Hometown Girl

by Margaret Watson

  She wasn’t fanciful, she reminded herself. She was far more grounded than that. She didn’t allow her imagination to run wild.

  But her hands shook as she picked up the clothes Tucker had set on the floor just inside the door.

  His boxers rode low on her hips and hung almost to her knees. The sweatpants she drew over them bagged just as much, and she rolled up the legs of the pants so they wouldn’t drag on the ground. His sweatshirt drooped off one shoulder and hung halfway down her thighs.

  She didn’t care. The clothes were warm, and they covered her. She didn’t bother to look in the mirror before opening the door and rushing downstairs. To Tucker.

  He stood staring out the kitchen window into the night, his hands braced against the counter. He turned around when she walked into the kitchen.

  “Feeling better?” he asked with a strained smile. But darkness hovered in his eyes and was etched into the grim lines around his mouth.

  “Tucker? What’s wrong?” She reached for him, needing to comfort him as he’d comforted her.

  He held her at a distance with one hand as he studied her. Finally he folded her into his arms.

  “Nothing’s wrong now,” he said. He pressed a kiss into her damp hair, skimmed his mouth down her cheek to her throat.

  “Are you sure?” She leaned back to search his face. “You look so grim. So fierce.”

  He closed his eyes, then pulled her against him. “I’m fine. Just thinking about what I’d like to do with the idiot driving that car.”

  “It’s okay,” she murmured. “I’m not hurt.”

  “Not hurt?” He gave her an incredulous look, pushed up the sleeves of the sweatshirt to reveal her scratched arms. “What do you call this?”

  “That’s nothing,” she said, giving him what she hoped was a nonchalant shrug. “Just scratches.”

  “Just scratches.” He stared at her arms for a while, and when he raised his head, something dangerous flared in his eyes. “What other ‘nothings’ do you have?”

  “Not much. My hands and arms got the worst of it.”

  “Is that so?” He studied her for a moment, warmth gradually returning to his eyes. Finally he gave her a faintly teasing smile. “I’m a teacher, you know. I have a very finely tuned BS meter.”

  “Really,” she insisted. “I’m fine. If you’ll make me a cup of tea, I’ll be back to normal.” She nodded at a glass-fronted cabinet. “I’ll get a mug.”

  She reached for the cabinet and froze as the bruise on her side screamed in protest.

  “What?” Tucker asked, his voice sharp.

  “I’m okay,” she told him, lowering her arm carefully. “Just a little more sore than I realized.”

  “Like hell you’re okay.” He grabbed the hem of the sweatshirt and yanked it up. He sucked in a sharp breath when he saw the purple bruising on her side.

  She was naked beneath the sweatshirt. Although her breasts were still covered, her nipples tightened in the cool air. Too aware of Tucker’s hand hovering dangerously close, she tried to back away from him. With effortless strength, he caught her hands in one of his and held her steady as he studied the ugly bruise.

  His eyes were dark with anger when he looked at her again. “You didn’t tell me about this. You said you were all right.”

  “I am. It looks a lot worse than it feels.”

  “You should have X rays. You might have a cracked rib.”

  “I don’t. I’ve had cracked ribs before and I know how it feels.”

  He skimmed his hand lightly over the bruise and her skin tingled. Feeling vulnerable and exposed, she stepped back and tugged the sweatshirt down.

  “I’m fine,” she repeated. “A cup of tea, a good night’s sleep and I’ll be back to normal.”

  He reached up for a mug, looked over his shoulder at her. “It’s not a crime to admit you need help, Claire.”

  “Fine. I need help getting a mug off the shelf.”

  He set it down on the table in front of her. “Was that so tough?”

  “Yes,” she said, her mouth curving in a smile as she watched him scowl.

  “You are a piece of work,” he said, but his eyes finally thawed and a smile hovered on his mouth. “No wonder I’m crazy about you.”

  Her heart pounded in her chest and she busied herself making the tea. A comment like that, she decided, was best ignored.

  “I should probably get going once I have my tea,” she said, her voice bright.

