“They do, but—”
“I will work hard not to damage your reputation.”
She’d been about to tell him she didn’t give a hoot in hell about her reputation now that he’d kissed her. But she decided against saying so and possibly appearing too willing to be a bad girl. “Thank you,” she said. “By the way, how do you like your hamburger?”
“Juicy.”
Of course he did. She swallowed a whimper of desire. If he liked his women that way, too, then she’d be exactly to his liking. The more time she spent with him, the juicier she became.
Back in the kitchen, she tried not to think of him lounging in her bedroom. She had a chair in there, but it was a fussy little antique not sturdy enough for a grown man. He’d either have to stand up or sit on the bed.
When she thought of him sitting on the bed, she had to fan herself. The guy was too hot for his own good, and he’d kissed her. For some unknown reason he seemed extremely attracted to her small-town, unsophisticated self. That must have been some makeover.
She got to work, but it wasn’t really work because she was doing it for Marc. Forming hamburger patties and slicing potatoes had never felt so sensuous. Gwen found herself humming under her breath while she prepared dinner. When was the last time she’d made a meal for a guy? She couldn’t remember.
The conversation with his sister was taking a while, which she could understand. Well, actually, she couldn’t. She’d never had a sibling.
Annie was the closest she’d ever come to one, and even they had grown apart when Annie had moved to Chicago. Fortunately Annie was back and the friendship had picked right up again.
Gwen wished Annie could be here for some old-fashioned girl talk, but that was a selfish thought. Annie had been thrilled with the grant that allowed her to live in Big Knob except when she was traveling to research her series. If that job hadn’t come through for Annie, she and Jeremy might be living in Chicago while she continued to work at the Tribune. Then Gwen wouldn’t see much of her best friend at all.
When the patties were seasoned and on the electric grill and the potatoes sliced and ready for the deep fryer, Gwen set the table in her cozy little kitchen. She debated using candles and decided against it. She was not out to seduce Marc. If he decided to seduce her, however, she wasn’t about to resist.
Marc still hadn’t returned by the time she was ready to start cooking. She hated to dive in until she knew he’d be available to eat the food. He’d asked for juicy hamburgers, which meant he had to eat them straight off the electric grill.
Going to the bedroom door to summon him didn’t feel right. He obviously was very close to his sister, and Gwen wasn’t about to interrupt their conversation and risk having Josette resent her. She wondered if she’d ever meet Josette. So much depended on the next three days.
On impulse she got out some white cheddar cheese and sliced some to go on the hamburgers. She nibbled on an extra piece and realized she was getting hungry. Earlier she hadn’t been able to think of food, but her initial nervousness had mostly disappeared. She looked forward to sharing a meal with Marc.
Except he was making the longest trans-Atlantic cell phone call in history. Maybe she should simply go to the door and give him a little wave, so he’d know she was about to start cooking dinner. Maybe he planned to talk until she called him to come and eat.
That made sense. As she was about to head down the hall, the phone in her kitchen rang. She picked it up.
“I had to call,” Francine said. “How’s it going?”
“Great.”
“Is he right there, or can you talk?”
“He’s in the . . . other room, making a call to his sister in Paris.” How elegant that sounded.
“Oh, God, Gwen, he’s incredible! That accent is to die for, and he looks so . . . French!”
“He does.” Gwen couldn’t help smiling. And he was here, in her house, and he’d already kissed her once. But she wouldn’t tell Francine that. She might have told Annie, but Annie wasn’t here.
“So have you had dinner yet?”
“We’re about to.”
“Good, because it’s started snowing.”
“Really?” Gwen glanced at the green glass panes of her bay window and discovered they’d iced up. She must have been really distracted not to notice that.
“Yeah, but if you two are about to eat, it shouldn’t be a problem. It’s not too bad yet. Listen, I’ll let you go, but I just had to call and say attagirl. He’s gorgeous.”
“Thanks, Francine.” Gwen was still smiling as she hung up the phone. Women had never envied her a boyfriend before, and it felt nice.
