Hot Mail

by Maynard, Janice

  He glanced at his watch. He’d sleep for an hour and then call Jane and see if she would let him come over.

  Jane was trying not to be miffed. Ethan had a highly demanding job with far-reaching responsibilities. He didn’t need a woman who got pissy because he didn’t contact her when she expected him to.

  She stayed up far too late, expecting him to call or drop by, but so far, neither had happened.

  Her Saturday had been one crazy thing after another. Soothing Mr. Benson. Arranging for her smashed window to be fixed . . . again. Stopping by the hospital and dropping off flowers for Randy Temple. Trying to see if any of her new inventory was salvageable.

  Through it all, she had bolstered herself with the knowledge that Ethan might share her bed again tonight. She was eager to know if he had seen her final note and how he had responded.

  And she wanted a chance to decide if she had the guts to tell him she loved him. It was usually the man’s prerogative and responsibility to do the deed. But in keeping with her New Year’s resolution, she was going to be proactive.

  Her plan was simple: wow him with amazing sex, and then when his defenses were down, tell him the truth. She was in love with him.

  At one a.m., she gave up waiting. She turned off the light and fell asleep almost instantly.

  In fact, she was still sleeping soundly when her phone rang some eight hours later.

  She scowled at it, wanting to pull the covers over her head. But since the damn thing kept right on ringing, and because the caller ID was easily recognizable, she answered it with a snarl. “What?”

  There was a split second of silence on the other end before someone responded. “Good morning, Jane.” Ethan’s voice, disgustingly fresh and cheerful, held amusement. “Have I called at a bad time?”

  “About ten hours too late,” she said sullenly. And then wanted to snatch the words back when he laughed.

  His tone and his reply were apologetic. “I’m sorry about that. I was going to nap on the sofa for forty-five minutes when I got home last night, and the next thing I knew, it was morning. But I’ll make it up to you. I’m fixing brunch. You’ll recall that I owe you a meal.”

  Her stomach growled. “Waffles?”

  “With real Vermont syrup and crisp bacon.”

  She moaned. “I’ll be there in half an hour.”

  She had showered the night before, so she ran a brush through her hair and tore her closet apart, looking for something to wear. Just once, she’d like Ethan to see her in an outfit that was over-the-top sexy and sophisticated.

  Sadly, not only was her wardrobe lacking in those qualities, but she and Ethan had yet to even go on a date, which pretty much negated the need for sexy and sophisticated.

  She settled for a thin, long-sleeve silk tee in a deep violet shade topped with a lacy pullover. Both fabrics clung to her modest breasts and the two together were more trendy than her usual attire.

  All that was left was to don her favorite pair of jeans and slip her feet into a pair of black ballerina flats. When she glanced in the mirror, she wasn’t totally repulsed. She looked pretty damn good, if she did say so herself.

  She pulled into his driveway three minutes shy of her promised thirty minutes. Her palms were damp. This was more than breakfast or lunch or even brunch. This was the beginning of what might be the end.

  When she got out and walked to the door, Ethan opened it wide and scooped her into a bear hug. “God, I’ve missed you.” He kissed her ravenously, in full sight of anyone passing by on the street.

  She struggled halfheartedly, aware at some level that the assistant police chief probably shouldn’t be caught necking outdoors. He smelled delicious, all woodsy pine and fresh bacon. It was a winning combination. She played with his hair and his ears, stroking and touching and toying until he dropped her to her feet with a muttered protest.

  He put his hands on his hips. “I promised myself I would feed you before I fucked you.”

  She blinked. Twice. That was plain speaking for sure.

  He drew her inside by the simple expedient of clamping her wrist in one of his big hands and pulling. Not that she was in any mind to resist arrest.

  Once in the house, she concentrated on her host. He looked a damn sight better than when she had left him yesterday. His eyes were clear, his face was clean-shaven, and he had an air of purpose about him.

  Her stomach wasn’t filled with butterflies, but a whole colony of Mexican jumping beans had taken residence.

