Her Unexpected Engagement (Checkerberry Inn)

by Kyra Jacobs

  “Come on, open up.”

  He did as she commanded to keep her from ramming the spoon straight through his teeth. A rich, tangy sauce met his tongue…

  …and proceeded to set it on fire. Miles chewed, then chewed faster and tried to swallow it down before the urge to spit it out became too great.

  “Well?”

  “It’s…great.” And it probably was, for people who regularly snacked on ghost peppers. The flavor was terrific, just way, way too hot. His eyes began to water, and he felt a fine bead of sweat break out along his hairline. He finally managed to swallow and felt the fire leave a scorching trail down his esophagus.

  “Water,” he croaked, gripping the countertop for support as his insides tried to spontaneously combust.

  “Shoot. Too spicy?” She scrambled for a glass, opening every wrong cabinet door before finding where they were kept. Tears streamed from Miles’s eyes as she filled one from the tap. “Sorry, I must have overdone it with the peppers again. Not the first time I flip-flopped the amounts and ingredients. It’s not easy, you know, trying to whip this up from memory alone.”

  Easy would have been a whole lot safer.

  Miles yanked the offered glass from her hands and chugged the water down. It did little to dull the pain. Empty, he thrust the glass back toward her, since she remained at the sink, blocking his way. “I knew you were trying to poison me. ’S why you had me try it first.”

  “I swear I’m not. And I did try it earlier, but it didn’t seem that hot. Maybe you just got a bite with a high concentration of peppers.” She handed him the refilled glass. “I could get you another bite, see if that one’s any better?”

  He shook his head, and water sloshed out of the glass and down his chin. The woman was certifiable if she thought he’d agree to that. Miles finished his drink, the fire finally beginning to subside, and swiped a hand across his chin.

  “No. I really appreciate it, but I think the next bite should be taken by the cook.”

  “Why?” Her right brow rose as she crossed both arms just under her chest. “You chicken?”

  Something inside Miles snapped. Like some ornery little kid in an elevator who’d just lit up floors L through fifty, in less than five minutes she’d managed to push every one of his buttons—invaded his space, tried to kill him, wore an outfit far too sexy to be legal while in his kitchen cooking, and now an all-out taunt.

  If you’re gonna play with fire…

  Miles lunged forward, aimed low, and had Stephanie up and over his shoulder in two seconds flat. She shrieked, the sound transforming from fearful to playful in a single breath, and kicked her feet out.

  “Put me down!”

  “Oh, I’ll put you down, all right.”

  He enjoyed the view of her butt, full and perfect and easily within biting distance, as he carried her from the kitchen. She kicked and wiggled in his grasp, making his progress anything but easy. Classic Stephanie—she’d always been anything but easy…until last night. Her returning tonight had re-opened that door, and his libido refused to stand back and watch it swing shut a second time. Logic and reason stepped aside and bowed their heads in defeat. Kayla would have been proud.

  “Miles, I’m serious!” She pounded both fists against the seat of his pants. “You’re gonna drop me!”

  He maneuvered her through the doorway into his bedroom and dumped her onto the bed. As she fell, he followed, pinning her body beneath him. The breath wooshed from her lungs, and he claimed her lips with his before she could tell him no. Before he missed his second—and possibly only—chance.

  But Stephanie didn’t push him away, didn’t squirm beneath him. Instead her hands ran up into the back of his hair. God, she felt amazing beneath him—lean, toned muscle wrapped in mouthwatering curves. Miles deepened the kiss, and she readily complied, her hands pulling him closer, her body arching into his.

  Out of breath, he pulled back and in one smooth motion tugged his shirt off and tossed it to the side. Stephanie lay before him, her beautiful caramel hair mussed, her cheeks flushed, and her hazel eyes full of desire. She scanned his naked torso, and damn if she didn’t lick her lips.

  He slid both hands under the hem of her shirt, savoring the silky feel of her skin beneath his. She arched into his touch.

  “God, it’s been so long,” she breathed.