  He came up behind her and ran his hands down her arms, making her nerves jump. “Sorry, sweetheart,” his voice rumbled in her ear. “Wrong answer. The correct answer is, ‘I’m crazy about you, too, darling.’”

  “I’m glad to see you don’t have an ego problem, Hall.”

  “I already admitted I have a large ego.” He paused for a beat. “It fits right in with the rest of me.”

  She turned around, grinning. “Okay, you win. You managed to make me laugh tonight, and I didn’t think that was possible. I am crazy about you.”

  His smile faded as his eyes darkened, heated. “Some things I don’t joke about. I’m not teasing you now, Claire,” he said in a low voice.

  “Neither am I,” she whispered. Her heart banged against her chest and desire swelled inside her, sucking all the oxygen out of the bright kitchen. She couldn’t breathe.

  If Tucker could make her forget the horrors of her fall down the embankment, if he could tease her into laughter just an hour later, she was in deep trouble.

  Their gazes caught, held. Tucker didn’t try to hide the need in his eyes. Raw and urgent, it wrapped around her and brought her up against him.

  He closed his eyes, pressing against her from chest to thighs as if he could absorb her into himself. Finally he eased away.

  When she reached for him, drew him back, he stiffened. “Don’t, Claire,” he said, his hands tense at his sides, his voice hoarse. Hunger throbbed in the air around them. “Not tonight. I don’t want to take advantage of you.”

  The horror of her fall, the fear that had consumed her, disappeared in a rush of heat and passion. She was alive. She wanted Tucker. And he wanted her.

  She lifted her arms to his neck, wriggled closer against him. “That’s too bad. Because I want to take advantage of you.”

  He groaned, but he didn’t pull away from her. “You’re hurt, sweetheart.”

  Her mouth curved. “Make me forget that.”

  He leaned his forehead against hers. “One last chance, Claire. Let me take you home right now.”

  “I don’t want to go home.” She reached up, brushed her mouth across his. “Are you going to make me beg?”

  “God, no.” He wrapped his arms around her, held her as gently as if she was made of paper-thin glass. “But I don’t want you to regret anything.”

  “I couldn’t,” she whispered. “I want to make love with you, Tucker.”

  He closed his eyes and she could feel him trembling. Then he swept her up in his arms again, fusing his mouth to hers. She tasted his strength, his hunger, the knife-sharp edge of his control as he ascended the stairs, never lifting his mouth from hers.

  In moments he stood in his bedroom and took his mouth from hers as if tearing off a piece of himself. An enormous bed dominated the room, a skylight splashing the silvery light of the moon across it.

  Suddenly nervous, overwhelmed by what she’d set in motion, she plucked at the baggy sweatshirt and sweatpants she wore. “I’m sorry this won’t be a lingerie moment for you.”

  His eyes gleamed in the dim light. “Believe me, I’ll survive.” He swept his hand slowly down her chest, trailed over her belly, stopped just above the junction of her thighs. “You can save the fancy lingerie for another time.”

  He gripped her hips, drew her against him and took her mouth again. The hard length of his erection burned into her. Her knees wobbled and she wrapped one leg around his.

  He groaned into her mouth and swept the sweatpants down her legs. His eyes darkened even more
when he saw the boxers, riding low and clinging to her hips.

  “Oh, yeah,” he said, his voice hoarse. “I can make do without the fancy lingerie.”

  He slid the shorts down her legs, pausing to kiss her belly just above the dark swell of hair. Then he drew the sweatshirt over her head and tossed it aside, and she stood naked in front of him.

  “Don’t move,” he whispered. He drank her in as he pulled off his shirt and began to unbutton his jeans. “I want to memorize the way you look right now.”

  Her self-consciousness disappeared as she devoured his body with her eyes. His chest was broad and covered with dark-blond hair, which narrowed down his belly and disappeared into the waistband of his boxers. When he ripped off the boxers, she swallowed at the sight of him.

  He scooped her up and laid her down on the bed. “I don’t want to hurt you,” he said.

  “You won’t.”

  He kissed her again and swept his hand down her body. He lingered at her breasts, cupping them gently, brushing his finger across her nipples. When she groaned and arched her back, he lowered his head and drew one nipple into his mouth.

