed a pillow, and sobbed into it. Her body shook from the coldness in the air and the coldness creeping around her heart.
It was better this way. Better for Mick.
She was a mess and she needed this business to work. Her divorce settlement money would only carry her so far. Plus matching people was something she was good at. Something that gave her joy.
Then why was she crying at the thought of Mick on a date with Felicity? It wasn’t Felicity’s fault. It was hers. She’d let herself fall for a man. In days. She’d only known Mick a few days and already she was falling head over heels. Absolutely not. She’d made this mistake with Lance. She’d let her emotions consume her. Cloud her judgement.
Not again. No way was she putting herself through that again. The next time she fell in love, it would be with the right man and it would be slow and steady. There would be a foundation for the emotions, not some haphazard jittery energy screaming at the top of its lungs to fall into his arms.
Wiping the tears from her eyes, Laurel straightened and sat up. All she needed was a little company. A distraction from her fly-by attraction to Mick. Maybe she just needed to flirt a little?
It couldn’t hurt.
With a little ingenuity and a few of her old sweatshirts doubling as towels, she managed to get cleaned off and her wet hair into a tight ponytail. A little hair gel, smoky eyes, and one of her favorite outfits later, Laurel shoved through the doors of the Long Rock Saloon. Swankier than the cowboy bar further up town, the Long Rock was much closer to the scene she was used to in Dallas. Hardwood and country and contemporary styles mixed—a little leather and glass. More alternative country music than honky-tonk.
Maybe she could network and pass out a few cards tonight too, even Cinderella would’ve agreed the night was still young. Better to enjoy every second until the clock struck closing time which was apparently 2am in this bar.
She strolled through the evening crowd assessing the groups. Couples had most of the booths around the edges of the place. And singles seemed to be milling closer to the bar and the bar-height tables arranged around the center dance floor.
Soft strobe lights flitted through the space, rotating colors on the bass beat of the country favorite currently thrumming through the speakers.
“Sweetheart, God made those jeans just for you.”
She pivoted to her right, locating the deeply twanged voice complimenting her wardrobe choice, and purposefully curved her mouth into a please smile. It shouldn’t be so hard. The line may have been cheesy, but he was absolutely adorable. All cowboy boots, tight wranglers, and a button-up Chaps dres
s shirt. He could’ve stepped straight out of a Justin Boot catalog. He at least deserved a smile for effort.
“Thank you,” she managed, barely getting her voice to carry over the music.
He approached slowly, confidence in every step and a glint in his eye that said no one ever told him no.
Her stomach dropped and skittered across the floor like a guilty dog fleeing the scene of a crime. That look. It was exactly the way Lance had looked at her when they first met. Why hadn’t she seen it that first time? Why hadn’t she listened her parents? Why had she thought his bossiness was sexy?
“Can I buy you a drink…?” He drawled out the question, waiting for her to fill in her name.
“Not tonight, but thank you for the offer.” She flashed him another small smile and headed toward an empty bar stool, leaving him standing alone with a shocked look scrawled across his face.
She settled into the barstool and hooked her lace-up red high heels on the bottom rung.
“Well, it’s rare I see anyone get past Glenn once he’s set his sights.” The bartender split a wide smile and leaned with an elbow on the hardwood counter.
“Glenn?”
“The dimpled cutie-pie you were talking to a second ago.”
“He may be adorable on the outside, but I got the feeling he wasn’t all puppies and hearts and flowers on the inside.” Laurel smiled, keeping her voice low, no need to alienate herself if this guy was well-liked.
The bartender just nodded in agreement. “Well, you’re one of the few whose “jackass-o-meter” is working. I swear that man gets his hands on more panties than a Victoria’s Secret warehouse employee. And he’s a local. You’d think the girls around here would learn.” Glasses clinked down the bar and laughter drew the bartenders attention.
“Everyone says guys are more visual than girls, but most of us are swayed more than we realize by looks…”
“Eh, after a few shots of tequila, they all start to blend together.”
A laugh rippled from Laurel’s chest. “In that case I’ll stay away from the tequila tonight. I’m Laurel, by the way. Laurel Hart. I’m opening Matched.” She pulled a card from her small silver clutch and handed it over.
“Lori Pittman, nice to meet you. You’re the one Edie was talking up in the book group last night. A matchmaking service, right? Is it an online thing?”
I need to be sure and send Edie a bouquet of cookies or something. Her realtor was turning out to be better advertising than any space she could’ve purchased in the town newspaper. “Matchmaking, yes. Online dating service, no. I do accept applicants online, but I always conduct phone interviews and then personally work to find a compatible long-term match. Though a face-to-face chat is always preferable.”
“Nice. A personal touch to keep the creepers at bay.”
“I suppose you could say that, yes.”
“What’ll you have?”
“A rum and coke.” Lori nodded and before Laurel could open her clutch again, the drink was made and fizzing in front of her. She handed the bartender a ten-dollar bill and then took a sip. “I’ll probably need another soon.”
A quick nod said she’d be back to check on her shortly.
Laurel did a quick sweeping glance of the room again and felt her heart sink a little deeper into her chest. A couple of obviously available and good looking guys caught her gaze, waited for encouragement, which she couldn’t muster up from the depressing fact that she was disappointed none of them had a beard or were wearing flannel. Damn that man and his flannel. But what she wouldn’t do to be able to smell his piney aftershave right now…or feel the soft scratch of his beard on her cheek. She could still feel it.
“Dammit,” she whispered under her breath.
“Changed your mind?”
