by Tina Leonard
“You’re on your own, brother,” Trace called back. “I’m trying to get Ava pregnant, and it’s taking up all my attention.”
Saint went to the stall. “You guys are trying to have a baby?”
Trace nodded. “As hard as I possibly can.”
“Trying as in with no birth control? Or trying as in practicing real hard? Running in the rain with rubbers on, as it were.”
“We’re definitely trying to get pregnant.” Trace looked so happy Saint was envious for a moment. “But the practicing is surely going to help us hit a bull’s-eye any day now.”
“Does Judy know? It would kind of mess up her team, wouldn’t it? Ava, Cameron, and Harper?”
Trace eyed him. “Ava’s mine now. Not Judy’s. We’re no longer under the auspices of our favorite town mayor.”
Saint sank onto a hay bale. “I didn’t know there was such a thing as not being under Judy’s auspices.” He shook his head. “You and Judy have been best friends for years. If you can break free, so can I.”
“Sure. Just takes a wedding ring, buddy.”
Saint raised a brow. “Maybe I just say to hell with Judy instead.”
Trace laughed. “Good luck with that.”
Saint had known what he’d said was stupid the moment he said it. Judy was only relaxing on Trace because she wanted babies in Hell, wanted it to grow. “Cameron’s her new big star at the moment. She’d kill me if I knocked her up.”
“Whoa, buddy.” Trace wheeled around to stare at him. “Where did that come from?”
“I don’t know. I guess I was thinking out loud.” Saint didn’t know why he’d said such a dumb thing. It was as if his brain had gone on lockdown.
Getting Cameron pregnant was so far from his list of possible activities he wasn’t sure why the idea had even circulated in his brain at all.
“That must have been a helluva kiss to get you thinking about babies,” Trace said, his eyes huge. “You have my sympathy. Judy’s going to kill you.”
He went off whistling, leaving Saint annoyed with himself. Annoyed with Trace, and Judy, and Hell in general, which could never, ever mind its own business.
But mostly, he couldn’t wait to pick Cameron up tonight, even if their first big date would be a cruise to the worst side of Hell.
—
“I’ve made a list,” Cameron said a few hours later as she hopped into his camo-painted truck. “A comprehensive list of everything we might think about doing if we’re going to pull off the biggest, baddest kissing booths anyone has ever seen.”
Saint closed his eyes for a second before pulling away from the small Honeysuckle Bungalow. It was owned by Trace, but Cameron and Harper lived there now. Ava had been a roommate, but her marriage to Trace had left the Belles with an empty room. He glanced over at Cameron, trying not to drink her in and make everything more awkward than it already was between them. She had her springy, long, red locks tied up in a high ponytail, and she had on a blue and white polka-dot dress, the dots so small as to be barely noticeable unless you were staring at her, as he was. Tiny spaghetti straps kept the dress on her body by not much more than air. For a man like Saint who’d seen a lot of ugly things, this much sweetness in his truck was practically mind-boggling. He forced his mind back to business. “A list.”
Her eyes bounced to his, then back to the pad she was holding like a good-luck charm. “We have to be organized. There’s a lot to get ready.”
He didn’t want to make the biggest, baddest booths anyone had ever dreamed up in their small town. The only kissing he wanted to think about involved Cameron’s sweet lips meeting his. “What are the funds being raised for this year?”
“The committee apparently wants to build a school. An elementary school.”
“We don’t have any kids in Hell. In fact, kids don’t belong in Hell.”
“True enough—for now. But the committee believes that may change in the future.”
The committee consisted of Mayor Judy; Sheriff Steel Durant; Dr. Ann Chandler, who took care of the various medical needs in town; Dr. Jack Turner, the vet; Jimmy Merrill, who owned the hardware store and a small grocery; Madame Chen, who owned the florist shop; and Hattie Hanover, who ran the local restaurant where good meals were served. Not like Stephen’s—but then again, you couldn’t wind down with a beer at Hattie’s. “So Judy’s really counting on Ava and Trace to start a population boom.”
“The possibility got the committee thinking, but they’ve also had some inquiries from folks from the big city who are looking for some peace and quiet.”