She really should go get Marc if the snow had started coming down. As she headed off, her phone rang again. Probably Sylvia this time, or maybe Dorcas.
Feeling giddy with happiness and in an uncharacteristically playful mood, she picked up the phone and didn’t even bother with hello. “Is Marc a hottie, or what?”
“I’m not a good judge of stuff like that,” said a male voice that sounded suspiciously like Bob Anglethorpe’s.
Gwen was so embarrassed that the roots of her hair tingled. “Uh, Bob. I thought you were someone else.”
“Thought so. Listen, have you taken a look outside lately?”
“You mean the snow?” She wasn’t ready to admit that she’d been so absorbed in what was happening inside the house that she’d been completely unaware of anything going on outside. Now that she took the time to listen, she could hear the wind blowing.
“The snowstorm hit about thirty minutes ago, and it’s a doozy. It’s not quite as bad right here, but I’ve been on the scanner and Sixty-four is a mess—vehicles off the road, a couple of fender-benders, folks needing a tow.”
“I see.” Her pulse rate kicked up. It looked as if her reputation might be in danger, after all.
“I took a look out on the square and saw your—ah—cousin’s vehicle is still parked in front of the Big Knobian.”
She decided to ignore the jab. Until someone questioned her directly, she’d stick to her story. “Cousin Marc’s still here. We’ve been catching up on family news, and right now he’s talking to his sister back in Paris.” She loved throwing a mention of Paris into a conversation. It sounded so cosmopolitan.
“You can’t let him drive to Evansville in this. I can’t remember if you have an extra bed over there or not, but if you want, I could put him up. We’d just move one of the boys to the sofa and let your cousin have a bunk bed.”
So there it was, a chance to save her reputation by having Marc go sleep over at Bob’s house. In one of his kids’ bunk beds. She thought of Marc with his silk shirt, leather jacket and expensive loafers, sleeping in a bunk bed and brushing his teeth in a bathroom filled with plastic army men, Tonka trucks and wet towels. He’d probably get Cheerios for breakfast.
Or he could stay here in her guest room, which had a double bed and a bathroom across the hall that would be exclusively his. The towels were hung neatly on the rack and the sink was spotless. She’d cleaned it yesterday, just in case. And she’d make omelets in the morning.
She had to keep him here, for his sake. Yeah, right. For Marc’s sake. What a laugh.
“Thank you, Bob,” she said. “That’s really generous, but I have a spare bed, so you don’t have to displace either of your boys.”
“It’s really no trouble. Patsy said she’d love to talk to a person from Paris, France.”
Gwen hadn’t thought of that angle. Marc’s impending arrival had been the talk of the town, and now that he was here, everyone would want to rub elbows with the French guy. So would she, although she wanted to rub more than elbows.
“Marc’ll be around for the next three days,” she said. “I’m sure Patsy will have a chance to talk with him. The guy’s exhausted, though, so maybe it’s better if he just stays here tonight.”
“If you’re sure.” Bob sounded disappointed. “I was also thinking of your reputation. You know ho
w people talk.”
“I know they do.” Gwen fingered the smooth stone pendant Dorcas had loaned her as she considered the prospect of inspiring juicy gossip. Instead of being worried, she found herself smiling. “But they’ve never talked about me,” she said. “Maybe it’s about time. Good night, Bob.” Still smiling, she replaced the phone in its cradle.
Now she had an even more pressing reason to interrupt Marc’s phone call. She needed to inform him that he wouldn’t be leaving tonight, after all. He might want to trudge back across the square and get his suitcase out of the car.
On her way down the hall she didn’t hear his voice, so he must still be texting. Silence reigned in the back of the house. As she approached the doorway, she made out a soft, rhythmic sound. Snoring?
Sure enough, when she peeked inside the room, Marc was stretched out on her bed, fast asleep. He’d slipped off his shoes, but otherwise he was fully clothed. His head rested on one of her feather pillows, and his BlackBerry lay on the comforter where it had obviously slipped out of his hand.
