She shrugged. “A girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do. My grandmother wanted a carbon copy of my mother to follow in her footsteps. Someone who loved flowers and lived for the family business and that’s what I’m giving her. I’m carrying on the family tradition.”
“But do you like it?”
“What I like doesn’t matter. It’s about my grandmother. I won’t cause another heart attack.”
“Maybe you didn’t cause the first one.”
“I was a constant source of worry and stress.”
“You were a teenager. That’s what teenagers do. They worry their parents and stress them out.”
She cut him a sideways glance. “I climbed a twenty foot flagpole and spray painted a mustache on the school’s mascot.”
He shrugged and his mouth split into a grin. “Okay, so you were a really wild teenager, but those exist the world over. They cause sleepless nights and a gray hair or two, but that’s expected.” His gaze locked with hers for a heart-pounding moment. “Raising kids is tough, but it’s not life-threatening. At least not for the average parent.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“That your grandmother wasn’t the average parent. She was much older. It’s understandable that her health wouldn’t be as good as a woman thirty years her junior. Not to mention she had the added pressure of running her own business. I’d say her age and her workload contributed to her health problems more than anything you did.”
Sarah had told herself the same thing time and time again. But it hadn’t been enough to ease her guilt or erase the image of her grandmother turning pale and blue and lifeless.
“I owe her. I could have been the one in the car that night. I would have been except that Grandma Willie grounded me and made me stay home to watch Wheel of Fortune with her. She saved my life, and now I’m saving hers. She has no reason to worry about anything, not the business and especially not me.”
“When it’s her time, it’ll be her time. No matter what you do. That’s the way of things. You’re born and you die, and you don’t have any control over the two. My father drank so much that he should have died a long time ago. But it didn’t catch up to him until two days shy of my first PBR championship.” He shook his head. “Two days. Can you believe that?”
“I’m really sorry about his death. I know you wanted him to see you ride.”
“It wasn’t that. He didn’t have to see me. I just wanted him to know.” He shook his head. “He said I would never do it and he died thinking he was right.” His hands tightened on the wheel and she knew he was remembering the past and his father and she knew it hurt.
Don’t do it. One touch will lead to two and two to three and…
She balled her fingers and kept her hands in her lap. Her gaze went to the passing landscape and a small area off in the distance where Bick Jericho had been laid to rest years before. It wasn’t even visible from the road, but Sarah knew what it looked like because it wasn’t far from her mother’s resting place. When she took fresh flowers to her mother’s grave, she always glanced at the patch of weeds and overgrown brush that completely concealed the small headstone that marked the grave.
“I’ve got some really nice potted palms.” While she wouldn’t reach out to comfort him with her touch, the sudden urge to do something—say something—to ease his pain overwhelmed her. “You should take one out to his grave.”
He looked at her as if she’d grown two heads. “Why would I do something like that?” He shook his head. “He doesn’t deserve anything from me. He never gave me or my brothers anything but a hard time.”
“It’s not about him. It’s about you. You didn’t go to his funeral.” At his questioning glance, she added, “I didn’t go, either. It happened so fast and everything was very low key that I didn’t even hear about it until I saw for myself. I was visiting my mother’s grave when they buried your father. It was a small funeral. Just your brothers and Hank Brister and Judge Merriweather, who recited a few words.”
“So?”
“So I just thought you might like to know how things went. Unless your brothers told you.”
“We didn’t talk about it.” He cut her a glance that said he didn’t want to talk about it now. “There wasn’t anything to talk about. He died. We buried him. End of story.”
“It was a nice casket.”
“Dallas picked it out.”
“It looked like cedar.”
“Dallas likes cedar.”
“And the judge said some really nice things.”
“Good for the judge.”
“And your brother Austin said a few words.”
“Look—” he pinned her with a stare “—is there a point to this conversation? Because if there is, I wish you would just get to it.”
“There were no flowers, so after everyone left, I took him a small flowerpot of daisies.”
“Thanks, but you shouldn’t have. He didn’t deserve any flowers.” The words were cold and cynical, but the brightness in his eyes told her he felt a lot more than he cared to admit.
“They weren’t for him. They were for me. I felt good leaving them there. That’s what funerals are for, you know. They’re not for the person who passes away. They’re for everybody left behind.”
“Since when?”
“Since always. They’re a chance to say goodbye. You never said goodbye to him.”
“I don’t need to say goodbye.”
“If you say so.”
“So where’s this place again?”
“Just over the railroad tracks.” They lapsed into an uneasy silence the rest of the way there.
“You’re here!” Mr. Jenkins met them out front when they pulled up. “This is so wonderful. I’ve already told Mrs. Hollister down the road and she said she’s going in first thing tomorrow to get everything to redo her flower beds. She’s been putting it off until her boys come home from college. One of them has a truck. But I told her you’re offering delivery for practically nothing, and she was thrilled!”
“But I’m not—” she started, only to have him cut in.
