Temptations: A Limited Edition Contemporary Romance Collection

by Blue Saffire

  She scoffs, placing a hand on her hip. “Anything’s better than that.” She throws a thumb over her shoulder, toward the theater.

  “All right, then. Let’s go.” I offer her my hand, and she takes it without a thought.

  “Wait. wait.” She stops before I can pull her toward the parking lot. “Aaron drove . . .”

  “Don’t worry. I’ve got it handled.” Aaron had suggested that one of us leave our car at the movie theater, in case we—he was thinking of himself, of course—found ourselves in the position to get lucky. When put like that, I had to admit the man had a point. Which is why my pickup waits patiently in the shade at the far side of the lot. “Aaron’ll make sure Rebecca gets home safe.”

  “Is that right?” Claire steps toward me, so close I can smell the fruity, flowery fragrance of her skin. “You just have everything under control then, don’t you, cowboy?” she drawls, walking her fingers from the top of my chest downward.

  I swallow hard. She really likes to push my control, and often. Before her fingers get too low, I grab a hold of her wrist and pull it right back up, placing it over my chest. Somewhere much safer than where she was heading. She looks up at me through her eyelashes, that devilish smirk twinkling in her crazy beautiful blue eyes. Minx.

  “We should go if I’m going to keep my promise to your uncle.”

  She smirks more. “We shouldn’t keep him waiting, I suppose.”

  Taking a step back to gain some much-needed space, I grab a hold of her hand, lacing our fingers together as I walk us toward the truck. Once we’re buckled in, she turns to me. “So, you plan to tell me where I’m being kidnapped to?”

  I think on it a moment, but decide pretty quickly I’d rather not say. “Why? You plannin’ to escape?”

  She laughs. “Depends.”

  “On what?”

  She shrugs. I put the truck in gear and pull out onto the road. We stay silent for a while, listening to the soft sounds of the radio, the scenery outside drifting past our windows. Claire rolls hers down and sticks her arm outside, making wave-like motions with her hand as she plays with the wind.

  “Summer or winter?” she asks suddenly, her lips curving up to the side.

  I raise my eyebrows and glance her way. “Twenty questions?”

  “Come on. It’ll be fun.” She shifts in her seat until she’s facing me, her back to the open window. The wind she abandoned catches in her hair, pulling blonde tendrils loose to whip around her face. She scrubs them away absentmindedly. God, she’s beautiful. There’s a sort of playful innocence to her that I can’t resist.

  “Okay. I’ll play. But only if I get a turn.”

  She shrugs. “Fair enough.”

  “Summer,” I say, responding to her earlier question. “Definitely summer. More specifically, this summer.”

  Her cheeks tint a delightful shade of red as she catches my meaning, but her gaze doesn’t divert.

  “Okay, my turn,” I say with a playful grin. “Tats—yes or no?”

  “I think . . .” she starts, but then pauses. I can’t tell if she’s being coy, or if she’s seriously considering the question. I hold my breath, waiting, the tattoo that covers my left bicep and shoulder itching with anxiety.

  “I think they’re hot,” she finishes finally, pulling a stray piece of hair from where it had gotten stuck on her lips.

  I chuckle, relieved.

  “My turn. Same question, but for piercings.”

  I lean closer, careful not to take my eyes from the road, and whisper, “You have something you want to share, Claire?”

  “Nope. Not your turn. Answer the question.”

  “Depends,” I respond, straightening up again.

  “On what?”

  “On the woman. Though, if it matters, I’d be more than happy to give you my opinion on yours. Piercing or no, you’d never be anythin’ less than beautiful.” I wink.

  Her mouth parts a little in surprise, and the urge to press my lips against hers is almost overwhelming. I swallow hard as she licks her lips nervously. It feels good to know I’ve gotten under her skin, at least a little. But I decide to show mercy and change the subject, picking up the thread of the game.

  “Family?”

  “Just my dad and me back home. And you’ve met Beccs and Uncle Mikey. That’s it.” A sad smile appears, and she turns back to the front of the truck, her demeanor sobering.

  I wait for her to say more, but she doesn’t. Instead, she asks, “You?”