  She closed her arms around him, desperate to be joined to him. But instead of pressing her down into the mattress, he reached out, fumbled in the drawer of the night table next to his bed and pulled out a condom. After sliding it in place, he rolled over so she lay on top of him.

  He was trying to be careful, trying not to hurt her. A rush of tenderness swept over her, making her forget everything but her need for him. She shifted her hips, slid on top of him.

  He groaned and surged into her, his hands bracketing her hips. Passion held in check too long exploded, and she shattered above him. His hands tightened on her hips and he poured himself into her.

  She wasn’t sure how long she drifted, her mind empty, her body draped over his. He wrapped his arms around her, held her tightly against him as his heart slowed next to her ear. After a long time, he lifted his head and brushed the hair away from her face.

  “Are you all right?” he asked. “Did I hurt you?”

  “I’m wonderful,” she said.

  He brushed his hand over the bruise on her side with a featherlight touch. “Is this okay?”

  “It’s fine,” she murmured. “I’m fine. I’m more than fine.”

  She felt his mouth curve against her throat. “That’s good,” he said. “Because I’m feeling pretty fine myself.” He shifted his hips against her, making it obvious he was aroused again. He lifted his head, and she saw him examine the clock. “We have another hour,” he said. “I don’t intend to waste a minute of it.”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  IGNORING HER ACHING MUSCLES, Claire stirred in bed the next morning and reached for Tucker.

  She found nothing but the cold sheet. Suddenly completely awake, she rolled onto her back and stared at the ceiling. The dream dissolved in front of her. Tucker wasn’t lying beside her. He’d never been in her bed.

  She’d shared his for only a couple of stolen hours.

  Longing sliced through her, sharp and painful. But when she heard Nick moving around in the bathroom, she pushed it away and struggled out of bed. Her muscles screamed in protest but she ignored them. She didn’t want to alarm Nick.

  Twenty minutes later, while she was bagging Nick’s lunch, he said, “What happened to your arms and your hands, Aunt Claire?”

  Claire glanced down at the angry red lines snaking up her arms. “I took a little fall yesterday,” she said lightly. “Into some bushes.”

  “Yeah? You okay?”

  “I’m fine, Nick. But thanks for asking.” A few weeks ago he wouldn’t have bothered to ask.

  He got up from the table. “I’ll see you after school.”

  “I’m picking you up at practice, remember?” she said. “So we can go shopping.”

  “Yeah,” he tossed over his shoulder as he galloped out the door. “I’ve got to go. I’m late.”

  She glanced at the clock, frowning. It was much earlier than he normally left. He must have something going on before school.

  For the rest of the day, no matter what she was doing, Tucker crowded her thoughts. If she closed her eyes she felt his touch and smelled his scent, heard his murmured words of endearment. When she licked her lips she tasted his kisses, dark and potent and seductive.

  Too distracted to work, she finally gave up and drove to the high school early to pick up Nick from football practice. She told herself she wanted to watch her nephew, but her gaze kept straying to Tucker.

  He wore shorts and a polo shirt, and his golden hair lifted in the breeze. As he moved from one group of boys to another, showing them what he wanted to do, watching them do it, she drank in the sight of him. He smiled frequently, his body language encouraging all of them. When he slapped a boy on the back, the boy invariably gave him a huge grin in return.

  Obviously, these boys adored Tucker.

  She knew how they felt.

  Edgy and unsettled, she moved restlessly on the leather seat. Then the boys were heading toward the locker room and Tucker was heading toward her car.

  She gripped the steering wheel tightly, then relaxed her fingers and rolled down her window.

  “Hello, gorgeous,” Tucker said, resting his forearms on the edge of the door. “How was your day?”

  “Too long,” she muttered.

  He grinned at her. “Didn’t get much work done?” He ran a finger down her cheek. “What a coincidence. My mind sure wasn’t in the classroom.”

  Her heart fluttered. She leaned into his hand, turned her head and pressed a kiss into his palm.

  What had happened to her? If Tucker’s slightest touch could make her heart leap in her chest, if a smile could make her legs feel weak, she was in trouble.