“So was Ernestine Miller. She’s the lady with the petunia garden over on Fifth Street. She’s got rheumatoid arthritis and has a heck of a time driving. This new setup is perfect for her. You’re a saint, that’s what she said. What we all said.”
“Um, thank you,” she said, but the words held no enthusiasm. Deliveries? She couldn’t make deliveries. This was a fluke. A one-time thing.
A test of her willpower, she realized as she climbed back into the truck and gave up the fresh Texas air for the scent of Houston. The sound of him. The sight of his handsome profile drawing her like a bee to a honeycomb.
“Mrs. McGhee got stung by a bee,” she blurted when her hand actually slid a traitorous inch across the seat. The comment had nothing to do with anything, but she needed to talk, to divert her attention to something—anything—besides the fact that he was so close and she wanted him so much. “It made the front page of the paper,” she rushed on, despite the strange look that Houston gave her. He knew. He knew she was searching for a diversion, but he wasn’t going to help her by asking any questions. He was going to let her flounder around on her own.
Because he wasn’t trying to deny the attraction between them. He didn’t have to. To everyone he was the same old Houston. Hot, hunky, wild. She was different. She had an image to uphold.
“There was a picture and everything,” she continued. “They had to call an ambulance. Speaking of which, the fire department added three new ambulances. The chamber of commerce had a car wash to help raise money for them. We made more than four hundred dollars. The high school band had a car wash, too, last week. I didn’t have a car, but I went by and gave them five bucks, anyway….”
She rattled on for the next twenty minutes about anything and everything, determined to distract herself and keep from reaching out and kissing him.
She could. But she wouldn’t let herself. And that was the damn
ed trouble of it all. The push-pull. She kept pushing the need away, but it kept coming back. Stronger. More fierce.
By the time they reached the nursery, she was ready to scream. She scrambled out.
“It’s not going to stop.”
“I know it’s not. Thanks to you. You heard Mr. Jenkins. He’s already told all of his friends, and they’ve probably told their friends, and now everyone will be wanting me to deliver their purchases.”
“That’s not what I’m talking about.”
But she already knew that. He was talking about the chemistry between them. The heat.
“I can’t forget and you can’t forget and it’ll never change unless we do something about it.”
“I can’t.” She shook her head, but there was none of the dead certainty that she should have felt.
“I want to sleep at night and I’m sure you do, too. And it’s not happening right now. I keep thinking about you. About us. About the Sexiest Seven.”
“What makes you so sure that I don’t sleep like a baby?”
He gave her a pointed look. “Do you?”
Yes. No. Don’t I wish. The answers rolled through her head, but none of them quite made it to her tongue. She shrugged. “It doesn’t matter. I really need to go.” She started to shut the door, but he slid over and reached out, his hand holding the door open.
“You need me,” he told her. “And I need you. Admit it and let’s do something about it. Just admit it, Belle. Tell me what you want.”
But she didn’t want to think about what she wanted. She shouldn’t think about it because she shouldn’t do anything about it, because she shouldn’t risk blowing her cover.
Then again, she’d almost blown everything already. With the kiss at the reception. With the kiss yesterday.
Because she couldn’t forget the first three of the Sexiest Seven, and she couldn’t stop wondering about the last four. About what it would feel like to step into the shower with him, or to kiss and touch in a public place, or to stroke him in a darkened movie theater, or to come apart in his arms in the close confines of an elevator with the world only a doorway away.
It was those fantasies that had driven her to kiss him those two times, and those fantasies that would drive her over the edge and possibly ruin everything if she didn’t do something about them.
If she didn’t turn each erotic dream into reality and regain her perspective.
The real thing wouldn’t be as good, as consuming, as powerful. It couldn’t be. It was the whole fantasy factor that was driving her over the edge.
And it wouldn’t stop pushing and tempting until she stopped running and hiding.
Until she finally admitted what she really wanted.
“I WANT SEX,” SARAH BLURTED into Houston’s ear.
It was later that evening and he had just rolled over in bed to pick up the receiver after several rings.
“Sarah?”
“Yes. It’s me and I want it.”
“Hold on a second.” He sat upright and threw his legs over the side of the mattress. He’d been stretched out on the small bed in the last available room of Cadillac’s only bed-and-breakfast—there was a quilting convention going on at the local community center. He could have gone to one of the motels up the highway, or stayed at his brother Austin’s place—Austin was single, though currently looking for a wife to satisfy Miss Marshalyn and win her land—but Houston had only intended on spending one night and he hadn’t wanted to impose on Austin. Even more, when he’d decided to stay, he hadn’t figured on spending so much time in his room. Tossing and turning. Fantasizing. Wanting.
He’d anticipated spending his nights, and any other free time, burning up the sheets and sating his lust with Sarah.
Unfortunately, she hadn’t been of the same mind.
Until now.
“You want to have sex,” he said, just to make sure he’d heard her correctly and this wasn’t just an extension of the very erotic dream he’d been having.