  I shrug. “I live with my grandparents. My dad overdosed when I was a kid. My mom’s been in and out of rehab since I was eleven, so the state gave custody to my grandparents. Best thing that ever happened to me.”

  When she doesn’t say anything, I chance a look at her. Her eyebrows are knit together, her expression closed off as she stares at her hands, folded neatly in her lap. She scoots in close, reaching for my hand as I turn the truck onto the long road of the farm.

  “I’m sorry,” she says. Her voice is soft and cautious. A complete contradiction of everything I’ve seen before. I don’t like it.

  Putting the truck in park, I turn to face her, looking down at our hands. “Don’t. Don’t do that. I’m okay, Claire. I swear. Being adopted by my grandparents was the best thing I could have ever wished for. Don’t feel bad for me, darlin’.” I cup her cheek and run my thumb over it. She leans into it, nodding.

  “Okay.”

  I give her what I hope is a light-hearted smile, hoping to salvage the mood. “Come on, we’re here.”

  8

  Claire

  I wait as Homer hops out of the truck and comes around to open my door. I don’t know why I do, but I do. None of the guys I’d been with before were chivalrous. But Homer, with his darlin’s, and his hand-holding, and letting me walk out first . . . I sigh. I have to admit, it’s kind of nice. Something I could get used to.

  He helps me down, and then takes me by the hand. He leads me away from the truck, not saying a word. His eyes sparkle when he glances back at me, a giddy smile lurking in the corners of his mouth. Wherever it is he’s taking me, he’s excited about it.

  I feel like I’m six years old again, running around, sneaking out with Beccs, trying not to be found by our parents.

  We’re on a farm of some sort, that much is clear. Horse pastures lined the driveway as we drove up, their white-painted fences leading toward the large barn off to the left. To the right sits a two-story farmhouse with a wraparound porch straight from a storybook. Pickup trucks and farm equipment sit parked between the two, chickens scurrying beneath their tires. It’s all so very . . . quaint. And I have no idea why Homer’d bring me here. Is this his home?

  “Where the hell are you taking me?” I ask, giggling as he picks up the pace.

  “We’re almost there,” he replies, steering us to the left, toward the barn. Visions of an old-fashioned tussle in the hayloft dance into my thoughts. My face heats. Butterflies spring to life in my chest and stomach. He couldn’t mean to . . . could he?

  “Really, cowboy? The barn?”

  He doesn’t respond. Just flashes me a grin that turns my insides to liquid fire.

  Okay. Maybe he does. Oh my god, Claire, are you really doing this?

  “Here we are,” he says, pulling us to a stop just outside the barn door. He turns toward me, his lips turned up in a delicious smirk. “Ready?”

  “Yes!” I respond.

  God, yes!

  “Okay.” His eyes sparkle with mischief and desire, his tan skin gold under the setting sunlight. “Close your eyes, darlin’.”

  My heart jumps at the way he draws out that word. It’s so charming.

  He steps a little closer, his eyes never wavering from mine. “I promise, I’ll keep you safe. Trust me.”

  The butterflies from earlier take flight as his voice drops an octave. This is it. No turning back now. I’m about to let a stranger have their way with me. Everything I said I wanted this summer, so why do I feel so nervous?


  This is what I wanted, isn’t it? To be free? Let things take flight as they roll? And Homer’s hot. I should go for it.

  Do it, Claire. Stop stalling and do it!

  I take a deep breath and close my eyes, extending my hands toward him, ready to let him lead me wherever he wants to take me.

  But instead, he swoops me up like he did the night we met. I squeal in equal surprise and delight. My arms wrap tight around his neck, and I burrow against his chest.

  “Keep them pretty blues hidden, darlin’.” His breath feels awfully close to my temple. “Don’t want the surprise ruined for you, now.”

  I laugh. “No. We don’t want that.” I stay snug against him, not caring that I might seem like a python wrapped around its meal. If he didn’t want that, he shouldn’t have scooped me up.

  The barn door creaks as he pulls it open, smacking against the frame behind us as he steps inside. The interior of the barn is cooler than I expected, and smells of horses, hay, and some kind of cleaner. It’s all I can do not to sneak a quick peek, see if my earlier fantasy of a hayloft is about to come true.

