A Better Reason to Fall in Love

by Marcia Lynn McClure

  “Thanks,” he said, unbuttoning the button of his jeans.

  “Okay,” she managed as he unzipped his jeans. “I’m right next door if you need anything.”

  “Okay,” he said.

  Tabby whirled around as Jagger began to drop his jeans.

  “Good night,” she heard him say.

  “Good night,” she managed. She was blushing vermilion, even though she’d managed not to see him in nothing but his underwear.

  She could’ve sworn she’d heard a low chuckle emanating from him as she closed her bedroom door behind her. What a devil! What a delicious, gorgeous, mouth-watering devil.

  She’d never get to sleep—never!

  As she unwrapped an extra princess toothbrush from Chloe’s bathroom—because she’d completely forgotten to get hers from her own—she noticed that her hands were trembling. Jagger Brodie had managed to entirely freak her out with his stripping antics. She couldn’t believe he hadn’t let her change the sheets. She was horrified! Her pillows probably smelled too girly to tolerate—like body splash, hairspray, and makeup. Ugh!

  Still, she smiled. He didn’t mind sleeping in her bed—in her sheets? It was rather flattering in a way. Or maybe he was just into camping and used to sleeping in sleeping bags that got laundered only once every five or ten years. Either way, she’d never get to sleep.

  Jagger sighed, raised his arms, and tucked his hands at the back of his head. Tabby Flanders’s bed smelled like heaven—like lip gloss, perfume, and other girl stuff. It was indecent, the way he was enjoying sleeping between her sheets. He chuckled as he closed his eyes, remembering the look on her face when he’d started to drop his jeans. What was she worried about anyway? He was wearing boxer briefs. Still, he’d thought her jaw might hit the floor or that her pretty blue eyes might pop right out of her head. Girls—they were so easily rattled.

  He silently scolded himself for toying with her. However, he’d needed to get her out of the room somehow. He was about two breaths away from kissing her, and the situation demanded a gentleman—not a player.

  Jagger drew a deep breath—slowly exhaled. He was glad he’d forgotten that flash drive—glad he’d gone back to the office to find Tabby hiding in the break room. Otherwise, he would never have found himself secluded in her company for so long—never would’ve found himself sleeping in her bed—and he certainly had, and was, enjoying it.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Although the storm had exhausted itself during the night, it managed to leave a foot of snow in Tabby’s driveway and drifts up to almost three feet against the garage door. Having overslept until almost nine, Tabby had hopped out of bed and called the office’s main switchboard. She was relieved to hear the office would remain closed. Otherwise, she and Jagger both would’ve been insanely late for work.

  As Tabby prepared a breakfast of French toast and bacon, she could hear the sounds of neighbors shoveling their driveways. The sun was shining bright and cheerful, but the driveway would have to be shoveled if Jagger hoped to ever escape the prison Tabby had led him into. She figured that once she had breakfast ready, she’d sneak out and start shoveling. In the fresh light of day—with no merciless blizzard blowing to toy with her anxieties—Tabby was embarrassed that she’d caused such a profound inconvenience to Jagger Brodie.

  Certainly she had adored having him there in her house, having him all to herself for hours and hours, knowing he was sleeping in the next room—in her room. Still, it was humiliating all the same. The poor man! His entire evening had been ruined.

  Tabby sighed, rolled her eyes, and shook her head as she recalled the ridiculous things she’d rattled on about the night before.

  “Six Degrees of Kevin Bacon?” she whispered, sighing with self-disgust. Jagger Brodie must think her a complete idiot! Still, she smiled as she remembered his telling her of having crushed on Ginger from Gilligan’s Island as a boy. He was so amusing, so witty, a fabulous conversationalist, and, of course, perfect eye candy. She could almost hear his voice in her head—his speaking voice, his singing voice. It was intoxicating—provocative.

  She placed the last few strips of now-cooked bacon onto a pie plate lined with paper towels and covered it with a saucepan lid. Putting the pie plate of bacon in the warmed oven with the previously prepared French toast, she sighed. At least Jagger would have a good breakfast waiting for him. She giggled as she remembered the Frito pie he’d prepared for them the night before. He was entirely too entertaining in entirely too many ways.

  Tabby wiped her hands on her apron and then reached around to untie it at her back. As she did so, she turned, gasping slightly as she saw Jagger Brodie leaning on one shoulder against the wall—and smiling at her.

  “Oh!” she said. “Good morning.” She wondered how long he’d been watching her.

  “You wear an apron?” he asked. “How cute.”

  His smile broadened, and Tabby blushed, wadding up the apron and tossing it onto the counter.

  “I-I made you some breakfast,” she said. “Do you like French toast?” Somehow in the light of morning, Jagger Brodie didn’t seem as approachable as he had the night before. She was nervous.

  “It’s my favorite,” he said.

  “Well, then…have a seat,” she said, gesturing toward the table. “I figured the least I could do after all your help and patience with me is to start your day off with a good breakfast,” she babbled as she took a plate down from the cupboard.

  “You’re not going to eat with me?” he asked.

  “Oh, I already ate,” she explained, opening the oven. “I want to get out and shovel so you won’t be trapped here any longer than you need to be.”

