She noticed her parents’ truck wasn’t in the driveway.
Davis cut the engine. Without missing a beat, he was out of his seat, shutting the door, coming around to open her side.
Gentlemanly instincts. Davis might have been a playboy, but he knew how to treat a girl. Maybe that was why he’d been so lucky with so many.
But, somehow, it seemed as if he’d only opened doors for her, and no one else mattered.
He took her by the hand, helping her out.
“I’d invite you in for coffee,” she said, “but—”
“All right.”
He was already on his way to her cabin, the gingham curtains peeking out the windows as if looking to see whom she’d brought home.
Presumptuous, wasn’t he?
She grabbed her trophy, got to the door, then brushed by him as he waited on her doorstep. As they went inside, the scent of pine wood permeated the air.
“I think I’ve got a carton of orange juice,” she said, going over to the minifridge near the porcelain sink.
She put down the trophy and got the juice out of the fridge, then reached for two small glasses from the cabinet. After filling them, she gave one to him and assumed a secure distance near the window, downing her juice in record time.
He drank, too, but she’d beaten him, and she turned around to put her glass in the sink.
His voice rumbled, making her haul in a breath, because he’d come up behind her.
“Are we pretending last night didn’t happen?”
“I thought we made an agreement,” she said. “Friends.”
“‘Friends’ isn’t working for me, Vi, and don’t tell me it’s what you want.”
Before she could say that it was—why couldn’t he just accept it?—she felt his hands on her hips.
She sucked in a breath, her chest constricting.
“There’s something that’s still there between us,” he said softly. “Stop acting like there isn’t.”
Since the saloon had “sponsored” her she’d never taken off her apron, even through all the dancing. He began slowly untying it. The material loosened from around her, slipping until he pushed it away.
It slumped to the ground, the only sound in her cabin besides their breathing. She could feel the warmth of him on her neck, her spine.
Everywhere.
Unlike the other night, when he’d kissed her with such fierce hunger, he was tender now, coaxing his hands to the front of her, where he laid his palms against her belly.
Her muscles jumped there, lightning striking lower, between her legs. Automatically, she laid her hands on top of his, as if to stop him, although she knew she wasn’t going to. She couldn’t fool herself anymore into thinking that she even wanted to.
What the hell was she doing?
When he nuzzled aside her hair to press his lips against her neck, her legs almost gave out from under her, and she grabbed onto his hands.
“This is a terrible idea,” she said.
“Worse than lying to ourselves?”
He kissed her again—the sensitive area between shoulder and neck, upward, to the spot right behind her ear.
Her knees buckled. He’d always known where she liked to be touched. No one else had ever been so in tune with her. No one else had ever made her respond like she was doing now, reaching back, cupping the back of his head, encouraging him.
In a blur of ecstasy, she turned to him, drawing him down and seeking his mouth with hers.
Wild. Free. Finally giving in.
She wanted to laugh or cry, maybe both, as they devoured each other, making up for lost time. She could hardly breathe as her hands glided down to his shoulders, his chest, wanting to feel the muscles that had developed over the years, the man she’d always hoped he’d grow into.
But it wasn’t enough. None of it was, and he seemed to read that in her.
He brought a hand up to her breast—so achy, so in need of his touch.
Only his.
Only him.
They came up for air, his fingertips tracing her nipple, which pebbled against her bra and shirt.
“Dammit, Vi,” he said, just before bending down to the other breast, slipping his hands behind her to press his mouth to the sensitized nub.
He sucked at her through the material, and she backed against the counter, cradling his head, winding her fingers through his hair. A split of excitement bolted down the center of her, and it only got worse as he gently nipped at her, tonguing around her nipple until she moaned.
There was no anger in him now, only edged passion—the kind that makes a woman feel as if she was the only one he’d ever wanted.
Then he slowed down, kissing her breast, loving every curve, smoothing his hands to her backside and cupping her rear end. Bringing her closer.
She wrapped a leg around him, even as she heard something outside.
A car?
Through the puzzle pieces of her desire, she managed to look out the window. Her parents had arrived at the main house, grocery bags in hand, and they were checking out Davis’s classic car.
“Wait,” she said, pulling back from him.
Her heart was a flare, blazing and sparking until it pained her.
He’d spotted her parents outside the window, too, and after a moment’s pause, he laughed.
She didn’t understand at first, but then she caught on to the absurdity of their situation.
Teenagers once again. Nearly caught by her parents.
Some things never changed, even if the two of them had.
She ran her hands over Davis’s thick hair, putting it back into place, then straightened his shirt. He watched her with a softness in his gaze that pierced her straight through.
“I guess it’s time to go,” he said.
“Looks that way.”
He tucked a strand of her hair behind an ear. She bit her lip, not trusting herself.
But then he stepped away. “I’d say we’ve solved the whole ‘friend’ dilemma.”
