Hard to Resist
Page 19
It was both erotic and tender, and she fell hopelessly, madly, irrevocably in love.
As the stars began to fade and the moon’s path across the water became faint and silvery, Andrew pocketed his harmonica then offered his arm and escorted her back to her room.
“Thank you for a perfect evening, Andrew.”
“Thank you, Rue. You’re a kind, generous-hearted woman.”
“I try to be, but I’m not your ideal woman, Andrew. I don’t even come close.”
“Rue, I need to say this. When I left you that morning, I’d had a phone call from a former pit boss. I didn’t want to disturb you and I didn’t want to stay too long and put you in a compromising position.”
She put her hand on his lips. “It’s okay. It’s over and done with. Forgotten.”
“I’m not good with women. You might say I’m terrible with them.”
“If anybody else said that about you, I’d slap them silly.”
His chuckle started deep in his chest before it exploded to full-blown laughter.
“Rue, I can laugh more easily with you than any woman I’ve ever known.”
“Is that a good thing?”
“It’s a good thing.” He cupped her face and tipped it up to his. “A very good thing.”
He kissed her then, a soft, tender kiss with lips still warm and puffy from his silver harmonica. The kiss was brief but filled with promise, a perfect ending to the single most magical evening Rue had ever known.
She went into her room, fell onto her bed and touched her lips. There. Where his had been.
If she never had another moment with him, if tomorrow Andrew walked out of her life and never came back, she would have this evening.
“WELCOME TO THE RACES!”
The announcement was followed by an opening prayer and a rousing rendition of “The Star-Spangled Banner.” The fans rose to their feet as the song was punctuated by the sound and spectacle of two jets flying overhead and exploding oil cans—“bombs bursting in air.”
It was a gorgeous Sunday afternoon with a maximum capacity crowd there to cheer on their favorite NASCAR drivers.
Though Rue loved Bart Branch, Kent Grosso, Justin Murphy and all the drivers she considered hers, she—along with thousands of other fans—was cheering for Garrett Clark.
“Gentlemen, start your engines!”
The roar from forty-three engines and more wildly cheering fans split the air as the drivers, all skilled and daring men, blazed around the track.
Rue jumped up and down and pumped her fist. “Go Garrett.”
For the first fifteen laps, Kent Grosso dominated the track, with Bart holding on to a narrow second in a heart-thundering, edge-of-the-seat competition. But Garrett was moving up fast.
“That’a boy, Garrett,” Rue said. “Come on, come on.”
Suddenly the car in front of Andrew’s stepson spun out. Rue made a sound of dismay and Patsy squeezed her hand.
The crowd went into a screaming frenzy. Time seemed to move in slow motion as cars going at speeds of one hundred and thirty miles an hour corrected to avoid collision.
Rue found herself saying one word, over and over—please. It was half plea, half prayer. She wouldn’t even let herself think beyond the moment.
When the spinning car came to a halt off the track and the other cars roared safely past, Rue let go of Patsy’s hand and slumped into her seat. Events that had actually taken only seconds seemed like hours, and she was drained.
Rue searched for sight of Andrew without success. She had not seen him since he’d left her at her door last night. He’d probably left mere hours after that for the track. She wondered if he’d even slept.
But most of all, she wondered if he’d felt even half of what she had there in that secluded spot near the stairwell. After the excitement and glamour of the weekend faded, after Andrew returned to FastMax and she returned to Cut ’N’ Chat, would he still make love to her with music? Would she still feel breathless at the mere sight of him?
Below her, Bart Branch’s car pulled in for a pit stop. Though his crew had him back on the track in eleven seconds, that’s all it took for Garrett to smoke into first place.
Garrett, in the No. 402 car, dominated the race for three more laps, but Victory Lane was not in the cards for Andrew’s stepson—nor for Kent Grosso. Jeb Stallworth was the winner. Still, Rue was on such a NASCAR high she thought she might float through the rest of the night.
THAT EVENING, Dr. and Mrs. Joel Gladney, longtime NASCAR fans and friends of Dean and Patsy, hosted a huge party at their posh home on Seneca Lake. Though everybody usually left right after the races, Patsy had talked her family into staying for the party. The huge white tent, erected on the lawn beside the lake, was teeming with guests.
Over the rim of her champagne glass, Rue watched as Patsy, Dean, Kent, Andrew and Garrett greeted fans and well-wishers.
With his arm draped around his stepson’s shoulders, Andrew looked totally at ease. Occasionally he lifted his head to scan the crowd, but Rue lingered near the edges. She wasn’t about to steal Andrew away from his evening with his family.
Rue slipped from the tent and followed the boardwalk along the edges of the water. A light breeze stirred the hem of her green chiffon skirt, and she drew her velvet shawl closer around her shoulders. In the distance she spotted a gazebo.
Enchanted, Rue followed the boardwalk till she came to the steps leading down. The gazebo was right over the water and gave her the feeling that she might be dreaming.
Rue leaned her elbows on the railing and watched the play of moonlight over the water. Behind her, the party tent was a smear of white, the party noise a mere echo.
