The bell over the door tinkled, and a shot of adrenaline popped her off the stool. Dread replaced excitement.
Andrew stepped through the racks toward her. Maggie’s gaze followed his progress then shot to meet hers, but a customer had her cornered. Sutton gave a slight shake of her head. Backup would not be required, but it was nice to know her sister looked ready to throw down.
“Are you holding my car hostage?” The smile on Andrew’s face was in direct contrast to the hard edge of—was that disgust?—in his voice. The combination grew a sour feeling in her stomach that had nothing to do with her hangover.
“You’re welcome to pick it up from the garage at your leisure.” She put the glass display case between them. “In fact, I’m sure Wyatt would appreciate you getting it out of their parking lot.”
“As a matter of fact, I went by this morning with Father and there was no sign of my car. No one was around but Ford, who told me he had no idea where it was.”
“Maybe someone stole it. Honestly, I couldn’t care less.” She was getting good at sprinkling artificial sweetener on her smile.
“You’ll care when I sue those small-town hick mechanics for everything they own.” From anyone else, the threat would be as hollow as the Grand Canyon. “Unless…” he drew the word out.
Manipulation was his game, then. More dangerous than spite or revenge and less easily evaded. “Spit it out. I have work to do.”
“The gala.”
“What about it?”
“I’m the emcee and you are on the planning committee. It makes sense we would attend together.” The logic he infused in his illogical conclusion was part of the reason he was a successful trial attorney.
Nerves had kicked in, dampening her palms and leaving imprints on the glass top. She clasped her hands behind her back. Show no weakness.
“I already have a date. Take Bree.” The surprise and flash of irritation on his face had her performing an internal fist pump. “By the way, I don’t appreciate you trying to manipulate me.”
“I wasn’t.” He chuffed a laugh, but it seemed directed at himself. “Okay, maybe I was. A hazard of the job, I suppose. The truth is I want to mend things with you.”
“I don’t—”
“I know.” He held up his hands as if surrendering. “But we were friends once, weren’t we?”
Had they been? She’d known him through school and church and family connections for as long as she could remember. But they hadn’t been friends—not really. Wyatt knew more of her dreams and desires in two short weeks than Andrew had guessed over a lifetime.
“Actually, I don’t think we were.”
His mouth opened and closed, but nothing came out.
The bell on the front door chimed in the silence as if signaling the end of round one. Outlined by the morning sun, Wyatt stood for a moment in the doorway. In contrast to Andrew’s orderly suited appearance, he was chaos incarnate in his ripped jeans and half-tucked red T-shirt, his hair too long and stubble shading his jaw.
Women on both sides of the river would have stampeded over her in a heartbeat to be the recipient of the smile he aimed at her. It was startling to compare the openness of Wyatt’s smile to the calculation in Andrew’s.
“Hey, babe,” he said softly, his eyes darting to Andrew. He was only playing his part, her head chided, yet the endearment lit a dozen sparklers in her chest.
“I wasn’t expecting to see you this morning.”
“Brought you some coffee.” He held up a to-go cup with a Glenda’s Diner logo across the front. “Thought you might be feeling the effects of last night.”
Andrew pointedly ignored Wyatt. “This can’t seriously be a thing.”
Wyatt made a funny face over Andrew’s shoulder which made her answer emerge on a spate of giggles. “I’m not a liar like you.” The words wiped the smile off her face.
She was a liar. Did that make her as bad as Andrew?
Wyatt ambled over, slipped his arm around her shoulders, and pressed a kiss on her temple. “Morning, Tarwater.”
“Where’s my car, Abbott?”
“Jackson and I dropped it off safe and sound at your place this morning. If you ever decide to restore it, I’d be happy to pass along the estimate we put together.”
Andrew stepped closer and poked a finger in Wyatt’s chest. He tensed against her, but a smile remained on his face, and he didn’t move to retaliate or threaten Andrew. “You can stick that estimate where the sun don’t shine. I’ll never bring another car to your shop, and I’ll spread the word so none of my friends do either.”
