by Cheri Allan
His tongue darted out to stroke over his lips. Was he? “Only if you want me to be,” he replied, suddenly feeling quite serious. The blood thrummed in his veins, and if she stared at his lips like that one more second, he’d be forced to show her exactly how they tasted.
Her eyes darted away and she grabbed the sponge, sliding out from between him and the stove. “Well, as you can see, I’ve got work to do, and I’m sure you do, too, so I won’t keep you.” She was wringing the sponge out at the sink to within an inch of its life. “Thanks for stopping by. See you tomorrow? We still on for dinner?”
Carter nodded. If he hadn’t made that promise to Grams, he would have pressed the advantage. It was obvious he had an effect on Liz Beacon, and the fact that she’d only grown into a body to match the appeal of her intellect did nothing to curb his desire for her.
But he couldn’t treat Liz like other woman. For one thing, Liz had always treated him differently. She treated him as if he were smart. She’d taught him how to play chess and graph a parabola, and if he’d noticed somewhere along the line that she was pretty in a quiet sort of way, he hadn’t wanted to mess up a good thing.
So why was he tempted to do so now?
“Just for the record, I’m told I give great back rubs. Should you ever need one,” he said.
He had to tamp down the streak of lust that shot to his midsection as her gaze found his lips across the room.
“I’ll keep that in mind,” she murmured.
THE FOLLOWING EVENING, Carter stood at Liz’s door, his hands behind his back as he elbowed the doorbell.
“I hope you like pot roast,” Liz said as she swung the door wide.
Carter smiled. Her face was lightly flushed, and a few strands of hair had escaped her ponytail, curling sweetly at her temples.
“Love it. Here.” He thrust his right hand forward. “I brought some wine for dinner. And, something for you.” He held out his left hand.
“Oh, you didn’t need—swiss cake rolls?” she laughed, taking the box from his outstretched hand.
“I think we pretty well decimated your supply the other night. I know not to get between a woman and her chocolate fix.”
“A wise man.” Her smile was cautious. “By the way, Bailey called. She had to cancel. Something’s up with her father, so it’s just us.”
“Just us, eh?” He liked Bailey well enough, but he couldn’t say he was upset by the news.
Liz licked her lips again and stepped back. “You should probably come in. Before Eddie makes a break for it.”
“Oh. Right. How is he?”
“He mostly hides in the bedroom unless he’s in the mood to escape.”
“He’s probably still getting used to being here.”
“Could be. I keep wondering if I should have boarded him like Grant suggested.”
“Grant?”
“A friend. In Chicago. Coworker, actually.” Liz smoothed the wayward tendrils from her face and reached for the bottle of wine, avoiding Carter’s gaze. “I’ll go, ah, check on dinner.”
Carter trailed her into the kitchen and inhaled the robust scent of roasting meat and vegetables. Tossed salad sat in bowls atop the counter, and there were some baked goods under a dish towel that looked suspiciously like cookies. “Smells like heaven. You didn’t have to go all out like this, though. You’re here to work on the house, not cook fancy meals. I know I suggested it, but I’m feeling a bit like a freeloader.”
“You’re not freeloading. I offered. I enjoy visiting with... old friends. Besides, I wouldn’t call it fancy. Pot roast isn’t hard to make, and I plan to eat the leftovers for days, so it’s somewhat self-serving.”
“Self-serving,” he murmured as he settled at the kitchen table to watch. She lifted the lid and fragrant steam billowed out. His stomach growled. He jiggled his knee impatiently. “Want me to set the table?”
“Sure. That’d be great. The silverware—”
“I remember where it is.” He jumped up, glad for something to do.
Her gaze met his then skittered away. “Of course you do.”
“So, this Grant guy… coworker you said?”
“Mm-hmm?”
“You wouldn’t by chance be sleeping with him?”
The spoon she’d been testing the broth with clattered to the floor, little dots of pale gravy spattering the linoleum. “No! Of course not. Why would you even ask?”