“Not plain old sex. I want to finish the Sexiest Seven. The shower, the movie theater, the public rest room and the elevator.” Silence followed before she added, “Are you there?”
“I’m here.”
“I thought for a second you’d hung up on me.”
“I’m hung up on you, all right, Belle, but the hanging in question has nothing to do with the phone and everything to do with me and the fact that I can’t stop thinking about how much I want you.”
“It’s unfinished business,” she said, and he knew she felt the same heat burning her up from the inside out. “Once we finish, things will get back to normal.”
“Which means we should get started right away.” His body throbbed at the prospect.
“We’ll start tomorrow. I’ll call you and we’ll decide on a time and place.” The phone clicked before he could reply.
Tomorrow.
She’d finally come to her senses. The knowledge sent a swell of relief through him. No more fantasizing about her. He was going to have the real thing again. He smiled at the thought as he stretched back out on the bed and closed his eyes. And remembered.
He could still see the beautiful picture she’d made naked and ready and bathed in moonlight. He could still hear the trickle of water and the buzz of insects and her soft moans as he’d slid deep inside her. He could still smell the intoxicating mix of fresh water and flowery perfume and wild female.
Tomorrow?
The heat burning between them had obviously burned up all of her common sense. There was no way Houston would make it through another hour without her, much less an entire night.
If she wanted to finish the Sexiest Seven with him, he would be more than accommodating. But they weren’t waiting until tomorrow. He wanted her and she wanted him and they’d both admitted as much. As far as he was concerned, there was no better time than the present.
“Number four, here we come.”
SARAH BARELY RESISTED the urge to snatch up the telephone, dial Houston’s number again and beg him to come over right now.
She had neighbors, and the last thing, the very last thing, she needed was for anyone to see Houston Jericho coming over late at night.
If she was going to do this—and she was—she intended to keep everything far removed from the life she’d created over the past twelve years. That meant picking a time and place where she wouldn’t be recognized and there would be no threat to her carefully built image.
That meant starting with a shower in some motel or bed-and-breakfast in a far-off town where no one could possibly know her identity. Then she could start living out the final four, and gaining some perspective on the fantasies that had consumed her since Houston had rolled back into town.
She punched the Play button on her VCR and fast-forwarded to part four of The Fantasy Factor: Sexiest Seven Places to Do It.
The cheesy background music started, along with a brief narrative on the exciting aspects of showering with your mate.
The man peeled off his slacks and underwear, and Sarah wondered if anyone had ever died of sexual frustration.
She watched the man step into the shower and come up behind his partner. Heat coiled in Sarah’s belly as he reached for the soap and rubbed the bar between his hands.
He lathered the woman’s back, her shoulders, the camera at such a close angle that the only thing visible was the glide of tanned fingertips over pale white flesh.
The video—which she’d ordered from a Naughty Nights catalog she’d come across during a floral convention in Austin—wasn’t the least bit graphic when it came to body parts. The camera revealed nothing below the waist, which was why the classic video had been offered along with the newest line of sexy but tasteful scented lingerie. The manufacturer had set up a booth alongside myriad florists and nursery owners to introduce their new line. They had yellow baby doll nightgowns that smelled like daisies. Purple thongs that smelled like violets. A white lace honeymoon nightie that smelled like lilies. A racy red
camisole that smelled like roses.
When Sarah had spotted the blast from her past, she hadn’t been able to resist. She’d ordered a copy and she’d watched it a time or two. And she’d remembered. And fantasized.
Just the way she was doing right now.
Her skin prickled. Heat pulsed through her. She wished more than anything that she had a man’s hands on her, slicking over her skin, soaping and teasing her nipples, slipping between her legs….
Tomorrow night?
She was insane and desperate and seriously doubtful she could survive the rest of the video much less a full twenty-four hours without sating the sexual frustration coiling inside her. She needed a man in the worst way.
But not just any man.
Of all the men she’d known in that short but busy bad-girl period of her life, Houston Jericho was the only one who lingered in her memory.
He was also the only one she’d ever made a pact with, and since Sarah had always been one to finish what she started, it only stood to reason that she would still think about him. Fantasize about him. Want him.
Not for long. Tomorrow night she would start to find her closure and then she could bury the bad girl she’d been once and for all.
Until then…
A woman’s soft moan slid into Sarah’s ears and prickled the hair on the nape of her neck. She watched as the couple kissed, open mouths pressed together, tongues darting in and out…
She needed a shower, all right. A cold shower.
She punched the Stop button on the remote and pushed to her feet. A few seconds later, she reached the bathroom. The quick turn of a knob and a blast of cool relief erupted from the showerhead. After peeling off her clothes, she stepped into the claw foot tub and pulled the curtain back into place.
Water pelted her, running in rivulets over her heated flesh. She turned her face toward the spray and tried to clear her head. She needed to calm down and relax, otherwise she would never get any sleep.
And she had to sleep. She had a full day tomorrow at the nursery, not to mention even more deliveries scheduled, thanks to Houston and his interference.
The Fantasy Factor Page 6