  “Okay, we’re here,” Homer says softly a few seconds later as he puts me down.

  Something fuzzy and wet touches my toes through my sandals. “Ah . . . what was that?”

  “Keep your eyes closed, Claire.”

  Another furry thing touches my foot, followed by what feels like tiny toenails.

  “Oh god, what was that?” I scream and hop right back onto Homer, not caring if he was ready for me or not. Because holy shit. This is not what I signed up for.

  Homer stumbles under my weight, his arms wrapping tight around me as we fall. And honestly, I don’t care. My hold on him gets tighter, blood rushing into my ears like waves in a tunnel, making everything else harder to hear. He’s beneath me, my legs on either side of him, the most intimate parts of us pressing together. His chest rumbles with laughter as I sit back, my heart pounding now for an entirely different reason.

  “It’s all right, Claire.” Homer’s voice is low and soft, soothing. He runs his hand over my hair, tucking the loose waves back behind my ear. “You’re safe. There’s nothing here that’ll harm you.”

  “Easy for you to say,” I mutter, my eyes on his parted mouth. Would he let me if I dared? I mean, it’s not like I haven’t already mauled him the last two times we met. Why would this be any different? “You weren’t just mauled by . . . whatever the fuck those things were. Mice? Rats?”

  He laughs softly. “Why don’t you see for yourself?” Then he whistles, twice. I turn to look over my shoulder, and I see them.

  All of them.

  Oh my god.

  Cuteness overload.

  Puppies!

  So many puppies.

  “Oh!” I squeal as they swarm us, rolling off Homer, my attention thoroughly diverted by the volley of licks and playful nips from a dozen or so golden retriever puppies. I pick them up, kiss them, hug them, and suddenly, time seems irrelevant.

  “They’re so freaking cute,” I say, snuggling a particularly fluffy pup against my cheek. “I want to take them home. All of them. Can I?” I ask, looking over my shoulder to where Homer sits behind me.

  That’s when I realize we’re not alone. “Oh . . . hi . . .” I say, awkwardly, still holding on to the wiggling pup. I’m not willing to let it go. Because oh my god. Puppies.

  “Hello there, darlin’,” the man greets, stepping into view from the tiny equipment-filled room he’d been working in. Homer smiles up at him as he pushes to his feet. The older man returns it, brushing his hands on his coveralls. His hair’s white as silver, and the wrinkles around his eyes and mouth speak to maybe sixty, seventy years’ of laughter and joy, but his eyes sparkle with mischief. So much like . . . Homer’s.

  Oh, god. Is this his grandpa? Did he bring me to meet his family?

  I swallow. So much for no serious entanglements. Meeting the parents is definitely not my idea of carefree summer fun.

  “Don’t you go sweet-talkin’ this young lady, now, George.” An elderly woman’s voice comes from my left, and I jerk my eyes in that direction. A woman in a plaid shirt and jeans stands at the entrance to a stall, a rake in her hand. A long, beautiful silver braid of hair sits artistically over her shoulder. “Not every woman’s a fool like me, to fall for your antiques. And this one here seems to have a good head on her shoulders.”

  This time, I do let go of the puppy in my hands and push up to a stand, feeling a little out of my element. This is not at all how I thought today, or tonight, would turn out.

  “Papa, Mama . . .” Homer says as he walks toward me, stopping only when he’s standing right behind me. “Meet Claire. She’s Mr. Young’s niece. Claire, this is Grandpa George, and Grandma Lucy.”

  “Oh, how wonderful,” Grandma Lucy says. “Michael’s a wonderful man.”

  “Never met anyone more generous than him,” Grandpa George adds. “How’s Michael doing? It’s been so long since we’ve seen him.”

  “Great. He’s . . . great. Busy as always.”

  Grandma Lovelly nods. “That’s wonderful to hear, dear.” She places an arm around my shoulders, gently, turning me toward the barn’s exit. “How ’bout you come on over for some tea, assuming you kids don’t have somewhere else to be?”

  I look at Homer and realize he’s waiting for me to respond. “Sure,” I say, turning my attention back to the Lovellys. “That’d be wonderful.”