  The admission spurred him on, made him want to make her feel wanted again. Needed. She’d always been those things to him. Always.

  “Please, Miles. Don’t push me away again and tell me it’s for the best.”

  His gaze shifted from hers to the perfect body in his arms. “Oh, no. I never make the same mistake twice.” Then he kissed her again.

  Chapter Twelve

  Stephanie lay beside Miles, head propped on one hand as she watched him sleep. She’d never been with a more attentive lover, one so attuned to her body’s wants and needs. It was as though he could read her mind at times, always finding the perfect places to touch, to caress. Round two had been slower, more intimate, but still the attention focused primarily on her. Spent a second time, he’d collapsed on the bed beside her and soon dozed off, a smile etched into his handsome face.

  Oh, and she’d seen plenty of his faces tonight—hesitant and needy, lustful and determined, proud and sated—and she’d savored every one of them. Even now, she worked to memorize the dark fringe of his lashes, the way his nose wasn’t perfectly straight, the five o’clock shadow dusting his cheeks. Because Miles was a playboy and always would be. She couldn’t change him from being what he was, nor would she ask him to change for her.

  Men didn’t do things like that. She should know.

  And there would be a lot of growing and changing for him to be what she needed. The way he’d fallen asleep, on his back, mouth slightly parted instead of with an arm draped across her—his body language spoke volumes. He was used to having women in his bed, just not what came after. The desire to hold them tight, to keep them close seemed to be absent. She’d been Liam’s trophy wife for years and was determined never to fall into that same trap again. Miles, on the other hand, didn’t need a trophy. He didn’t need her for anything, really. Sex, he could get from any number of women; undoubtedly, he had.

  And yet tonight he’d given so freely. The first time had been fast and furious, but the second? He’d made love to her. She had enough experience to know the difference. What she didn’t know was why he’d gone to such lengths to do so.

  With a sigh, she slipped out of his bed and trod on silent feet to the bathroom down the hall. Or rather, what she thought was the bathroom. When she flipped on the light, though, she found herself in a small den. A large, L-shaped desk took up one full corner, its cherry wood finish shined and clutter-free. Stephanie bit back a giggle. She’d always known him to be quite the dresser, but hadn’t ever thought of what his home might look like.

  Miles was a clean freak, through and through.

  Across the room was a modest-size flat-screen television, mounted to the wall. A leather recliner sat before it, flanked by a matching cherry wood side table. The Wall Street Journal lay neatly folded on the tabletop, and a quick glance found it open to the sports section.

  “Damned Yankees fan,” she muttered under her breath. It was a wonder how he’d grown up in Michigan and not been born a Tigers fan like the rest of them. Even as a Florida transplant, she’d kept her Detroit favorites in the MLB and NFL.

  With a shake of her head she turned to leave the room, but something else caught her eye—a small collection of magazines on the bookshelf just left of the light switch. Golf magazines. Stephanie took a tentative step forward, then reached to remove one from its shelf. It was an issue from several years back, one she was quite familiar with as FITS had been that issue’s feature story. On the cover was her ex, his trademark smile stretched wide as he posed with a small group of young campers. A dog-eared page marked the start of the story and held the first of several photos of her with various members of their
staff and different groups of kids.

  She traced her hand over their little faces, struggling to remember each child’s name. So much had happened to her in the four years since these pictures had been taken, but her thoughts didn’t land there. Rather, she tried to envision what those young lives looked like today.

  Were they happy? Active? Chasing their dreams because they’d had a chance to try new things, to be given positive emotional support? Was Stephanie’s replacement taking good care of them all?

  She returned the magazine to its place on the shelf. It’d been foolish to let her relationship with Miles slide, to worry about what Liam might think if she called here from time to time. Clearly, Miles had kept an interest in her life after she’d left. Or, more likely, in her and Liam’s lives.

