by Dani Collins
“Are you crying?”
“No.” She sniffed, and wiped beneath her eyes. “Too much eye drops.”
“I saw you come out of the ladies room. Was my mother in there?”
“You know us girls. Always gotta have a friend in there.” She fought to keep her voice from breaking and swiped once more with her pinky. There. All better.
“Gonna tell me what she said to make you leave?”
“It’s not about that.” Not really.
“But she said something. You’re right. I’ve been an ass, using you to get at her, but darlin’, you can’t keep letting her put you on the run.”
“Look, I’m not sniveling over your mother treating me like one more good-for-nothing Fogarty again. I’m trying to come to terms with the fact that this town is toxic to me. I don’t want to play Fearless Leader of the Factory. I thought I could, but I can’t.”
He didn’t say anything.
She sighed, her breath clouding in front of her. It was so damp out here, the chill went right into her bones.
“Fearless Leader of the Factory?” he repeated.
“Oh, shut up.” She turned her face away, saw the humor and felt a smile start.
He took off his jacket and held it for her. “Come back a little longer. I bought you a glass of wine. That should take the edge off.”
“It might if I drank. Didn’t I ask for a soda with lime?”
“Oh. Yeah, I think you did. I forgot. Here, are you going to take this?”
It would mean she was staying, giving this party another go. It would mean she was willing to face his mother again. She didn’t want to, but she was cold enough to turn and reach into the jacket anyway. Her bare arms prickled with goose bumps as the lining slid across her skin.
The smell of aftershave and the lingering heat of Sterling’s body enveloped her. She hugged the weight of his jacket in an effort to gather more of his impervious strength closer to herself.
His hands lingered on her shoulders, gently inviting her to turn.
He wanted to kiss her.
She wanted him to kiss her.
She started to turn— “Oooh!” She gritted her teeth as she caught sight of the mess inside the car.
“What?” Sterling leaned down and let out a cloud of aggravated breath when he saw the contents of the glove box all over the floor. The papers from the box of folders were splayed out on the seats.
She ought to be scared, she distantly thought, but she was just furious. “What are they looking for?” she demanded.
“Didn’t you lock it?”
“This is the good side of town, isn’t it?” She waved her arm at the club. “And this box of papers isn’t likely to hold anything valuable enough to pawn. Who did this? Someone here? Do I go in and start accusing people?”
Sterling shook his head, sighing. “I don’t know. I really don’t.”
They stared at the mess a moment longer.
“I want to go home,” she decided.
“You can’t. Not alone. Whoever did this thinks you’re here, not at the house. They could be breaking in again. Lyle still out?”
“I don’t know. I should call Cam, shouldn’t I?” She let her head drop into her hand. “I’m not up to it, Sterling. I’m really not.”
He surveyed the mess, nodded decisively. “All right, let’s go.”
He crowded her until she slipped into the car. Before she could sort any papers, he came in behind her, forcing her to push everything toward the passenger door.
“There’s no room,” she protested.
“Good. I don’t want you to go too far.”
“Believe it or not, I’m not in the mood for a pass.”
“Who’s making a pass? I’m cold. Where’re the keys?”
She pulled them out of her purse, then began filling the box with the shuffled files.
“Quit fiddling with those papers.”
“There’s no seat belt in the middle.”
“I’ll drive careful.” He did, while she sat right up against him, shoulder to shoulder, thigh to thigh, warmed by more than body heat. Pretending the contact was defense against hypothermia when it was plain ol’ desire to be close to him.
He smelled incredible.
When he pulled into her driveway, he cut the engine, cut the lights, and sat unmoving. History closed in around them as the droning blow of the heater died off and the motor silenced to cooling pings.
She licked her lips. “You have to get out so I don’t knock all this onto the driveway.”
“Yeah.” He still didn’t move. Very slowly, he turned his head to look at her.
She became very aware of the weight of his jacket, the angles of his face, the patter of light rain making this small, dark space that much more intimate.
“I think we have to give it a try, Paige.”
“An affair?” Her insides quaked at the thought.
The corners of his lips quirked. “I was fishing for a kiss, but okay.”
“Oh, God.” She ducked her head into her hands.
His arms came around her, squishing her bent arms and hot face against his chest while his palm cradled the back of her head and chuckles of enjoyment shook through him.
“I can’t believe I said that. Let me out.” She pushed at his chest.
He pressed his lips to her temple, still laughing, trying to gather her hair back and find her face. “Come on, Paige. Be a sport.”
She emerged from her hands enough to look around, then let her gaze come back to settle on his face. He was amused, but in an affectionate way. He scared the hell out of her.
“What’d ya say?” he asked softly. “Should we see?” His thumb caressed the corner of her jaw.
Bad idea, Paige. Don’t do it.
“Maybe,” she said on a near-whisper, and felt wicked. Grew excited.
He smiled and his breath left him in a humid cloud against her mouth before he lowered his head, taking his time as he brushed her lips with his, hesitating one more long second.
She opened a little, pressed a fraction against his mouth, let him know she was planning to participate.