He laughed out loud. “They won’t find peace and quiet in Hell. And what would we name this elementary school? Hell Elementary?”
Cameron closed her notepad. “You know, you don’t have to help with this kissing booth project. I can do it myself.”
“I’m a helpful guy. Happy to help.”
“Sure. Just so you can cut to the front of the line.”
“The front of what line?”
“The lines at the kissing booths.”
“Oh.” He shook his head. “I doubt I’ll be in any line.”
“You’re not a fan of kissing?”
He glanced at her. “I like kissing you.”
She shrugged. “Declan says he’s not even sure you like women.”
“What?” Saint let out a guffaw. “When did he say that?”
“Today.” Cameron’s eyes were serious as she studied him. “The friendly pecks came up, and I said things had been a little awkward between us after that, and Declan said, no way, that he didn’t think you were really into women, that was all. That you didn’t date, hadn’t in years. In fact, couldn’t remember you ever talking about a woman. Said he had to fix you up for proms in high school because you never wanted to ask a girl to go.”
“I’m going to kill him,” Saint muttered under his breath.
All he wanted to do was kiss her again and see if her lips had really been as soft and sweet as he remembered. The third time would surely be the charm; or maybe it was three strikes and he’d be out. Either way, he was dying to hold her and kiss her for hours—no more of this “peck” crap.
But Cameron had mentioned the A word: “awkward.” For a guy, that was bad, a real stop sign. A Go Slow sign. Damn.
So stuck between a rock and a hard place—and with a buddy trying to make him sound like some kind of deliberate eunuch—Saint said nothing.
“Does Ivy know we’re coming?” Cameron asked, changing the subject, for which Saint was grateful.
“I thought a sneak attack was best.”
“Why?”
He felt her looking at him curiously. “How many times have you been out to Ivy’s?”
“Once or twice,” she said, too casually. “I actually think it’s fun. But I understand the bad blood, so I don’t visit often.”
“Wise choice.” He knew she was fibbing, but who was he to judge? He just hoped she hadn’t found any men to kiss on more than an occasional basis at the Honky-tonk. He turned into the parking lot across the two-lane county road from Ivy’s establishment.
She opened the door and popped out.
“Hang on. We need a plan.”
“A plan?” She peered back in the truck at him. “Are you afraid?”
Saint laughed out loud. “Afraid of what?”
“I’m not sure. Women?”
Oh, great. Declan had gotten in her head with his stupid story. “Damn it, no.”
“Then what’s the problem?”
“Why does there have to be a problem if I just want to plan my attack?” A SEAL never executed any maneuver, or, for that matter, anything, without a plan. “Get back in the damn truck and let me think.”
She peered at him again. “Will it take long?”
“No!”
Cameron shook her head, seeming to consider making a “plan” as wasted time and effort. Her ponytail bobbed as she got back in, staring at him. “Why is everyone so afraid of Ivy?”
&nb
sp; “No one is afraid of Ivy,” he said, his head starting to pound. A smart man would lock the doors and drive away, with Cameron safely in his truck. Better yet, a smart man would grab this delicious redhead and shut her up the old-fashioned way, with his mouth on her lips, inhaling her.
Neither of those options were open to him. “Just give me a few minutes to scope out the situation.” Music suitable for dancing and drinking plenty filled the air, permeating the truck. The low-slung building had its share of customers tonight, and they’d spilled out into the parking lot—chatting, drinking, or smooching, or all of the above. White lights and colored lanterns hung from the live oaks, illuminating the boots-wearing couples. The parking lot was jammed full, and it was a sure thing the interior of the Honky-tonk was every bit as rocking. The entrance to Ivy’s lair was clear for ingress and egress, so that was a plus.
“Really, you don’t have to do this,” Cameron said.
“I’m going to, though.” He shook his head at her tone. “You don’t understand that one just doesn’t go hopping into a frying pan without checking out the fire.”
“Judy wouldn’t have sent us out here if she thought we’d be in trouble.”
“Judy doesn’t always think.”
“Clearly I’m in a truck with a thinker. Let me know when you’ve finally hit max pain with that.”
“You’re cute and very brave when it’s not your lips that are in danger.”