He shrugged, pleased this Grant guy wasn’t getting any. “Just wondering.”
Liz swiped at the floor with a sponge, her slim khaki pants molding tight over her rear as she pounced on each little dot. “I fail to see how it would be any of your business even if we were—which we’re not.” She swept the sponge up a dribble on the table leg. “You know, maybe this wasn’t a good idea. I’m sorry if I gave the wrong impression, but I—”
She stopped mid-sentence as his hand covered hers. “I can take it from here,” he offered.
Her fingers flexed, then she slid her hand from under his, avoiding his gaze. “I don’t know what I’m doing here.”
“I believe you were cleaning the table leg.”
She stood abruptly and tugged the hem of her shirt into place as she returned the sponge to the sink. “I’m being serious.”
“So am I.”
“You’re making fun of me,” she accused, turning to meet his gaze. “And I’m not the one who asked the inappropriate question.”
“Inappropriate? I wasn’t the one that got all flustered and red-faced when his name came up. An office romance, Liz? Tsk. Tsk. I thought you were smarter than that.”
“I—” The stove timer dinged and she turned to pull a tray of biscuits from the oven. “I’m sorry to say this, but I think having you here is a mistake.”
“Because I ask awkward questions or because you don’t want to answer them?”
She pursed her lips and refused to reply.
“Aw, come on,” he coaxed, grabbing the bottle of wine and inserting the corkscrew. “We’re just old friends catching up, right? I’ll behave and won’t ask any more questions about your little interoffice flirtation, and we’ll enjoy a nice, relaxing dinner together. What do you say?” The cork popped temptingly and he poured a splash of wine into two tumblers he’d found in the cupboard and held one out to her.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
____________________
Twelve years earlier…
“I DON’T NEED TO GO FIRST.”
Beth stared down the neck of the wine bottle like it was the barrel of a gun.
Valerie’s annoyingly perfect, bow-shaped lips smirked. “Nervous?”
“No,” Beth lied. “I just don’t want to, ah, take the fun away from you guys.”
“I’d kiss her,” Rudy West piped up.
Beth’s heart thudded hard in her chest. Rudy had thick, red hair and beefy lips and was on the wrestling team. Beth dared not meet his eyes, looking instead at his sausage-like fingers. She imagined them groping her up in the Whitmeyers’ pantry. She swallowed over the lump in her throat and prayed no one would discover her nylon-enhanced boobs.
“Maybe it’s her first time,” Cindy Townsend murmured from across the circle. Beth turned toward Cindy and wondered what she’d ever done to have her say something so evil. Except Cindy didn’t look like she was paying attention to torturing Beth seeing as Evan Rollins had his hand up the back of her shirt. As if no one could see!
Valerie rolled her eyes. “Come on, Beth. We’re waiting. If you’re not going to play the game…”
“I am,” Beth said, standing up hurriedly. “Sure. Why not? Of course, I am.” She laughed in what she hoped was a carefree, adventurous way so no one would suspect the icy dread slicking through her veins.
“This way,” Valerie said, leading her out of the kitchen into a little back hall and an even smaller, dark room off of that.
The room was lined with shelves. Fancy pasta. Soup. A large stand mixer in the corner. Beth turned as Valerie unwound a long s
ilk scarf from around her neck, revealing a giant purple hickey beneath. Beth stared at the hickey and then Valerie tied the scarf around Beth’s eyes. It was still warm from Valerie’s neck.
“Can you see anything?”
“No,” Beth answered. And she wasn’t lying. She’d hoped the gauzy scarf would have given her a little sense of the world beyond, even just the outline of a profile. But she saw nothing. Sensed nothing. Nothing but the faint scent of Valerie’s perfume as she adjusted the scarf at the back of Beth’s head. The idea that a boy would come in and touch her, kiss her, made Beth feel intensely vulnerable.
“No peeking,” Valerie warned, her voice growing fainter as she moved away. “Have fun.”
And then Beth was alone. At least, she assumed she was.