He transferred his cold fury to her. “Don’t come crying to me when this swamp rat dumps you back in the mud, darlin’.”
Comebacks weren’t her strong suit, and before she could formulate one that wasn’t a variation of “get the hell out,” Andrew did an about-face and strode out the door.
Maggie tiptoed closer with clothes hung over her arm and pointed to the dressing room. Her customer was hot on her heels taking in her and Wyatt with the wide-eyed stare of a rubbernecker. More fuel for the fire.
She grabbed Wyatt’s hand and led him through the swinging door to the storeroom and office in the back of the shop. The carpet dead-ended into gray cement floor. Only in the back did the high-end feel of the shop fade into the utilitarian. She shut the door of her office. “I am so—”
“Stop.” He took her shoulders and gave her a little shake. “Stop apologizing. I wouldn’t have inserted myself into your business if I wasn’t willing to take a little heat.”
“As I recall, I’m the one who begged you to jump in the fire with me. And his threats…” She rubbed her forehead, not sure if the pounding going on behind her temples was a return of her hangover or a result of the confrontation.
“I doubt he can hurt the garage.”
The fact he’d used a qualifier didn’t set well with her. Doubts meant uncertainty and uncertainty meant her lies might hurt innocent people after all. “What can I do?”
“Tell me if all that last night was you being drunk or if you really meant it?”
The question sent her careening around a hairpin curve. Why had her lips gone numb? Was that post-whiskey related? “Which part?”
“The part about how awesome my ass is.” A teasing smile that could only be described as naughty crinkled his eyes.
Could a person actually die from acute embarrassment? Her heart tripped over itself on its way to a heart attack. “True. All true. I wish I could blame it on the alcohol.”
His smile lost a little of its brightness. “Why is that?”
“Because it would make being around you easier.” She might as well open the junk drawer of her feelings. “I’m attracted to you. Like, ‘it’s all I think about’ attracted to you.”
Her words seemed to cast a spell on him. He was frozen with a half-smile on his face.
“Like I said, I’m not ready to have any sort of relationship, but I can’t help the way I feel. That doesn’t mean we—you—have to do anything about it. In fact, wipe your memories clean of all this doable talk. We can go out a couple more times before the gala. Or not or—”
“Hush it, woman.” His hands were still on her shoulders and he squeezed hard enough to get her to look up at him. What she saw both scared and excited her. The heat level in his eyes registered at inferno. “What if I don’t want to forget?”
Instead of enduring the uncertainty in silence as she might have done once, she asked, “What does that mean exactly?”
“It means I’m not good at relationships either, so if you want to mess around, I can oblige you.” He didn’t say it in an Al Green Let’s Get It On voice and the difference in his melancholy tone and the sentiment rattled her.
“How could I say no to such a romantic offer?” She chuffed and took a step back.
He slid one hand from her shoulder to her nape, gently massaging. “Bad choice of words. This is what I know. I ache every hour of the day for you.” He tangl
ed his fingers in her hair and held fast, the tug sending go signals to her body. “I wanted you that very first night when we kissed on your porch, but I didn’t want to take advantage of you. We both have to go into this with wide-open eyes. That way no one gets hurt.”
He backed her up against her desk, and she was grateful both for the support and the fact there was nowhere to retreat. She was in uncharted territory. If the response of her body was any indicator, she liked the way he talked to her. A lot. In fact, he’d broken the gauge she used to measure sexy.
There was so much she wanted to say, but the same old fears and constraints tied her tongue. Is that the way she wanted to live the rest of her life? She wanted to jump but didn’t want to see the fall, and closed her eyes. “I want you too, Wyatt. So bad.”
“Tell me.” His lips tickled her ear and sent shivers racing down her neck and tightening her nipples. He wedged a knee between hers, and she wrapped her leg high on his thigh as if they were performing the steps of a practiced dance.