  Over brunch, she managed to keep up her end of the conversation, all the while trying to plan out what she would say. Ethan, I’m sorry, but I have to tell you that I love you. Do you want to get married or not?

  It didn’t help that Ethan kept touching her with light casual caresses that bespoke a casual intimacy between lovers. But she didn’t feel casual at all . . . not today. His kitchen table was tiny, and the two of them were very close. She could smell his soap and shampoo, and his body heat radiated, keeping her agitated and hungry.

  In addition to the stupid valentines and the fact that Ethan had kept them under wraps, there was one other unresolved issue. It bothered Jane a lot that she had been the one to resurrect their friendship.

  Without the break-in at her apartment, Ethan would have let things remain the same, their estrangement intact. Which seemed to point once again to the fact that her feelings were probably more involved than his.

  She sighed and drew patterns in the syrup on her plate with the tines of her fork.

  Ethan poured them each another cup of coffee. “What’s wrong?”

  Geez. She hated it that he could read her so well. “Nothing,” she mumbled.

  He sat down across from her and smiled—a simple, direct, uncomplicated flash of white teeth that made her dizzy. He was so damn handsome.

  He took a sip of his drink and set it down. “I’ve been meaning to tell you something, Jane.”

  She leaned back in her chair. “Go for it,” she said, her voice light. Better him than her . . . since she hadn’t quite figured out what she was going to say.

  He stretched his arms over his head, and she saw muscles flex beneath his Statlerville Police Department T-shirt. His chest was hard as a rock. He yawned and tipped his chair back on two legs, his hands clasped on his flat belly. “Sherry and I had a heart-to-heart on New Year’s Eve.”

  Her ears perked up. “Oh, really?”

  “Yep. We were chiding each other on our lackluster love lives, and Sherry asked me why I had never dated you seriously, or words to that effect.”

  “And what did you tell her?” Here it was . . . perhaps a moment of truth.

  “I said that back then I thought of you as my sister.”

  Ouch. Her stomach tumbled to her knees. “I see.” She didn’t know what else to say. It sure as hell wasn’t what she wanted to hear.

  He was staring at her intently, and she had to fight the urge to squirm in her chair. She felt off balance, unsure of where this was leading.

  He sighed. “She more or less called me a liar.”

  Jane leaned forward, propping her elbows on the table, her chin in her hands. “That’s not very nice.”

  “Turns out it was true.”

  Her jaw dropped, and she closed her mouth rapidly, trying to look mildly curious instead of rabidly interested. “I don’t understand.”

  He dropped the chair on all four legs and leaned toward her, tugging her hands into his and holding them tightly. His were strong and warm. Hers were icy and trembling.

  He stroked the back of her hands with his thumb. “A while back I told you a couple of reasons why I didn’t ask you out . . . but the truth is, Jane . . .”

  She saw his throat flex as he swallowed, and she realized he was not as calm and collected as he seemed. “Ethan?” She prodded him, desperate to hear more.

  He shrugged. “The truth is that I felt safer telling myself you were like a sister to me. It kept me from doing something stupid.”

  “
Because you thought if we hooked up, I would want more, and you weren’t ready to settle down.”

  He nodded slowly. “Something like that.” His head was bent now, his gaze focused on their clasped hands. “For the next few days after Sherry and I talked, all I could think about was you and why I had never admitted to myself how special you were . . . how happy I was when we were together. I was kicking myself for losing something so precious and wondering if there was any hope of getting it back.”

  “And then?” Maybe this was called leading the witness, but she couldn’t help herself.

  He released her hands, took her face in his big palms, and kissed her softly. “Then the first break-in at your shop happened. I spent a night in your bed, and I found myself head over ass intrigued and sexually attracted to the woman who used to be my best friend. And I knew from that first night that if I’d ever kidded myself you were like a sister to me, those platonic feelings were long gone. You’ve mesmerized me, Jane . . . fascinated me . . . made me ache to be inside you, beside you. . . .”