She swallowed, the fruit punch in her stomach making her slightly queasy as she stood there, waiting, wondering. She licked her lips and strained to listen outside the confines of the pantry, but Valerie had closed the door on the way out, so all Beth could hear were distant, muffled voices and the steady beat of pounding rain.
She had no sense of time. It had probably only been a couple of minutes since Valerie left, but it seemed like hours already.
A dog barked somewhere in the neighborhood. Beth wiped her mouth with her hand, then wiped her hand on her jean skirt. She stuck her hands in her pockets and then took them out again. What was she supposed to do with them anyway? Was she allowed to touch him? Would she want to?
The idea of kissing a pair of lips without touching anything else struck her as slightly ludicrous and a bubble of nervous laughter rose to her lips before she tamped it down again. God forbid he find her in the closet laughing to herself. He’d think she was unstable.
Maybe they all did.
Beth bit her lip.
Who was to say they weren’t planning to leave her in here? Maybe they were all in the kitchen right now laughing their butts off because they’d tricked dorky Beth Beacon into standing in the pantry… waiting for her first kiss.
Beth fought back tears behind the blindfold.
What a fool she was.
There was a thump outside in the hall and she jumped, wringing her hands together. She let out a long, shaky sigh.
Oh God! She was an idiot for thinking she could do this! A fool for imagining she could fit in with these people and play a game where she didn’t know the rules and couldn’t imagine the stakes. All she knew about that stuff came from watching Sex in the City on the sly with the sound turned off, so she only knew half the story even then.
She let out another uneven breath.
She should start walking home right now. Forget about waiting for John. Forget about trying to preserve her dignity. She didn’t belong here. Never would.
But just as she decided to reach up and remove her blindfold… the latch of the door snicked open.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
____________________
“TELL ME ABOUT your business. What’s your specialty? How do you market yourselves? Are you into using eco-friendly materials? Where do you see yourself in five years?”
Liz and Carter had retreated to the corner of the living room after dinner to play a game of chess. Carter glanced up, his hand hovering over one of his pawns. “Sheesh. I haven’t felt grilled like this since I got caught with Beth Peabody behind Old Man Richard’s barn.” He held her gaze. “Nothing happened.”
“Yes, well, she’s a lesbian. I could have told you that wasn’t going to happen.” Liz felt her face flush. “Anyway. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to come on so strong. It’s just… stream-lining and improving business operations is what I do.”
Carter shrugged and picked up his pawn. “We do a lot of hardscapes. I like building stone walls. Word of mouth, I guess.” He paused. “What was that last one? Oh, yeah. Five years?” He blew out a breath. “Damned if I know.” He set the pawn down again.
“You can only jump two spaces the first time you move your pawn.”
Liz reached out to move his pawn back into position, inadvertently touching his hand as she did so. A warm tingle, not so much electricity as a sweet heat, infused her fingertips. She rubbed her fingers down her thigh under the table and picked up her tumbler of wine before she got the urge to touch him again.
He’s too close.
Technically, he was a respectable distance away. Across the table, in fact, but the table was small, and if she wasn’t careful, his knee would occasionally knock against hers, making her acutely aware of the earthy, richly masculine scent of him as he bent his head over the chess board.
He tapped his fingers on the side of his can of soda as he contemplated his move.
“Really, you don’t have to over-think it,” she said. “I haven’t played in years. Probably you were the last person I played.”
“How come?”
“Gr—That is, I really haven’t had a lot of opportunities.”
“Doesn’t like chess, huh?”
“Who?” she evaded, knowing exactly who he meant.
“Your interoffice guy.”
“He’s not—Move your knight or I’ll get him with my bishop.”
“Thanks. You’re blowing my concentration is all,” he said amiably.
“Maybe you should concentrate on the game instead of trying to stir up gossip.”
“You’re not playing fair. You plied me with good food, liquored me up and now you’re distracting me while I’m planning my next move.”
“The wine is technically your fault, and I’m just sitting here.”