  Pulling on a couple of oven mitts, Tabby removed the pie plate of bacon and the plate of French toast, placing them on the table. The syrup was already there, along with a set of silverware and a napkin.

  “Sit down and enjoy it,” she said, smiling at him. “Do you want some milk? Or orange juice?”

  “Milk,” he said, striding to the table and taking a seat.

  His hair was wet, and she could smell the fragrance of her berry-scented soap as she placed a glass of milk on the table.

  “Sorry I didn’t have any guy soap,” she giggled.

  He shrugged broad shoulders. “It’s okay. I’ve never used Huckleberry Kiss bodywash before.” He smiled up at her. “But it claims to moisturize as it cleanses…so we’ll see.”

  “Well, if it’s any consolation, you smell very pretty,” she teased.

  “Thanks,” he chuckled.

  “You enjoy your breakfast, and I’ll run out and shovel the driveway so you can escape,” she said. “By the way, the office is closed today. I called.”

  She startled as he reached out, taking hold of her wrist.

  “You’re kidding, right?” he asked.

  “No,” she assured him. “They really are closed. I guess they figured everyone would be so late…what’s the point.”

  He smiled. “No…I mean about shoveling the driveway.”

  “You won’t be able to get your car out until I do,” she explained.

  He shook his head. “No, I mean you don’t really think I’m going to let you shovel the driveway, do you?”

  “Well…yeah,” she answered.

  “Well…no,” he told her. “As soon as I’m finished being spoiled rotten with French toast and bacon, I’ll do it.”

  Tabby bit her lip, delighted by his old-fashioned chivalry. Still, it was her fault he was trapped, so she began, “No, really. You don’t need to—”

  “Here,” he said, pulling her arm so that she was directed to sit in the chair next to him. “You just keep me company while I eat. Then I’ll shovel.”

  “But I—” she began. She was silenced, however, as his hand covered her mouth.

  “Shh! I’m eating,” he said.

  His touch was utterly invigorating—wildly affective to every sense in her! He dropped his hand, smiled, and began to eat.

  “So,
” he began, “when did you say your sister gets back?”

  She knew he was making small talk, but she didn’t mind.

  “Next week,” she answered. “It’s been weird having her gone this long.”

  He grinned. “What will she think when she finds out you had a man in your bed while she was gone?”

  Tabby suddenly suspected that Jagger Brodie might be even more flirtatious in the light of day, following a good night’s rest, than he was in the evening.

  “Maybe I’ll just hide the evidence,” Tabby playfully countered. “What she doesn’t know won’t hurt her.”

  “I guess that’s true,” Jagger chuckled.

  He had to hurry. Jagger nearly gulped down the delicious breakfast the dead-sexy redhead had prepared for him—because he had to hurry and get out of there. He’d managed to remain a gentleman the night before. He’d even managed to get to sleep, eventually. However, Tabby Flanders was too attractive—too tasty-looking. It wouldn’t be wise to linger—to risk losing his resolve to move slowly. If he didn’t leave soon, who knew what he might slip up and say—or do?

  Jagger made certain the conversation wound along rather shallow lines as he finished his breakfast. Then he went to the garage, grabbed his jacket out of the car, and asked Tabby where she kept her snow shovel.

  She was right behind him, however, dressed in her cute little cream-colored jacket, mittens, and snow boots.

  “I’ll help you,” she said as she pressed the button to open the garage door. “After all, this whole thing is my fault.”

  “It’ll only take a minute,” he told her. “Stay inside and keep warm.”

  “Nope,” she said, handing him one snow shovel while she picked up another. “And besides, I don’t mind. It’ll be invigorating.”

  Jagger sighed. Oh, it would be invigorating all right.

  He didn’t waste any more time arguing with her, figuring he’d better just get the job done and get out of there.

  With the determination of a man barely staying in control, Jagger began to shovel.

  Tabby felt a little ridiculous. It was obvious Jagger could shovel seven hundred times better and faster than she could. Still, she wouldn’t leave him to the chore all by himself. What would he think of her then? She’d been so ridiculously pitiful the night before that he’d had to literally come to her rescue and drive her home. Then she’d kept him up until midnight yammering on about who knew what kind of nonsense. Top that off with the fact he’d slept in used sheets. She considered herself lucky that he was still speaking to her.

  Jagger smiled as he paused to watch Tabby a moment. She was so cute, with her little shovelfuls of snow. He glanced at the house. It was cute—a little two-bedroom, maybe eighty years old, and recently remodeled. It would be a great starter home for some little couple or family.

  He gritted his teeth, changing his line of thought before he tagged it as being a great starter home for himself—himself and…

  “I can get Jocelyn or someone to pick me up for work tomorrow,” Tabby said, pulling his thoughts back to shoveling.

  “What?” he asked, momentarily out of it because of his previous thought process.

  She smiled at him. “So you don’t have to worry about my car still being at the office. You don’t have to give me a ride tomorrow.”

  “Oh,” he said, as if his mind had been on the planet Mars instead of on their shoveling. “But it’s on my way.”