Their lips melded into a real kiss, but it was still only a cautious exploration. How far do you want to take this, he seemed to ask. A little further, she responded, letting her tongue strike against the inside of his lip and retreat.
He did the same, wasn’t so cautious, tasting her in a leisurely way that dampened both their lips and made her sink into him. His arm tightened around her, drew her closer as he deepened the kiss.
She slid her arms around his neck, pressing her torso to his. His other hand snaked beneath his jacket and roamed, learning the shape of her lower spine and hips as she arched to feel more of him against her.
And they began to devour each other.
It was just like last time: bonfire.
Secretly she’d been terrified the sparks and awareness had all been fueled by history and nostalgia, but Sterling would die before he’d disappoint, which was terrifying in its own way.
Longing rose, a yearning to pleasure and claim and offer herself to him, to hands that weren’t fast, but had a way of moving that suggested greed. Hunger. Urgency.
She felt the same, like this might be her only chance so she had to discover everything she could: the pulse in his hot throat against her open mouth, the flex of muscles in his chest, the ridges of his shoulder blades. His taste, oh God, his taste. They were going to incinerate each other right here, kissing like this, feverish and desperate, no longer experimenting, working on a prelude to more, and she was right there with him. Yes. More, more.
With a lusty groan, he twisted to get a better vantage, hit his elbow on the steering wheel, and knocked out a short honk from the horn.
Panting, they jerked apart.
“Smoke alarm,” she said through lips that felt swollen.
“There’s a horny joke there too, but I’m too blown away to find it.”
“That was bad.” She edge
d back so they weren’t touching, trying to catch her breath.
“You wish. Our lives would be a lot simpler if that had been lousy.”
She pressed her hand to her lips, holding the tingling pleasure in them.
He stretched out his legs, lifted his hips off the seat while he made himself more comfortable. “Again with the driveway. If I ever get you somewhere private— You want to come over?”
She did, but she shook her head, trying to keep a grasp on something like sense.
He swore and opened the door, climbed out and took a big breath of the cold, wet air. Leaning on the rooftop, he said, “It looks like Lyle’s here, but you come straight out if things don’t feel right, ‘kay?”
She slid across, struggling to keep her skirt from scraping up her thighs as she wiggled past the steering wheel. Standing beside him, she waved at the strewn papers. “I guess I’ll deal with this in the morning.”
He locked the door, handed her the keys. “Good night.”
The bulb over the front door was on, casting a reflection of light in the puddle at their feet.
“Are you angry?” she asked him.
“No.” His chuckle was dry. “Frustrated. Come home with me.”
She swallowed. “It’s not a good idea.” She handed back his jacket.
He didn’t answer as he took it.
She didn’t looked back until she stood under the porch light, shivering and waving away a persistent moth. His silhouette was a still presence, his lower half visible in the slant of watery light, his upper body and face unreadable.
“Good night,” she said again, and stepped blindly into the house, then, with the door closed behind her, listened for the crunch of his footsteps on the gravel.
It took a long time for him to walk away.
Chapter Sixteen
The clouds cleared overnight. Saturday morning tried for one last stab at summer. Nevertheless, when Paige charged over to Sterling’s, the grass soaked her slippers and the breeze cut through her bicycle shorts and T-shirt, making her aware she was naked beneath both.
She considered going back to put on a bra before confronting him, but she was already at the fence and he was cracking his back door like he’d seen her coming, leaving it open as he re-entered the house. She was just chilled enough to finish stomping across his lawn and step in, swinging the door closed behind her with a solid bang.
“Good morning,” he said, as he opened a cupboard.
“Oh, don’t even bother. ‘Is your brother home?’” she mimicked his question from yesterday evening.
“You’re not here for coffee?” He held up two mugs. “Or to talk about who Cam thinks might have searched your car?”
“No. Although I did call him and he’s going to dust it for fingerprints when he gets a minute.”
“Sure you don’t want coffee?”
The scent of high-end dark roast had her blood stream clenching in longing, but accepting a coffee would take the last of the wind out of her ‘go to hell’ sails, so she folded her arms against temptation. “No.”
He shrugged, poured for himself and took it to the stovetop. He had a few tools laid out there and had pulled the vinyl stool away from the wall that separated the kitchen from the parlor. His white muscle-shirt gaped at the arm-holes revealing his smooth tanned side and the tuft of hair in his armpit as he picked up a screwdriver and bent to fiddle with the switch plate for the light.
He had really nice definition across his shoulders. Really nice. And it was kind of sexy the way his hair—the messy spikes on his head and the fine gold sweeping a flat pattern down his forearms and legs—picked up the sunlight slanting through the window.
Did his mother know he owned cut-offs that disrespectable looking? Apparently there was some bad boy in him after all. There was also some beach boy, because his feet were tanned as dark as his legs, except where a thick, pale stripe underlined his bare toes.
“You’re mad, by the way.”
She jerked her gaze up to his amused one. Rats. Busted with another version brewing, to add to the thousand she’d dreamed up last night. Vexing man, with his mind-bending goodnight kiss.
“I’m very mad,” she agreed. “And you don’t seem surprised.”