  Her heart actually shivered. She felt it in her chest. And the deep, urgent sincerity in his words made her eyes wet and her throat tight.

  She tried for levity. “Well, I sure as hell never looked at you as a brother. You would have been shocked if you knew what I was thinking back then.”

  He grinned, a cocky, arrogant, you-can’t-resist-me smile that made her want to climb over the table and rip his clothes off. “I am shocked, Jane. And here all these years I thought you were such a restrained little thing.”

  “Little?”

  He put their hands together, palm to palm. Hers looked delicate against his, small and defenseless. He leaned forward and kissed her again. “It’s a term of affection, sweet thing. I can’t help feeling the need to protect you and coddle you.”

  Her heart light, she dared to tease. “I was hoping for something a bit more wicked and carnal.” He might not have said those three important words yet, but she saw what she was looking for in his eyes. And she was reassured.

  He stood up and pulled her close for a hug. “Where do you stand on morning whoopee?”

  She pursed her lips. “With dirty dishes waiting to be washed and put away?”

  He raised an eyebrow, saying nothing, the glint in his eyes promising endless delights.

  She shrugged. “I suppose I could be persuaded.”

  He picked up the bottle of syrup with a naughty waggle of his eyebrows. “Shall I take this along?”

  “Eeew, no.” Laughing, she coaxed him down the hall. Halfway to the bedroom, he had already shed his shirt and was working on her layered tops. They paused, breathless, to kiss long and deep.

  Jane was expecting urgent passion. He gave her long, slow, tender loving, his hands stroking her back, her rib cage, the curves of her breasts.

  When she would have unfastened his pants and hurried things along, he took her wrists behind her back and bracketed them with one big hand. And then he proceeded to kiss her senseless.

  It might have been minutes, hours, or even days. Jane lost all concept of time. Ethan was staking a claim, imprinting his firm touch, his masculine scent, his unique taste by coaxing her mouth to open to his, her tongue to tangle with his, her lips to cling to his.

  She was dizzy, and she broke away long enough to suck in much-needed air. Ethan looked as rattled as she felt, his hair in disarray, his eyes slightly unfocused.

  “Bed?” She gasped the question on a half breath. He didn’t answer. He merely bent his head to suckle her bare breasts, all the while backing her toward his room.

  They fell on the mattress and undressed each other. Unlike recent times together, they were languid in their movements, slow . . . unhurried. The heightened sense of expectation built. Her pulse beat in her throat; her hands shook as she touched him.

  It was different this time, perhaps because she knew what she was going to ask him to give her. Forever. That was all. And if Ethan couldn’t say yes to that, these shiningly beautiful moments might be their last.

  When they were both nude, they tumbled like children on the bed, laughing softly, learning new ways to make the other curse and gasp and cry out.

  But eventually, need could no longer be denied. Ethan grabbed at the box of condoms on the floor and groaned when he shook it and found it empty.

  His face tight with arousal, he pointed. “The drawer. Your side. Hurry.”

  With his hand on her ankle, Jane reached across to the bedside table nearest her. She yanked open the top drawer and froze. A coiled copperhead would have been no more alarming than what she found. Five colorful valentines.

  She couldn’t move. Couldn’t think. Couldn’t speak. Except for the last one, they were creased and worn, as though he had read them repeatedly. And they were tucked away in his bedroom, where he slept.

  As if in a dream, she saw herself pick them up. “What are these?” Her voice was dull . . . her happiness teetering on the brink of extinction.

  Ethan reacted visibly. And his automatic response tore at her composure. He frowned. “Those are nothing, I swear.”

  She stared at him. “But why do you have them?” Before he could stop her, she opened one. “Who sent you these?”

  Ethan was a smart man, and he knew trouble when he saw it. Damn it to hell and back. Why hadn’t he shown them to her and explained? Why hadn’t he thought to move them? It was a bad oversight on his part.