She walked over and cupped his shoulder. Nice muscle definition. She shook him gently. “Marc.”
With a groan he rolled away from her.
“Marc, wake up.”
No answer. Walking to the other side of the bed, she crawled onto the mattress and peered into his face. “Dinnertime, Marc. Juicy hamburgers just the way you like them.”
His eyelashes fluttered, but he made no sound other than his steady breathing. He was completely out.
Bracing her chin on her hands, she gazed at him. He had dark lashes any woman would kill for and the kind of cheekbones that meant he’d grow more handsome as he aged. She wondered if he’d shaved in the airport bathroom, because his beard was only now starting to show.
This close she could see where he’d nicked himself near the dimple on his chin. That would be tricky to shave, and he’d been in a hurry. In a hurry to see her. She couldn’t ignore the fact that he’d been eager to get here.
Maybe that had colored his perception and made him think he wanted her more than he actually did. He might see the situation differently after a good night’s sleep. He had a head start on that, and unless she wanted to resort to throwing cold water in his face, he probably wouldn’t wake up until morning.
All righty, then. She needed to make him as comfortable as possible. In romance novels the heroine was somehow able to undress the hero even when he was sound asleep and pretty much a dead weight. Although undressing Marc appealed to her, she couldn’t imagine how that worked in real life.
At least she could take off his damp socks so his feet could warm up. He didn’t stir as she peeled them off. He had long, aristocratic toes sprinkled with dark hair. With a flutter of sexual awareness, she found herself imagining how the rest of him would look naked.
Moisture collected in her mouth as she fantasized stripping him down, inch by inch. She wasn’t planning to actually do it, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t think about it. She might want to cool her jets, though, or she’d never sleep tonight.
Job number one was getting him covered up, including his sexy toes. In the end she decided to retrieve the down comforter from the guest bed and put that over him. When she went to bed she could use some of the old blankets stored in the cedar chest. They might be a little musty, but they’d be okay for one night.
Covering him awakened all sorts of tender feelings to pair with the lustful ones. She thought about his sense of obligation to his sister and wondered if he’d reached her. If not, then tomorrow she’d take him over to Click-or-Treat so he could use the high-speed connection to e-mail her.
When he was all tucked in, she couldn’t resist leaning down and kissing him softly on the mouth. Yes, they fit together as perfectly as the first time. What would happen if she crawled in beside him and spent the night there? Heat shot through her at the idea.
But despite the makeover and despite the pendant, she wasn’t that bold. She’d sleep in the guest room tonight, and tomorrow . . . well, tomorrow they’d have to see how they liked each other in broad daylight.
In any case, now she could truthfully say that she’d had a Frenchman in her bed.
Chapter 8
Without the raccoons, Leo would have died of boredom. Sex with Gwen was great, but other than that, Big Knob was a real yawner. After leaving her the night before, he’d played until dawn, slept through the day, and now he was back at it. He planned to take a break around Gwen’s normal bedtime to have a quick session with her. Then he’d return to the game.
The poker games were even more fun after they’d raided the Big Knobian and hauled out several cases of beer from the back storeroom. The storeroom wasn’t the tidiest place in the world, so Leo doubted the beer would be missed right away. And there was nothing funnier than a drunk raccoon.
Poker had become Leo’s new passion, and he was working those raccoons, letting them win often enough that they wouldn’t suspect he would take it all before he left. Thanks to their games with that dopey dragon, they had quite a stash of gold coins.
Leo didn’t need the money. He’d have more than enough once he became king, and with Gwen coming along so nicely that was a done deal. He was in it for the thrill.
And the beer. He’d lost count of how many he’d had tonight, and he might want to slow down. Booze might interfere with his technique.
Hell, one more wasn’t going to turn him into a loser. He popped the top and settled in for the last hand before he headed off to Gwen’s. Yeah, the Frenchman was due in, but Leo wasn’t worried.
The dweeb had a hotel reservation in Evansville, which proved how wimpy he was. In his shoes, Leo would have made sure he was in residence the whole three days, baby. More opportunity for nookie.