He shrugged one shoulder. “Lyle tattled?”
“No, I called Olinda with a question about the audit and she told me you threatened to fire Lyle yesterday.”
“It was more of a promise.” Sterling turned his attention back to the switch plate.
“One you didn’t think was worth mentioning last night?”
“I figured Lyle would tell you if he wanted you to know.”
“I wanted to know! If I had known—”
“What?” He paused in his work.
She made an impatient noise and looked away.
“No kiss. Right?”
He was dead right, but it sounded petty when he said it out loud. And she didn’t want to dwell on that insignificant, brain-compressing, heart-stopping kiss anyway. It had been dirty pool, making a pass without giving her all the facts.
“You can’t do it, Sterling.”
“I’m not ready to give up.” He used the screwdriver to pick at the paint that apparently glued the screws into the plate. “But I might have to throw the main breaker and get rough with it.”
“Stop that and look at me. This is important. Work is the only thing Lyle sobers up for. You can’t fire him.”
“Working safe is the only thing that keeps our employees alive. If he’s not going to follow the rules when it comes to welding, then he doesn’t weld for Roy Furnishings.” He started to insert the screwdriver again, paused to point it at her. “And I have my doubts as to whether he shows up sober.”
She got that same panicky feeling she used to get when her mother’s employer called with the ‘Connie didn’t come in for work’ complaint.
“I know when Lyle’s been drinking and at work he never—”
“I’m not talking about alcohol, although the way he puts it away every night, he’s likely still ninety proof when he comes in. I’m talking about weed. And other things. I can’t prove it, but I know what a drug problem looks like and he fits the profile.”
“You’re trying to justify firing him.”
“No, I’m telling you that if Cam did some serious sniffing around your basement, you could lose your house. Probably not a good atmosphere for your nephew, either.” He went back to his switch plate.
She shook her head. Lyle’s wasn’t a drug problem. It was suffering, but her brother’s personal heartaches were his to reveal, not hers. Hell, if she thought about that awful day for more than twenty seconds, she fell apart.
“My family self-medicates with alcohol. I can’t deny that. But no one has ever touched anything illegal.” That she knew of. “It’s not like they don’t have their reasons,” she added in a defensive mumble. Her mother’s condition still impacted all of them.
He snorted. “Have you heard the term ‘enabling’?”
“I could write a book,” she said flatly. “But Lyle’s not always this bad. Seeing Dad in the hospital wasn’t easy for him.” That was as far as she’d go with explaining.
“If you say so.” He went back to the switch plate and turned his knuckles white as he made another attempt on the painted over screw.
“Lefty-loosey, righty-tighty,” she said.
“What? Oh. Lefty-loosey.” He tried again. The first screw came out.
“I learned that from Lyle,” she said with a smarmy smile.
“I would have got there, once you quit distracting me.”
“He’s really good at his job, Sterling. I wish you didn’t hate him so much.”
Sighing, he removed the second screw, set the switch plate and screws on the end of the counter and faced her. “I don’t hate him.”
“Yes, you do.” She shifted her feet in her wet slippers, felt the pull of one of the stitches she was overdue to have removed. “You go out of your way to find
fault.”
“I don’t need to go out of my way. It’s right there for anyone to see.” He had a lot of his mother in him when he got that pithy tone in his voice.
“You hate him because you think he somehow knew you and I were in the driveway and sicced Dad on you.”
“I don’t think it, I know it. He was there, wasn’t he? Enjoying the show? He told me you wanted me to ask you out. That’s what he was up to all along, setting me up.”
“No, he wasn’t,” she insisted. “Even if he was, he was punished, same as you. Only he didn’t get a trip to Harvard out of the deal.”
Sterling just glared at her, unwilling to give an inch. Stubborn jerk.
“It was worse for Lyle, you know. Dad blamed him for you being there.”
“See?”
“And split Lyle’s lip. Then expected Lyle to forgive him. It was a cold bloody summer in that house, let me tell you.”
Her mind shied from prying too deeply into that memory; buried beneath the guilt were darker emotions like anger and a bone-deep resentment that just weren’t healthy. She had wanted to report her father for hitting Lyle. Lyle had talked her out of it and since she had blamed him a little bit for Sterling being there, part of her had thought he had deserved her father’s backhand, too.
Now, however, as an adult, she could say, “Lyle didn’t deserve to be hit any more than you did. He sure as heck doesn’t deserve to be fired now because of it.”
“He deserves to be fired because he makes a lousy employee. The only reason he still has a job is my father’s fear of change.”
“He needs that job, Sterling. There aren’t many places to work in this town. He stays in Liebe Falls for Zack. If you fire him, Brit loses her support payments.”
Sterling tasted his coffee, keeping his thoughtful gaze on her.
She moved forward to pick up a screw that had rolled to the floor and set it on the counter. “Deep down he’s a good man. He just had lousy role models and yes, he has a drinking problem. If I could fix that, I would. Believe me.”
“I don’t buy that. You had the same role models. You could have made a career of picking up barflies at The Mill. Instead you left town a virgin. Far as I know, anyway.”