“Have we?”
He laughed again, going toward the door. “I’ll see you later, Vi.”
And, by his tone, she knew it wouldn’t be as friends.
* * *
“I’m so happy you’re here!” said Rita Niles, Violet’s childhood friend, as they hugged.
It was late, and outside Rita’s hotel, the volunteer cleanup crews were at work. Here, especially in the Old West tearoom, with its fringed curtains, velvet chairs, mahogany wood and flowered wallpaper, it was quiet. Most of the guests had checked out now that Founder’s Weekend was over.
Rita’s curly, long dark hair whisked against Violet’s cheek as they pulled back from each other.
“Is Kristy up in your rooms?” Violet asked, wanting to say hi to Rita’s little daughter.
“She’s knocked out. We got back Friday night in time for Founder’s Weekend, but it was a long trip, and you know how Kristy is whenever there’s something going on in this town. It was impossible to get her to sleep with all the excitement.”
“I’ll see her tomorrow then. This’ll give you and me a chance to talk.”
“Sorry I didn’t call you right when we got in…”
“As you said… Busy weekend.”
Rita had already brought in tea service, and she poured the beverage into the rose-painted bone china cups from the matching pot. Tiny cucumber and sun-dried tomato sandwiches waited on plates, and Violet took one of them.
“You look tired, too,” Rita said.
Violet finished munching on a sandwich, then said, “I got about three hours of sleep before I went in for my waitressing shift.”
“I heard you
won the dance marathon.” Rita took a dainty sip of tea, her gray eyes glinting with interest.
“We did.”
Rita set down her cup in its saucer. “We? As in you and Davis?”
Since there was no pulling the wool over Rita’s eyes, Violet caught her up on everything that had happened since the last time they had talked—the emotional game of tag she’d been playing with Davis, the moment they’d caught up to each other when he’d taken her in his arms last night for the first slow dance.
Then this morning.
When Violet was done, Rita put down her cup. Violet tried to guess what her friend was thinking, but Rita was one of those people who’d always been very good at keeping her emotions under wraps. Maybe that was the reason they’d always gotten along.
“So your parents put the big kibosh on you and Davis this morning,” Rita said.
“You could say that, but I’m not sure how far things would’ve gotten with him, anyway.” Another lie. If it’d been up to her libido, they would’ve fallen into bed… .
Violet shrugged off her confusion. “After Davis left, I went into the main house. My parents saw his car, so I figured I would do damage control before we got to work today.”
“And?”
“I told them that Davis had dropped me off from the marathon and I gave him a little breakfast.”
“Breakfast. That’s a new way to say it.”
Violet couldn’t hold back a smile. Then she said, “Dad didn’t have any comments the whole time.”
“You said that something seemed to have changed with him last night, with Davis at the dance.”
“Right.”
“Maybe he saw two people who are nuts about each other, and he knows you’re a big enough girl to make her own decisions about what she wants now.”
The acknowledgment gnarled in Violet’s tummy. Hearing someone besides her and Davis talk about their attraction made it more real.
“It’d be nice if Dad was ready to let bygones be bygones,” Violet said. “But that doesn’t mean he won’t be all over Davis if something were to go wrong again.”
“Like it did the first time?”
“Exactly. Also, there’s the whole Mama Jackson problem. She read me the riot act last night, pretty much warning me to stay away from Davis.”
“You told her to back off, of course.”
“In so many words. But that didn’t make it any easier.”
Rita picked at her sandwich. “You and Davis always were affected by what both your parents thought of you. And, in your case, you cared too much about what anyone said, even if you pretended not to care.”
“Well, family lasts forever. So do friends like you. But boyfriends…”
It seemed odd to dismiss Davis as something so insignificant.
Rita cocked her head sympathetically. “I wish I could give you advice, but you know how my love life has gone.”
Five years ago, Rita’s high-school sweetheart and fiancé had left her high and dry, pregnant with Kristy. Rita had recovered and raised a beautiful little girl, but not without a lot of sweat and tears.
Violet laid her hand over Rita’s, which was resting on the table near her sandwich plate. “I’m not sure I need advice as much as a friendly ear.”
“St. Val’s isn’t exactly full of those for either of us.”
“For an arrogant miner’s kid and the good girl who didn’t want any meddling advice about how to single-handedly raise her child? No, it hasn’t been, but believe it or not, things have gotten better since I’ve been back. I think people are seeing that I’ve got good intentions.”
And she could thank Davis for some of that.
An employee stuck her head into the room. “Rita? Sorry to bother you, but can you come to the front desk for a second?”
Rita stood, brushing off her dark, knee-length uniform skirt, which went so well with the old-fashioned white top and its high collar. “I’ll be back in a flash.”
“I’ll be here.”