  But now…

  She flipped the light switch off and headed back out into the hall. No, she refused to waste tonight looking forward or back. Stephanie knew Miles’s past and knew where this week together was headed—nowhere. Oddly enough, she found herself okay with that. Maybe a fling with Mount Pleasant’s infamous playboy was exactly what she’d needed to clear her head, to find the courage to move past Liam and the humiliation he’d dumped upon her. For that, she would be forever grateful.

  A peace settled over her then, as though a higher level of healing had begun. She glanced back toward Miles’s room and felt a smile tug at her lips. Maybe healing didn’t have to hurt so badly after all.

  …

  Miles woke with a start. The sound of thunder rumbled somewhere in the distance, the glow of dusk beyond his curtains long gone. From the chill at his side, he knew Stephanie was gone, too. Usually, that knowledge would bring a small amount of relief. Women who snuck off after their bedroom romps spared him from messy good-byes. Tonight, however, it left him feeling unsettled and frankly a bit surprised. She’d turned the tables on him—lured him out and led him on. Hell, urged him on. And once she’d had her way with him—twice—she’d slipped off into the night, her departure as unexpected as her arrival had been.

  After all the years of him doing the same, karma had finally caught up with him.

  Touché.

  He slid from bed, stepped into a pair of clean boxers, and headed for the john, rubbing his eyes as he went. But then his foot landed on something lacy, and relief washed over him. Sneaky or not, he couldn’t picture Stephanie stealing back to the inn without her bra or panties. That meant she was still around here somewhere. He grinned at the implied possibilities.

  After washing up Miles headed out of the master suite, his path lit sporadically by the dim flash of lightning. More thunder followed, rumbling his possessions, but Stephanie was nowhere to be found. In the dining room, two clean place settings awaited, the pasta in the center of the table and topped with foil. Hope arose in his chest once more.

  The next flash of lightning illuminated the scene outside his adjoining French doors, and at last he spied her. She sat atop his gliding porch swing in one of his T-shirts, knees pulled into her chest and looking so incredibly innocent. Of course, he knew better. Always had. Tonight, though, his knowledge of her ran deeper.

  Stephanie spied him, then, and a languorous smile stretched across her lips. She patted the empty space beside her on the swing, and Miles did a mental fist pump. She’d stayed.

  “You should have woken me,” he said as he sat next to her.

  “Nah, you looked exhausted.” She raised a gentle hand to trace the rings under his eyes. “Is everything all right?”

  “Yeah. Of course.” He shifted away from her touch. Looked up at the clouds. “Storms are coming.”

  “Mmmhmm. I’ve forgotten how differently they move up here. In Florida, they pop up, dump a deluge on you, and are gone in a matter of minutes. Here, everything seems to move so much slower. Been watching this one roll in for a while now.”

  As though her words had angered some imaginary storm goddess, a brilliant bolt of lightning flashed, followed by a booming crack of thunder. Stephanie reached for Miles and curled into his side. A small tremor rattled her frame, and he wrapped a protective arm around her.

  “Just a little thunder, Steph. It can’t hurt you. The storm’s still a ways out.”

  She looked up at the sky once again. “Maybe, but it’s getting closer. I suppose we should go back inside, eat some dinner before I head out.”

  Damn. Just as he’d feared, she had hung around to finish what she’d started. To pay her penance and go. But what if that wasn’t what he wanted? Could he make her stay, talk some sense into her? Or would she take his request all wrong and see it as him leading her on?

  Because he wasn’t. He wouldn’t. Love wasn’t in the cards for Miles, and she deserved better. Deserved more. Though, she’d looked amazing during sex, the sparkle back in her eyes, a healthy flush to her cheeks. She looked like the Stephanie he’d fallen for all those years ago. And he wasn’t ready to watch her slip away again, not just yet.

  His phone buzzed in his pocket, and Miles took it out to check his messages. He worried about Ruby constantly, and every text, every call, his first thought was that it would be about her. Would that change when he moved to Columbus, if he did indeed move? Would he still assume every buzz was the bad news he never wanted to receive?

  The text was from Kayla, her words clipped. I thought you said you were going to tell Brent???