  9

  Claire

  What was supposed to be just a quick tea break ends up turning into a three-hour stay over. It was unexpected, to say the least, but surprisingly awesome, too.

  I wave goodbye to them both as Homer escorts me back to his truck. Neither of us says anything as he helps me into my seat, and then circles around to take his own. A bittersweet touch of sadness creeps into my heart as he drives us farther and farther from the farm.

  Though it was only a few short hours, there was something special about the Lovelly’s. The way they teased, and talked to each other . . . there’s so much love there. I want that, I realize. The house filled with laughter. The family who genuinely admires each other. It’s intoxicating, and so unlike anything I’ve ever known.

  I watch Homer from the corner of my eyes as he drives, a contented smile on his face, humming softly to the radio. I want him. More than I should. More than some casual hookup should allow. And that scares me more than I want to admit. That wasn’t the plan. Feelings were never supposed to enter the equation.

  It’s not until Homer stops the car and turns to me that I realize we’re parked in front of Uncle Mikey’s house. We spent the entire ride back lost in our own thoughts, and yet, not a second of it had felt awkward, or strained. It felt natural, comfortable, and altogether too dangerous.

  “Sorry about that,” Homer says, pulling me from my thoughts. I turn to the side, look up at him with a smile I tell myself isn’t forced. It’s not.

  His smile is wide and radiant.

  “Sorry about what?” I ask.

  “Papa and Mama,” he says with a half-shrug. “They just never know when to quit.”

  I laugh and seize on the opportunity to lighten the mood. Anything to avoid the confusing tangle of conflicting emotions in my head. “Oh, you’re just upset they showed me your naked baby pictures.”

  He shakes his head, warming to my tease. “How could I not be? I now have to compete with that cute old baby version of me. I don’t know if I can get any cuter than the day I was born.”

  My heart does a little leap, the thrill of desire chasing away the last of my growing concern. “I don’t know, cowboy.” I lean in close, scooting nearer to him. “I think the all grown up Homer is rather delicious.”

  His eyes fall to my mouth. I lick my lips, my own mouth suddenly dry.

  “Who am I to argue with that?” he says, low and breathy. His eyes come back to mine, the question in them plain as a full moon on a clear night. “I promised myself I wouldn’t kiss you
tonight, Claire. No matter how much I want to.”

  “Why?”

  “Because, darlin’, your kiss is addicting.”

  “All the more reason to get your daily dose, then, wouldn’t you say?”

  I don’t give him a chance to respond. With quick, ninja-like skill, I straddle him, my knees on either side of his hips, my back against the steering wheel. I press my mouth to his. This kiss isn’t as needy as the first, nor as passionate and desperate as our second. This one speaks of promise, of something amazing that’s yet to come. It speaks of taking the time to truly know each other, of a lifetime together and everything I said I didn’t want. When I pull back, our heated breaths mingle in the space between us.

  Homer rests his forehead against mine, his hands on either side of my face. I close my eyes. I have to make a decision. I can’t keep doing this pitter-patter, hot-and-cold dance.

  I know what I should do.

  I should walk away.

  Homer’s not what I thought he was. He’s not just someone to warm my bed with for the summer. He makes me want things I’ve never wanted, feel things I never thought I could. He won’t be someone I can easily forget. Staying would be like playing with gasoline beside a raging bonfire.

  But the thought of walking away, of not seeing what this connection between us has to offer, even for the short term, seems next to impossible.

  “Life’s too short to make choices that stop you from being happy,” I say softly, repeating the last bit of advice my mom gave me before she succumbed to the cancer that stole her from us.

  “That it is,” Homer answers softly. When I open my eyes, his gaze is locked on my face, searching.

  I give him one more quick kiss, then I un-straddle him and let myself out of the truck. Shutting the door, I lean forward, resting my arms on the open window. Homer looks stunned, and a little confused, like he’s still trying to catch up to what just happened.

  “Here’s the thing, though, cowboy. I was serious when I said love and me don’t mix. This thing between us”—I point from me to him—“it’s not serious. It can’t be. I’m only here for another few weeks. So, if you’re interested in a little fun, and don’t mind the expiration date, give me a call. We’ll pick up where we left off. Otherwise, thanks for a great night. See you around, Lovelly.”