She gasped. “You are afraid Ivy’s girls are going to try to kiss you! Declan was telling the truth!”
He was going to pummel his friend for the monster fib he’d told. “If you don’t be quiet, I will start tonight’s kissing with you.”
“We’ll tell everyone that you’re my date. You’ll be safe.”
He jerked to stare at her so fast he got a crick in his neck. “How would you being my date protect me, cookie?”
She raised a brow. “If you’re with me, no one will try to get inside your space, Saint. You’ll be safe.”
There was only so much a man could take. He hauled her over to his seat and took those red-velvety lips, not with the gentle exploratory peck she’d given him, but with a desperate urgency.
And yes, her mouth was every bit as soft as he’d imagined. It was delicious, and she didn’t move at first, allowing him to kiss her as deeply as he wanted. He explored a soft tongue and went deeper on her moan, feeling her body give a little toward his. Suddenly she was kissing him back, practically melting him with kisses that met his mouth over and over again. He couldn’t stop kissing her, falling into her sweetness, his body demanding more than this, more of her.
Several raps on the window broke them apart guiltily.
“Oh, no,” Cameron groaned as Harper and Declan stared in at them, their expressions astonished.
“Let us in!” Declan insisted.
Saint popped the locks. Harper and Declan dove in the back, staring at them.
“What were you guys doing?” Declan asked.
“Discussing our plans,” Saint said.
“That’s not what it looked like,” Harper said.
“Not unless the plan was lodged at the back of Cameron’s throat,” Declan said.
“What are you doing here?” Saint asked, annoyed at getting caught kissing Cameron when he hadn’t even wanted to be kissing her in the first place. He’d really had no plans for that; in fact, he’d had the best intentions not to ever let that happen again.
But oh, how sweet kissing her was.
“What are we doing here?” Declan looked from Saint to Cameron. “Judy told Steel about an hour ago that she’d sent you to Ivy’s. He ordered us to provide backup. How were we to know that backup was the last thing you’d want, since you weren’t planning on going inside? You had your own personal kissing booth going on right in here.”
“That’s not funny,” Saint said, but then Cameron laughed, and he thought it was going to be hard to make the case that Declan should shut the hell up if Cameron didn’t mind the teasing.
“Can’t a girl kiss a guy without you making a lot of noise?” she asked Declan. “Anyway, you’re the one who told me he was afraid of women.”
“Yeah, that was a good one.” Declan sounded pleased with himself. Saint promised himself he’d give his buddy hell about that at the earliest opportunity.
“So is he?” Harper asked.
“Is he what?” Saint said.
“I’m asking Cameron if she was able to determine whether you are, in fact, afraid of women.” Harper seemed very interested in the answer.
Cameron looked at him, smiling. “He’s a little on the shy side.”
So this was what his sex life had come to—getting the jazz from one and all about his desire to keep his focus on work and not women. “I’m no more afraid of women than Declan is.” He laughed at his buddy’s worried expression. “I expect to see you first in line at the kissing booth I’m in charge of, buddy. Bring a fat wallet, because all those kisses mean bucks for the new elementary school.”
“Are we going in or not?” Harper asked, changing the subject quickly, Saint noticed. “I only came out here to get inside the Honky-tonk on a free pass from Mayor Judy.”
“You didn’t come with me because you wanted to?” Declan asked, and Saint thought his buddy sounded a little hurt. Or maybe intrigued. But it served him right for being such a pain in his neck.
“I came for the party,” Harper said. “Judy and Steel are babysitting for me, so this is my big thirty minutes on the wild side.”
“Well, the Honky-tonk certainly is the wild side. Let’s go. It’s boring with these two old fogies, anyway,” Declan said.
Harper and Declan practically fell out of the truck in their eagerness to get inside the disreputable fun house. Cameron looked at him. “Did you see that?”
“See what?”
“They didn’t have a plan. They didn’t build a monument to planning. They just went inside.”
He watched sourly as Declan pulled Harper across the two-lane road in front of the Honky-tonk. “So they did.”
“I’m going too.” She hopped out and ran to catch up with her friends.