  He stroked her leg, wincing when she jerked it out of reach. “They’re nothing, Jane. Just some weird mail from a stranger.”

  “Why didn’t you throw them away?”

  He felt guilty for no good reason, and that made him mad. “I thought the sender might be dangerous. I kept them for evidence.”

  “What do they say?”

  He shrugged. “They’re poems . . . sex stuff, love stuff.”

  He was sweating now. No way was he going to let one stupid misunderstanding ruin things with Jane.

  Despite the distraction of seeing her breasts, her slender waist, the puff of hair at the top of her sex, he managed to stay focused. He was in deep shit with no help in sight.

  Her eyes were huge, her expression hard to read. “Was it good poetry?”

  He nodded slowly. Might as well tell the truth. She could read them for herself. “Yes. In fact, a little too good. Some nights they made me think of you, and I got even more horny.”

  “For a woman you don’t even know. A woman you wanted to find.”

  “No.” He denied it flatly. “I had no interest at all in whoever sent those notes other than to ascertain whether or not she might pose a threat to me or to you.”

  “And you hid this from me because . . .”

  He studied her face. He couldn’t tell if she was angry. But she sure as hell wasn’t happy. Her body language was rigid.

  He shrugged. “I was afraid you would get the wrong idea, and I didn’t want to hurt your feelings . . . not again.”

  “You thought I would be jealous and pitch a fit?”

  “The first, maybe yes . . . the second, no. But I was afraid to do anything that might make you walk away again. That’s the only reason I didn’t tell you, I swear. Plus, I was afraid she might be dangerous, and I wanted to protect you.”

  Her gaze lifted from the valentines to his face. “You’re going to have to learn to trust me, Ethan. And if you ever keep secrets from me again, I’ll have to castrate you.”

  Her expression had lightened, and the tightness in his chest eased. He blurted out his first thought. “I thought you’d be a lot more angry than this.”

  She rolled her eyes. “The valentines are from me, dumb ass.”

  There was a roaring in his ears and his throat went dry. Words and phrased flickered through his brain. He’d read the notes so many times they were as familiar to him as his name and address.

  Dreams hot and deep . . .

  Snug velvet glove . . .

  My thighs will spread wide . . .

  What
’s right under your nose . . .

  True love can’t be forced . . .

  Marry me . . . marry me . . . marry me. . . .

  He put his hands over his face. God, he deserved to lose his badge. The evidence had pointed to Jane from the beginning, but he’d been too blind to see it. Hell, he’d even watched Jane mail one of the notes, and he’d still found a way to convince himself it wasn’t her.

  He sat back on his haunches and dropped his hands. She was perched on the far side of his bed, her eyes wary, her arms tucked protectively over her breasts.

  He held out his arms. “Come here, woman.”

  She hesitated only a second, and then they were wrapped in each other’s arms. He rained kisses over her face and, after managing to retrieve a condom after all, moved between her legs. “I love you, Jane.”

  Her smile was luminous. “Ditto.”

  He nudged his cock inside her warm, welcoming passage, groaning when her body made good on that “snug velvet glove” promise.

  He fucked her slowly at first, trying to show her how he felt. He was shitty with words. Unlike his precious Jane who had wooed him so sweetly.

  But then his baser instincts took over, his breathing quickened, and his control snapped as he thrust wildly, lost in the wonder of knowing she was his. Seconds before he came, he drew back, panting.

  Jane protested and wrapped long legs around his back to pull him down. “Don’t stop.”

  His breath rasped in his heaving chest. “One thing you should know.”

  Her blue eyes were hazy, unfocused. “What?”

  “You jumped the gun and ruined my big surprise. I was planning to propose to you on Valentine’s Day.”

  Epilogue

  February 14

  Ethan stood, spine straight, at the front of Jane’s small country church and waited for his bride. His gaze drifted over the small crowd of well-wishers. Mr. Benson beamed from three rows back. Yesterday, in a shocking surprise, the old man had deeded Jane’s building to her as a wedding gift.