Obviously the guy was slow on the uptake. Too bad for him, because when he finally got around to making a move on Gwen, Leo would have conditioned her to the kind of outstanding sex that would make her spurn the Frenchman. She wouldn’t give Jean-Marc Chevalier the time of day. . . . Or night.
Leo folded his pocket aces and let one of the raccoons take the pot. That way they’d be more eager to bet big when he came back in an hour. He slipped off into the woods to the little cave he called home for the time being. Good thing he’d thought to bring the fantasy costumes to Big Knob, because they got the right reaction from Gwen.
As he dressed in the military uniform he’d decided on for tonight, he had a little trouble with the buttons. The beer must have made him a little fuzzy. No matter. He didn’t need to be completely sober to slip into Gwen’s dream and accomplish his mission. Not this fairy prince.
He had some trouble concentrating as he prepared to transport himself into her bedroom, but finally he made it. Next time he’d have one less beer.
The bedroom was dark, as usual, and the house was quiet. He could hear her breathing, and wondered if she had a cold because her breathing was heavier than normal. Fortunately fairies couldn’t catch colds. Some good sex would fix her right up.
Focusing his thoughts on her, he prepared to enter her dream. Gwen’s dream state was soft and cushiony, like the bed she slept on. Maybe she really was sick, because tonight her dream state was rougher, with more hard edges.
Something about this didn’t feel quite right, but he blamed the beer. Next time he’d definitely cut back. Firmly planted in her dream, he stepped toward the bed. “I’m here.”
“Who the devil are you?”
Sheesh, she must have a terrible sore throat. She sounded almost like a guy. “You know me. I’m the one who gives you incredible orgasms.”
“Excuse me?”
“Your lover.” Leo wasn’t used to her being so dense. After all, this wasn’t exactly a brand-new routine.
“My what?”
“May I make love to you, sweet Gwendolyn?”
“Who?”
“You’re not yourself, but I can make you feel so much better.” Leo drew back the comforter and ran his hand down her—wa
it, this wasn’t . . .
“Get the hell away from me!” roared the person in the bed, the person who was not Gwen.
Leo pulled his hand back as if he’d been burned. Then he threw the comforter back in place. Shit! Someone was running down the hall. It sounded like a woman’s footsteps, so that meant the person in the bed was . . .
Marc. Marc Chevalier was in this bed, and Leo had just put his hand on—no, not really. He’d sort of patted, not stroked, and certainly not caressed. He had to concentrate, had to get himself back to the forest. His brain was mush. Concentrate, idiot! He managed the transfer a split second before Gwen burst into the room.
Ah. He was safely back in the forest. Hades, but he needed a beer.
Marc heard someone calling his name and fought his way out of a deep sleep. Groggy and disoriented, he struggled to a sitting position. About that time two stained glass lamps flicked on.
When he saw Gwen standing in the doorway, he began to put everything together. He was in Big Knob, in Gwen’s house, and in her bed, apparently. She had not joined him, or he hoped not, because he had no memory of making love to her.
He recalled trying in vain to get a text message through to Josette. During the process he had given in to the temptation to fool with the BlackBerry while lying down. That was the last thing he remembered.
Until that dream.
Gwen hovered in the doorway. “Are you okay?”
Glancing over, he noticed what he had missed seeing before. She was wearing the pendant and a nightgown the color of new leaves. The bodice laced up the front, which made for an interesting peekaboo effect with her cleavage. Judging from the way her nipples puckered under the material, she was naked under the nightgown.
He swallowed. The memory of their kiss returned, and in no time he was erect. “You should not have given me your bed.” You should have allowed me to take you to bed.
“I don’t mind. But I heard you cry out, and I wondered if you’d had a nightmare. Or if you needed something.”
He needed someone, and she was standing less than ten feet away. Yet nothing had changed on the condom front. They were still in his suitcase, which was still in his rental car two blocks away.
Casual Hex Page 8