Saint got out in a hurry, not about to let Cameron out of his sight. There was no telling what could happen inside the Honky-tonk—and there was no predicting what Cameron might decide to get into. He followed his team, his sixth sense and all the rest of his senses running hot with caution.
Of course, those same warning bells had been going off in the truck when he’d been kissing Cameron.
And he hadn’t listened to those, either.
Chapter 4
“My, we’ve been graced with extra-special visitors tonight!” Ivy Peters looked at the four of them, her gaze bright and laughing. Clearly she was the queen bee of her hive, holding court in a crowded wood-framed ballroom. Cameron was always struck by how gorgeous Ivy was; she might be growing older, but she certainly wasn’t aging. Her long, two-toned hair caught the eye with its edgy allure, highlighted strands over dark, with bangs under which large expressive eyes stared directly at you. She wore a gold-threaded western blouse, tight faded jeans that showed off all the assets she wanted shown, and boots decorated with roses and gold leaves that had never seen the inside of a stall. “To what do I owe the pleasure of this call?” She perched herself on top of the bar, peering down at them. “Or should I just cut to the chase and ask you why Judy’s sent you out tonight?”
Cameron stepped forward to make certain she could be heard over the country music. “Judy wants to invite you to participate in the Hell’s Kissing Booth for the parade.”
Ivy smiled. “My girls get plenty of kisses here, for much more than a buck.”
“It’s for an elementary school Judy’s planning to build in Hell.” Cameron felt Saint behind her. A couple of Ivy’s girls eyed him hungrily from the opposite side of the bar. He needed her to protect him, so Cameron vowed to stay close to him.
“I don’t care about giving to charity, sweet
girl. Charity begins at home, and this is my home.” She smiled again, but Cameron didn’t think she meant it as a friendly gesture. “I pay my taxes in Hell, and that’s enough. I’m sure Judy’s mentioned to you that she wants to settle Hell, and I want it to stay man-friendly. Bad girls for bad boys. It’s better for my business.”
Harper stepped forward. “Having some of your girls participate would be good advertising for your, um, business.”
“Well, aren’t you the venture-minded member of the gang?” Ivy laughed. “Do I look like I need advertising, darling? Word-of-mouth works just fine for me. Besides, did you ask Judy if she’d let me paint ‘Honky-tonk and Dive Bar’ on the outside of my booth at her family-friendly charity event?”
These were salient points. Cameron wondered if Judy had thought this through.
“Hello, Saint,” Ivy purred. “Long time no see. Well, not that long.”
Cameron whipped around to glance at Saint’s face before catching herself. Ivy laughed, but Saint had looked a trifle guilty.
“Good to see you, Declan,” Ivy said. “I’ve had about ten girls asking when you were coming back out to see us. Let me get you studs a drink. On the house.”
The girls behind the bar went into action, their busty tops barely covering their assets and jiggling with movements that were practiced and sexy. Cameron found her voice again. “Ivy, Judy wouldn’t have sent me if she didn’t believe that having you take part in the parade was the best thing for Hell.”
Ivy gave her such a long and narrow stare that Cameron felt herself recoil a bit. Maybe she had, because Saint put his hand at her waist suddenly, applying just enough pressure to let her know he wasn’t going anywhere.
Ivy slid down off the bar, a practiced slink that was mesmerizing. Drinks were given to all four of them, the barmaids making extra sure they got as close to Saint and Declan as they could, pushing their assets up against their arms. Cameron could tell Saint tried really hard not to look, but it was impossible not to—even Cameron had to take a peek.
Ivy gestured to them to follow her, and they did. She wafted into an inner room Cameron had never seen, and closed the door behind them. A chandelier glittered from the ceiling, and a large mahogany desk with a tufted leather chair took up most of the large room. It was filled with leather-bound books, and two Tiffany lamps graced either end of the desk. Ivy sat in her leather chair but didn’t invite them to sit in the accompanying leather club chairs. They stood there with their drinks in their hands, trying to act professional since they were on a mission from Judy, but feeling tense. At least Cameron did. There were drawers behind the desk, some of which hid filing cabinets, and from one of these Ivy pulled a file, which she laid on the desk in front of her.