“I want you to touch me—” A vibration against her thigh made her gasp. Shouldn’t that sort of sensation be taking place about six inches to the right? It vibrated again.
Wyatt pulled out his phone and dropped his forehead to her shoulder, a guttural sound of frustration coming from his throat. “Jackson is probably outside honking.”
If the fire alarm sounded, she wasn’t sure if her legs would have supported her out the building. “You’d better go then.”
He took a step back and pointed at her. “Tonight. I’ll be here at closing time.”
He backed out of her office, and after raking his clothes-stripping gaze up and down her body, disappeared. The bell over the door chimed faintly, and she stumbled around to the other side of her desk and collapsed in the chair.
Tonight. The culmination of days and nights of fantasies was going to come to a head tonight. Come to a head. Laughter, one part euphoric, three parts nerves, stuttered out at her slip. She reviewed everything he’d said. No one, certainly not Andrew, had ever said such things to her.
Something niggled though, and it was only that afternoon that it registered. He’d said he wasn’t good at relationships, not that he didn’t want one.
Chapter Fourteen
“So, tonight?” Sutton closed out the register, and Wyatt followed her through to her office.
She squatted in front of a safe and zippered the money into a bank bag. Her skirt billowed on the floor, making for a pretty picture. As she closed the safe door, she smiled up at him, her eyes alight with something he couldn’t define.
But, by God, he hoped he’d put that light in her eyes. Warning flares shot off. He was treading into dangerous territory. Jackson had warned him. Yet Wyatt couldn’t stop. He wanted her any way he could get her. If that was only for a little while, then he needed to make his time count.
The only problem was he was exhausted. Exhausted from a long week of work and worry. A similar strain had showed around Jackson’s eyes that evening as they’d cleaned and put away their tools. The situation with Ford had the feel of an unexploded bomb. Wyatt’s only hope was that it was a dud, and things would settle down soon.
She rose, her smile morphing into thoughtfulness. “You’re tired.”
He let go of his mask. “Exhausted. You must think I’m all talk and no action.”
She turned away to straighten papers on the desk. “I don’t want whatever this is to feel like an obligation. I’m not a charity case.”
Aw, hell. The hurt in her voice was like a foot-long papercut on his heart. “You’re not an obligation or a chore, believe me. What do you normally do on a Friday night?”
Why had he asked that? She and Andrew had probably had a standing date. He moved to her side, crossed his arms, and leaned back against the desk so he could evaluate her reaction.
“You’re going to think I’m pathetic. And boring.” Her voice didn’t betray her, but he knew she was sensitive about being both.
“Boring gets a bad rap. So does the color beige.” He winked, sparking amusement in her eyes, and his tension ticked down a notch. “Anyway, after the day I’ve had, boring sounds perfect.”
“What happened?” She turned, her focus switching from inward to him in a blink. Her breast brushed his biceps, and it clenched instinctively.
“The usual family problems.”
“So it’s okay for you to know intimate details about the implosion of my engagement, but you won’t share your family problems?”
He bit his bottom lip and noticed her gaze drop to the movement. The awareness that simmered between them flared. “I’ll tell you everything, but we have to do whatever you normally do on a Friday night.”
When she looked back up at him, her eyes were dancing. “Remember what I said about my standing date with my couch and junk food? I wasn’t joking. Let’s head to my place.”
He followed her home and parked on the street. By the time she’d gathered her things from the car, he was waiting on her porch. Once inside, instead of dumping everything on the floor which was her instinct, she stashed her purse in a closet and disappeared down a hall, her voice fading with her retreat. “Make yourself comfortable.”
He tucked his hands into the front pockets of his jeans and bypassed what appeared to be an even taller stack of fabrics than last time to peruse the built-in bookcases. Mystery and true crime books were interspersed with romances and fantasy paperbacks. All in alphabetical order like a library. He enjoyed reading too, although mostly car magazines or service manuals.
“I love to read.” Her voice had him turning around. “But sewing has taken over my free time.”