Laurel looked up at Lori and nodded. “I just realized I’m not really feeling up to socializing.” She slid off the bar stool and tucked her clutch beneath her arm.
“See you another time?”
“Yes, most likely.”
Lori patted her hip pocket. “I’ll pass those cards around for you.”
A small smile tugged at the corner of Laurel’s mouth. “I would really appreciate that.”
10
The next day hadn’t gone any easier, but at least a plumber had gotten the hardware in her bathroom back into working order. She’d almost called Mick a half dozen times this morning. Now she was staring at herself in her bathroom mirror, excuses rapid firing through her brain like firecrackers on a hot July night.
She could ask what he was wearing. Remind him what time he was meeting Felicity. Then ask him how he was feeling. Was he excited? Good God, Laurel, you don’t ask a man that before a first date. You don’t even ask them that five minutes before they walk down a church aisle.
She should’ve gone to the office today to work on the furniture…or at least stare at it. Putting it together hadn’t really been going well until Mick showed up. And she couldn’t run into him today. Not before his date. As much as she was dying to talk to him, it would just make things awkward between them. Well, more awkward.
The feed store was across the street. He would see her. Or she would see him.
It was inevitable.
“Everything is going to be fine. He’s going to hit it off with Felicity. They’re going to be the cutest couple. A poster couple for your new business here. Just sit it out, Laurel.” She gripped the edges of the bathroom counter and squared off her shoulders, meeting her own gaze in the mirror. “Just stay away. Give them their date.”
A buzz in her back jeans pocket yanked her out of her head. She pulled her phone out and swiped the screen without looking. “Hello?”
“Laurel.” Her ex-husband’s cold-as-ice tone shot a sliver of fear straight down her back.
Dammit. “How did you get this number, Lance?”
“I have friends.” Meaning his cop buddy had passed him all her new information.
“What do you want, Lance?”
“I need the passwords on the last client files you were working on before you left. Tech can’t get them to open.”
“That sounds like your problem, not mine. Leave me alone.”
“If I find out you’re poaching clients, Laurel, you’ll be sorry.”
“I’m already sorry, you bastard. Sorry I ever met you. Sorry I didn’t listen to my parents and call it off the first time you acted like a jackass in public. But I didn’t and now I have to live with the consequences of my blindness.”
“Don’t screw with me, woman. Give me the fucking client file passwords.”
“Why don’t you just inform your clients that the heart and soul of your company is gone and you’re not capable of helping them any longer.” Laurel pulled the phone away from her ear and tapped the red button. “F you and the tramp you put in my place.”
The phone buzzed again. Lance’s number popped up on the caller ID. She sent it to voicemail. But ten seconds later it was buzzing again. And again. And again.
She took a deep breath and pressed down the power button. Her cell phone powered down and she left the bathroom, tossing the phone on her bedspread as she crossed the room. There was cold pizza and beer in her fridge. That and some Netflix sounded like a good plan.
Mick flopped a bag of split corn from his shoulder into a customer’s truck bed. “That’s the last one, Larry. See you later.”
“Thanks, man.” The old farmer waved and pulled his pickup away from the feed store loading dock.
Mick swatted his jeans, getting the grime from the bag off his skin. He’d taken the loading dock duty today from Charlie, hoping it would keep his mind clear for the date tonight. Ha! Fat chance of that. He’d looked at the picture of Felicity several times, trying to imagine what she’d sound like. How she’d really look in person. Would her hair really be as blonde as it looked in the picture? Would she have a soft voice or an annoying nasal one? “Damn, man. Give it a rest, you’re giving her flaws before you even give her a chanc
e,” he said aloud, barely more than a whisper.
Didn’t matter how much he tried to imagine Felicity as a viable option, every time he closed his eyes he saw Laurel’s blue gaze and long dark hair. He smelled her. Felt her smooth skin beneath his fingertips. Tasted her sweetness from that one brief kiss.
Ugh. It wasn’t fair. Laurel had said no. And Felicity was driving four hours to meet him. The woman deserved his attention and a fair shot at representing herself. Even if it was only for one evening. But if she expected a Valentine’s date tomorrow night, she was going to be sorely disappointed. His ‘playing along’ with Laurel only extended to one date he didn’t really want.
He pulled down the loading dock door and locked it before strolling past old man Skinner’s office. He paused in the doorway. “I’m outta here for the day. See you tomorrow afternoon.”
“I hate closing,” the silver-haired codger growled.
“I know, that’s why I try to always close for you.”
A few unsavory words filtered between another couple of grumbles.
Mick chuckled and kept walking. “See you tomorrow, Mr. Skinner.” He waved to Charlie before slipping out the front door and around the side of the building to his parked truck. Home for a shower a change of clothes and then dinner.
Two hours later he was standing outside the Boiler Room, waiting for Felicity to appear. He’d already checked inside and they’d informed him she hadn’t arrived yet. He fidgeted with his watch and turned toward the parking lot again. It would’ve been nice to have picked her up at her hotel and brought her, but when he’d called and offered, he’d gotten a text back that she would meet him. A text. Not even a call. Not very old fashioned. Not a bad thing, he just liked taking care of people. Of his date.
“Mick?”
He turned toward the female voice and gulped. Felicity was stepping out of a red mustang, wearing a dress that left nothing to the imagination. The bottom barely came to her upper thigh and the neckline dipped low enough he wondered how anyone in the restaurant would be able to concentrate on eating. She was beautiful—movie-star-red-carpet-over-the-top. Her icy blonde hair was slick and straight like it’d been in the photo Laurel had provided.