While Rita was gone, Violet sipped more tea. Her body—from head to toe—was tingling from the thought of Davis and how close they’d gotten to the edge this morning. He’d made it clear that they weren’t going to be friends, and whether she could handle it or not, the temptation to find out exactly what he had in mind next made Violet wait in anticipation.
No matter how much her common sense told her to stay away.
* * *
Amati Street was deserted except for the men and women who were on their way home from tidying up the area and packing their artisan tents.
Davis had been one of those volunteers, and as he walked down the street, everything seemed stripped bare, without the bunting and laughter that had decorated St. Valentine hours ago.
But maybe the place seemed extra empty because Violet wasn’t here.
Aaron Rhodes had his car keys dangling from his fingers as he passed Davis near the church, with its white picket fence and pristine paint job.
“Another year, another weekend,” the other man said on his way by.
And not a very profitable one, at that. “See you around, Aaron.”
The carpenter waved goodbye, and Davis continued down the street. Back to thinking about the Amati story, back to looking out for Jared Colton, whom he hadn’t seen all weekend.
Back to thinking about Violet.
His head was still in the clouds, his body an adrenalized time bomb, set ticking from the time they’d spent together this morning.
But what now? How was he going to win over her heart?
He was still working that out when he passed his office on the way to the parking lot.
There was someone sitting on a nearby bench, half-shadowed but recognizable in her light-hued designer dress.
“Mom,” he said. He hadn’t seen her since last night, when she’d laid into Violet.
Under the glow of the gas lamps, he could see that she was holding an unlit cigarette. She’d been struggling to stay off them for years now, and whenever she thought of going back to it, this was the first step—holding it but not lighting up.
Her words came out in a tight rush. “I came back to apologize. I didn’t intend to embarrass you last night, Davis. That confrontation shouldn’t have happened in public.”
“It shouldn’t have happened at all.” He felt a little sorry for her, sitting all alone. This was one of those times when he wondered if she was thinking of his father. The cigarettes usually came out when she got sentimental.
“It’s hard to let go of what you’ve always believed or felt,” she said. “You, of all people, should understand that.”
“Are you talking about how I’m holding on to Violet?”
She sighed. “I know I need to turn aside from your personal business. It’s a bad habit of mine to get into it. But yes, I think Violet is a bad habit of yours.”
“I thought you said you were going to stay out of it.”
She lifted the cigarette to her mouth, then lowered it again, not answering.
“Mom,” he said. “We’ve come a long way, and I don’t want to lose ground on that. You’re my mother, and I’ll never have another one. But you can’t ask me to give her up.”
“She’s a part of your past.”
“So you’ve told me.”
“And you were this damned stubborn the last time. After you two broke it off, you came to me, asked me what I’d done. I was honest with you about the lie I told her.”
She’d added that Violet wasn’t good enough, of course, but he’d come to suspect that no one would ever be good enough for her son. She was fine with his flings, but as soon as he’d gotten serious with someone…
“Do you think,” he said, �
��that you can keep my heart from being broken like yours was when Dad died?”
She pushed the cigarette into her mouth, as if it would stop words from coming out.
He sighed, not knowing what else to say. But after a few seconds, she talked around the cigarette.
“Go. Do what you need to do with her. It’ll be a hard lesson, but you’ll eventually learn.”
When he’d mentioned Dad, he’d hit a target. And, now, he supposed it was okay to let her avoid the subject. There were probably some things they’d never be honest with each other about, and this was one of them.
He held his hand out to her, and she looked up at him. Years of guarding herself were etched into her gaze.
“Let’s get you to your car,” he said.
When he had her safely behind the wheel, he watched her leave.
Then he took out his phone and dialed Violet’s number, his heart skipping a beat when she answered.
“What are you doing tomorrow night?” he asked, smiling, his mother’s warnings already a memory.
Chapter Nine
When Violet had accepted Davis’s dinner invitation, she would’ve been comfortable with going out of town to the fish shack at Dempsy Lake or grabbing a quick bite at the Orbit Diner.
But this?
She sat at a linen-draped table on the dock that perched over the man-made lake in front of Davis’s stone mansion. The amber lights from the windows gleamed off the rippling moonlit water, the slight wind flirting with the flames from the candles on the table.
Champagne waited in a bucket filled with ice as Davis took a seat across from her. At the last minute, he’d checked in with the staff in the so-called boathouse, which was really just another name for a gorgeous cottage overlooking the lake.
Violet straightened her sleek red dress, another cocktail number she’d tucked away in her closet, thinking she’d have no use for it in St. Valentine.
Little had she known.
“You shouldn’t have gone through all this trouble,” she said. Even if he’d just given her a peanut butter and jelly sandwich on a bench in town, she would’ve been as excited—and torn—to see him. Money had never mattered, only their time together, stolen and ultimately not meant to last.
Courted by the Texas Millionaire Page 12