“You look peaceful.”
Andrew. Shivers ran through Rue as he leaned against the railing, so close she could feel his body heat.
“I didn’t hear you coming.”
“So I noticed.”
“You shouldn’t be here. You should be with Garrett.”
“I wanted to see you.”
“Why?”
He wrapped his arms around her and drew her close. “For this.” He kissed her earlobe, her eyes, her cheeks. “And this.”
This was no small, chaste, good-night kiss at the door of her hotel room. This was a mind-bending, heart-thumping kiss that left no doubt whatsoever that Andrew wanted her.
In the gazebo, with the moonlight over the deep waters of the lake, Rue felt like a Southern belle in a historical romance novel.
“We seem to do this at the most inconvenient times,” Andrew said.
“But in the most spectacular places.” Rue sighed. “I always dreamed of building a gazebo like this in my backyard.”
“Don’t change the subject.”
“What subject?”
“Us.”
“Is there an us, Andrew?”
He kissed her again, a deep, soul-satisfying kiss that left her weak-kneed and wanting more.
“Isn’t it obvious?” he whispered.
“Yes.” But was love this easy? Her history didn’t bear that out. “And no.”
“Don’t start playing games with me now, Rue. Not after we’ve come this far.”
“I’m not playing games. I just have to be certain that this is real and we’re not simply caught up in the excitement of the weekend.”
“Is that what you really think, Rue? That this is just a carry-over thrill from the track?”
“I don’t know what to think anymore. I need time to figure it out.”
Andrew cupped her face and looked deeply into her eyes. Was he going to kiss her again? Whisk her off to the Harbor Inn and make love to her? Tell her he loved her, loved her, for goodness sake, not some fanciful idea of who Rue Larrabee might be.
When he finally let go, Rue’s heart fell. Maybe that was her answer.
“We should get back to the party,” he said.
Rue nodded. Conversation was no longer an option for her. If she opened her mouth she might say I love you
, and she wouldn’t do that. He had to say it first.
ANDREW WENT HOME in the FastMax jet. Altogether it was best. He needed to spend more time with Garrett, analyzing the race at Watkins Glen and strategizing for the next one at Michigan, and he wanted to give Rue—and himself—some breathing room.
Though he believed his feelings were true, he believed he’d found a woman he could spend the rest of his life loving, he needed to see if there was a ring of truth in what Rue had said. Would their feelings hold up once they returned to life in Mooresville?
She’d asked for time and he’d give it to her. Besides, Rue was worth the wait.
THOUGH RUE GOT HOME early Monday afternoon, she didn’t go back into her shop till Tuesday. Every time the phone rang, she expected it to be Andrew. By Tuesday night, she’d exhausted herself with anticipation.
She thought of opting out of the Tuesday Tarts meeting, but she didn’t want to raise suspicions and eyebrows. Fortunately, all the talk was of next week’s race at Michigan.
When she went to bed Tuesday evening, there had still been no word from Andrew. Not even a phone call, let alone a personal appearance. Apparently Rue had been right. Although her feelings were holding up fine, his had apparently taken a nosedive. It appeared loving Andrew Clark was going to be another long, lonely, one-way street.
When Rue woke up on Wednesday, she was in a snit. It didn’t help that somebody was hammering outside. The racket was so loud it sounded like it was right beneath her window.
In her bare feet and a nightshirt that said, Who Died and Made You Queen?, Rue raced downstairs, through her kitchen and out the back door. Her yard was piled with lumber and sawhorses and skill saws. And in the midst of it all was a lone purple phalaenopsis orchid…and Andrew, wielding a hammer.
“Good morning,” he said.
“Good grief!”
“Is that all you have to say?” Andrew laid down his hammer and scooped her close.
“What do you want me to say?”
“Yes.”
“What’s the question?”
“Will you marry me?”
“Give me one good reason why I should.”
“I’ll give you three. I’m building you a gazebo.”
“That’s only one.”
“How about, I love you?”
“Are you sure?”
“Never more sure in my life, Rue. Do you love me?”
“I fell for you the minute you walked into my shop and perched your big, sexy self on that little bitty chair. Still, that’s only two.”
“I know.” Andrew kissed her and they didn’t come up for a long, long time. “Which way is the bedroom?”
“Why?”
“I’m going to show you reason number three.”
And for a very long time, he did.
The woman who had spent her life rescuing others was now being rescued. And it was the grandest rescue of all. Andrew Clark was saving the heart of Rue Larrabee. Even better, she was saving his right back.
ISBN: 978-1-4268-6906-8
HARD TO RESIST
Copyright © 2010 by Harlequin Books S.A.
The publisher acknowledges the copyright holders of the individual works as follows:
DOWNRIGHT DISTRACTING
Copyright © 2010 by Harlequin Books S.A.
Jean Brashear is acknowledged as the author of “Downright Distracting.”
SHIFTING GEARS
Copyright © 2010 by Harlequin Books S.A.
Peggy Webb is acknowledged as the author of “Shifting Gears.”
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