He glanced up, his eyes sliding warmly over her face, pausing a moment at the base of her neck, leaving a trail of awareness wherever they lingered. “Like I said. Distracting.”
Liz bit her lip and studied the board. No man should be blessed with lashes that thick and dark. She captured his other knight. Smiled. “I really do enjoy chess, though. Thanks for suggesting it.”
“Of course you enjoy it. You’re winning.”
“As I recall, we used to be pretty evenly matched. That is, when you were paying attention.”
“I’m paying attention.” He took one of her pawns and picked up her wine tumbler. Took a sip.
“I thought you were done for the night,” she commented, oddly excited by the small intimacy of having him drink from her glass.
“Not even close,” he smiled.
She took his second rook.
“Ouch,” he winced. “You’re ruthless tonight.”
“Not ruthless. Focused.”
“I’ve always had a hard time with that.” He leaned forward and captured her queen. “But sometimes I can pull it together. Checkmate, by the way.”
“What?” Liz studied the board a moment then threw her hands up in defeat. “I can’t believe it! You’ve got me!”
“Ah,” he sighed. “Could you say that again? I so love hearing those words.”
She threw him a glance as she cleared the board. “Please. Don’t tell me you’re still a gloater.”
“A gloater? Would you deny me the pleasure of my victory? Tsk. Tsk. Don’t tell me you’re still a poor sport.”
“I was never a poor sport. I just enjoy winning more than losing.”
He grinned and finished her wine. “So do I.”
The air in the room sparked with awareness as Carter held her gaze. She didn’t think they were talking about chess anymore, but it was hard to tell. He had a perpetual air of casual indifference which made it nearly impossible to tell whether he was serious.
She set the chess set on the shelf and smoothed her shirt.
“Well. It’s getting late. I should probably go,” he said, rising from the table. “Thanks for dinner. It was terrific.”
“You’re welcome. Did you want any cookies? For the road, I mean?”
“You have to ask?”
“I’ll be back in a minute.” Liz hurried to the kitchen, pulled a plastic bag from the drawer and filled it with cookies.
“You spoil me.”
<
br /> Liz jumped as Carter reached from behind her to take the bag of cookies. Good heavens, the man moved like a cat.
She smoothed her hair and darted a glance at the kitchen clock. 9:53? How did it get so late? “When will I see you again? I mean, when do you expect to start on the patio?”
Carter swallowed a bite of cookie he’d snitched from the bag. “Weather allowing, tomorrow work for you?”
“To—” The ring of her cell phone interrupted. Liz jumped and pulled her phone from her pocket. She set it face down on the table. “I’m sorry.”
“Do you need to get that?”
“No. It’ll go to voicemail. I can call back. So, tom—?” Again, the phone rang.
“Go ahead and pick up. I know my way out.”
Liz nodded and picked up the phone. She followed Carter to the living room. The front door clicked shut as she answered the call. “Grant! You’re back! Hi… Sorry. I was just... away from the phone for a moment.”
“I thought I might have had the wrong number. So, did you get the e-mail I sent you on N.S. Utilities?”
“Not yet. I haven’t checked e-mail since this morning. I thought you—”
“Liz?” Liz spun around to find the front door open again, Carter poking his head around the jamb. “Thought you might want to know your brother’s here.”
“My—?” She turned back to the phone. “I’m going to have to call you back. John’s just arrived.”
“Is that who I heard in the background?” Grant asked.
“No. That was... yes! Right. My brother. I really should go. I’ll call you later?”
“Check your e-mail, Liz. I need your input before the meeting tomorrow.”
“I’ll check it before I go to bed. Promise.”
Liz hung up and walked to the door.
“Your folks?” Carter asked.
“Business call.”
Carter’s eyes met hers. “Kind of late for business.”
Liz ignored the comment as she watched her brother negotiate the steps at the end of the walk. She paled. John was clearly intoxicated or... something.
“Thanks for coming,” she said too brightly, hoping Carter would take the hint and leave. Like now.