  She didn’t care. She’d never been so happy.

  “What are you doing tonight?” he murmured.

  “Nick and I have to go shopping,” she said, reaching for his hand, twining her fingers with his. “He’s growing out of all his clothes.” She gave him a teasing grin. “Want to come along?”

  He brushed a kiss across her mouth, gave a mock shudder. “No, thanks. Maybe I’ll stop by later.”

  She should tell him no. She should give herself a breather, try to ground herself. But all she could do was smile as her heart bounded in her chest. “Okay.”

  He touched her cheek, then stood up reluctantly. “Here comes Nick. I’ll see you later.”

  She was still smiling when her nephew got into the car. “Hi, Nick. How was school today?”

  “It was okay,” he said, sliding down in the seat. “Are we going straight home?”

  “We’re going shopping.” She glanced over at him. “That’s why I picked you up. Remember?”

  “Do we have to go shopping?” he asked, giving her a sideways glance. “I’d rather get home and do my homework.”

  “Are you sure? A few days ago, when we planned this trip, you told me you didn’t have any clothes that fit.”

  He shrugged. “I don’t want to go shopping.”

  “All right,” she said, puzzled but pleased that he was so conscientious about his homework. “Maybe we’ll go shopping this weekend.”

  “Cool.”

  Apparently Nick was serious about his homework, because he ran up to his room as soon as they got home, emerging only to wolf down his dinner, then ran back upstairs. A half hour later, while she tried to finish the work she’d neglected that day, Nick tiptoed behind her into the kitchen. The refrigerator door opened quietly, as if he was trying to muffle the sound.

  Curious, she looked in the kitchen door, just in time to see Nick shove a carton of milk beneath his sweatshirt.

  “Nick? What are you doing?”

  Guilt and fear flashed across his face, and for a moment he looked like a child caught stealing a candy bar from a store. “I wanted a glass of milk. Okay?”

  “Sure.” She nodded at the bulge beneath his sweatshirt. “But you don’t have to s
neak around with the carton beneath your shirt. What’s going on?”

  He looked around wildly, as if searching for an escape. For a moment she thought he’d bolt out the door. Finally he collapsed into a chair and set the carton of milk on the table.

  “So am I in trouble for stealing milk?” He gave her what he probably thought was a tough look. But she could see the anxiety beneath his scowl. And the desperation.

  Two months ago, his defiance would have pushed all her buttons. Now she understood that was the reaction Nick wanted. “You can’t steal what’s already yours,” she said, praying she was handling this properly. “You’ve been acting odd since yesterday. I want to know why.”

  His face filled with stubborn bravado and he opened his mouth, no doubt to give her an angry answer. But when she continued to watch him calmly, not saying a word, he seemed to deflate.

  Staring at the carton of milk on the table, he pushed it from one side to the other. Finally he looked at her. “I found a cat,” he blurted. “I think it’s sick. I’ve been feeding it, and Booger’s been helping me.”

  “You found a cat?” She stared at him, shocked. It was absolutely the last thing she expected him to say.

  “Yeah. I was cutting through the woods to Booger’s. It kind of followed me.”

  “And you’ve been bringing it food?”

  He nodded and she asked, “Why didn’t you tell me, Nick?”

  “I was afraid you’d make me take it to the humane society,” he mumbled. “You know what they do with sick animals there.”

  She took his hand. “Don’t you know me better than that?” she asked with a stab of sadness. “Did you think I wouldn’t care about a sick animal?”

  He shrugged. “You never talked about pets. I assumed you didn’t want any.”

  “I didn’t know you did,” she said quietly. Her heart ached at the raw need in his eyes. “Can we go see your cat? Maybe there’s something we can do for it.”

  “Really? You want to see it?” He looked up at her with a blaze of hope.

  “Of course I do,” she said. “Let me get my jacket.”

  Moments later they were walking down a faint path through the woods. It looked like the same one she and Janice had used when they were children. Nick finally stopped at what looked like a random pile of twigs and branches. But when he squatted next to them, she saw that although the branches had mostly fallen, at one time they’d been arranged to make a tiny shelter.