  Tabby smiled, shaking her head. “What? The-hamster-needs-food story again?” she asked. “Jocelyn only lives a few streets away. She can bring me. That way you won’t have to come all the way over here to get hamster food.”

  The dazzle of his smile caused Tabby’s heartbeat to increase. He was so very, very handsome. It wasn’t fair!

  “Well…we’ll see,” he said.

  Tabby smiled. She adored the way he was commanding—yet not. He wasn’t a pushover, but he wasn’t a domineering jerk either. Nope—he seemed to be a good balance.

  It took Jagger less than fifteen minutes to clear the driveway, no thanks to Tabby. The snowplow had passed, clearing the street, as they had been shoveling. He was free to leave, and the thought depressed her a little—actually a lot.

  “I’ll start the car and pull it out,” he said, returning the snow shovel he’d used to the garage. “I probably should let it warm up a bit while I get my stuff.”

  “Probably,” Tabby said. Her heart felt disappointed, as if she’d never be excited about anything ever again.

  She watched as Jagger slid into the driver’s seat of his car—as he backed it out into the driveway. It was a strange feeling—a miserable, lonesome feeling that she’d never before experienced.

  Tabby went into the garage, propping her snow shovel against the wall next to the one Jagger had used. She stamped her feet and slipped her snow boots off.

  “I’ll just grab my stuff,” Jagger said, jogging up to follow her into the house.

  As Jagger stuffed his suit and dress shoes into his black duffle bag, Tabby began to clear the dishes from the table.

  She couldn’t shake the feeling of lonesomeness—of longing and melancholy. The night spent in Jagger Brodie’s company had been like a dream, and she didn’t want it to end. Still, she knew it would—that it was all a fluke in the first place.

  “Well,” he began, striding to the door that led to the garage, “thanks for the sleepover.”

  “Thanks for the rescue,” Tabby said, forcing a smile.

  “I guess I’ll be going,” he said. “I need to run over and make sure my Maw Maw is all right and everything.”

  Tabby nodded.

  Jagger’s friendly grin faded as a slight frown puckered his brow.

  “You know,” he began, releasing the strap of the duffle bag so that it dropped to the floor, “that was a really good breakfast.”

  Tabby felt her heavy heart lighten a bit. He liked her cooking—and that was something, wasn’t it?

  “Thanks,” she said. “It’s literally the least I could do.”

  He grinned and moved closer to her.

  “You know, there’s something that’s been running through my mind all night,” he said.

  “What’s that?” Tabby asked.

  He was standing directly in front of her now—towering above her—so close she could smell the leather of his jacket.

  “Well, you might wanna…sort of…brace for impact or something,” he mumbled. He reached out, taking her face between his powerful hands. “I’ve been holding this back for too long, and it might come across as a little too…” As his head descended toward hers, he breathed, “Aggressive.”

  At the feel of his lips to hers, Tabby felt instantly dizzy. She felt her knees begin to buckle at the sense of his kiss. She reached up, taking hold of his forearms to steady herself as her mouth melted to his. There was very little tentative buildup—no, only a breath of timid hesitation in testing the waters of whether she would accept his kiss. Almost instantly, his mouth was ravaging hers, demanding reciprocation—reciprocation she was shamefully willing to provide.

  Jagger Brodie’s kiss was like his music—savory, soulful, seductive. His mouth was as skilled at evoking desire and pleasure in her as his blues vocals were at evoking attraction and admiration. Instantly intoxicated by his wicked-effectual kiss, Tabby felt her entire body tremble with a sudden rush of goose bumps—felt a fresh sense of desire to surrender threatening to overwhelm her. It was as if he were breathing some sort of wild enticement into her—some wild allure she could not resist.

  Through the mist of breathless delirium, Tabby struggled to fathom that this was, in truth, a first kiss. How could it be that Jagger Brodie’s kiss could instantly ignite such an exchange of moist, delicious, impassioned fervor? In the very least it was inappropriate—not to mention inexplicable! Yet as she continued to linger in his embrace—for his arms were around her now, pulling her body flush with his own—she couldn’t keep from kissing him! She seriously wondered i
f he’d breathed some unseen narcotic into her, for it was nothing if not completely out of character for her to kiss a man on the first date. First date? she thought. This wasn’t even a date! This was only bad weather!

  Delicious! she thought. Unbelievable!

  Her limbs were numb. Her mouth was watering for his, even though it was already relishing it.

  Just keep kissing me, she thought. Oh, please, please keep kissing me!

  Well, he’d lost it—entirely lost it. But he didn’t care—not in that moment—not when she was so willingly accepting his kiss. After all, he’d kept his head through a long, dark, warm, romantic night, hadn’t he? Who could blame him for losing it now? Besides, it was ten o’clock in the morning, and his car was idling out in the driveway.

  Jagger pulled Tabby more tightly against him. She felt so good—fit so perfectly in his arms! Not to mention the way her mouth seemed to be made to welcome his. He’d been on his best behavior for something like sixteen hours. Shouldn’t he be allowed a little leeway?

  Just a few more minutes—just a few more moments of being drunk with the desire she poured into him—just one last taste of her—that’s all he needed. Then he’d let her go, get in his stupid car, and drive away.