  Shoot. He’d meant to break the news about his interview to Brent, had psyched himself up for it several times now. But each chance he’d had to bring it up Ruby walked in, and he didn’t want to tell them both at the same time. Miles needed Brent on his side before he went to Ruby. Then again, with his cousin’s temper, maybe Miles should approach this from the other way around.

  “Tomorrow,” he wrote back and tucked the phone away.

  “Is everything all right?” Stephanie asked.

  “Yeah, Kayla just had a question.” He caught himself before going further.

  But why had he felt the need to lie to her? She’d be gone in a few days—what difference did it make to her that he might be moving? And if not for this job, then probably for another. The urge to come clean nagged at him. It would feel so good to get this off his chest to someone other than Kayla. Someone who wouldn’t judge him, not when she’d done the exact same thing a decade ago.

  “Look, Steph, I—”

  “No.” She sat up taller and silenced him with a finger to his lips. “Tonight has been amazing. Please don’t ruin it with serious talk. I’ve done the serious thing, been swallowed up by it for months now, and I don’t want to go back. Not yet. Just…relax with me. Have fun. Help me remember how, no strings attached.”

  An odd sensation washed over him, one as unfamiliar as it was unidentifiable. He stared down at her, realizing he’d step off a cliff if she asked him right then. Anything to make her happy. The thought unsettled him, and left him feeling as though he stood on a narrow precipice between the past and future. All he could hope now was that she wouldn’t ask of him something he was unable to give.

  “What did you have in mind?”

  “Take tomorrow off, spend it with me. I…” Stephanie looked down at her hands. “I haven’t been able to, you know, go out and be me in so long I’ve kinda forgotten how. But when I’m with you, well, I start to remember that I don’t care what other people think of me.”

  He chuckled. “That’s the Steph I know. Strutting around town, flipping the world off as she goes.”

  “Maybe.” She turned her gaze to the dark yard and grinned. “You think you could weasel your way out of work tomorrow? That is, if you don’t mind hanging out with me.”

  “Actually, I could use a day off. Been…a little stressful around there lately.”

  Guilt riddled through him yet again, his admission as to why still on the tip of his tongue. But she wanted to stay relaxed, have fun. Talking job interviews and future family drama would bring anything but. He reached to tip her chin upward and waited for her gaze to find his.
“And I would love to spend the day with you. But only on one condition.”

  The smile that had begun to blossom on her face dimmed. “What’s that?”

  A drop of rain hit his arm. He glanced up at the sky as a bolt of lightning zigzagged through the dark, churning clouds. Oh, yes, a storm was coming. He looked back down at Stephanie, and saw one brewing in her eyes as well. “You throw away that pasta. No offense.”

  “Are you kidding?” She laughed. “I was afraid you were going to insist I eat the next bite.”

  The raindrops fell faster now, harder. They rose and dashed inside. Stephanie stood beside him, shivering as the cool air hit her wet skin. Miles pulled her into his chest. “How about we towel off and have dessert instead?”

  A smirk formed on her lips. “Round three?”

  “At least.” He lowered his face to hers and nipped her lower lip.

  “You’re on.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  A knock awoke Stephanie the next morning. At first she thought it was a part of her dream—a tornado had been spotted, and Kayla was running door to door in the inn, warning people to go down to the basement. But then she called out, “Steph? Are you in there?” and her voice sounded so much like a man’s…

  “Steph?”

  More knocking. Close by. And Miles’s voice.

  Her eyes flew open, and her room at the inn came into view. Gone was the lightning-streaked black of night, replaced once again by brilliant sunlight doing its damnedest to sneak around her mini blinds. Today, though, the sight seemed far less annoying. “Just a minute!”

  She sat up in a panic and caught her reflection in the mirror over her room’s decoupage dresser. Good Lord, she looked like a drowned rat that’d washed up on shore and been left to dry. Stephanie’s hair stood out in a million directions, but darn if she didn’t have a healthy glow about her today.

  Burning the midnight oil with a certain insatiable Mr. Masterson will do that to a girl.