She had changed out of her high-end work clothes into a tank top that hugged her curves and cotton boxer-style shorts. Her hair was loose around her shoulders, and her face was make-up free, but her cheeks were pink from the scrubbing and her eyes were just as big and bright without mascara.
She looked natural and fresh and like someone who’d be happy hanging out in a garage or renovated barn or hiking through the woods hunting for peace. Wyatt’s stomach took a swan dive. He opened his mouth, but no words formed in his addled brain.
Her shoulders scrunched toward her ears, and she rubbed her arm. “This is how I like to hang out. Take it or leave it.”
The combination of lilting uncertainty and defiance had him taking a step toward her and then another. “Trust me, I’ll take it.”
The innuendo in his voice couldn’t penetrate her innate shyness, yet her chin rose to keep their gazes locked. “You’re making fun of me.”
He rubbed a piece of hair that had been teasing her cheek between his fingers, the softness startling. “You look real pretty in your dresses and heels, but I like you a little messy and wild. Makes me feel like I’m home.”
Her eyes flared. Damn, had he revealed too much? Her smile banished his worries. He didn’t care how far the fall or how messy the impact when she smiled at him like that.
“Take your boots off and get comfy.” While he did her biding, she cued up a screen with a list of movies. “See if anything catches your eye while I make us some popcorn.”
He took the remote and relaxed back into the couch. Noises from the kitchen distracted him—the familiar sound of popcorn but also her sing-humming to herself, off-key enough to make the tune unrecognizable. Every new facet she revealed fascinated him.
She was the polished trendsetter of Cottonbloom, Mississippi, talented designer, successful business owner, and daughter of a prominent judge. But she was also a woman who blushed easily, couldn’t carry a tune, and liked to hang out at home on Friday nights. He was still smiling when she walked in with a bowl of popcorn and shaking a bag of candy.
“Are you ready to get super wild? Because it’s about to get crazy up in this joint.” She ripped the candy bag open with her teeth, poured the candy over the popcorn, and then tossed the empty bag over her shoulder. She hesitated, her eyes shifting to the side.
“You
really want to put that bag in the trash, don’t you?”
Rolling her eyes and with a self-deprecating laugh, she handed him the bowl, grabbed the bag, and disappeared into the kitchen, coming back empty-handed. “Sorry, but I like having a tidy, well-organized place.”
He took a handful of candy-infused popcorn. “Again with the apologies. You think Abigail’s would be half as successful if you weren’t incredibly organized”
“Probably not.”
She settled into the crook of his arm as if it were completely natural. And, it was, wasn’t it? They were taking things from fake to real. Except they had hadn’t discussed the looming expiration date. Fun, they were having fun. If he told himself enough, maybe he’d believe that’s all it was.
“You’d better eat that before the chocolate melts in your hand.” She tapped his wrist.
The salty-sweetness hit his mouth like an explosion of goodness, and he reached for more, grunting his approval.
She took a daintier portion and flipped through movie choices with the remote. “I assume your family drama revolves around Ford.”
“Have you had the chance to ask around about him looking for a buyer?” He tensed as if waiting for a kill shot.
“Daddy hasn’t heard anything, and he knows everyone.”
Wyatt laid his head back on the couch and stared at the ceiling. That was good. Ford’s threats could very well be all bluster. “It’s been like walking on egg shells at the garage all week. Ford and Mack get on like gators in a bathtub. Always have.”
“Can’t they find a way to compromise?”
“Problem is they don’t agree on anything. Not how to run the garage or build the business. Ford wants to schmooze customers, promise things we may not be able to deliver. Mack takes a hard, honest line that sometimes turns people off when they’re used to salesmanship.”
“Sounds like you need 90% Mack and 10% Ford.”
“More like 0.001% Ford,” he said with a chuckle that died as his brain limped around his family’s problems, slower than normal. “Ford never had an interest in the garage. Not even as a kid when it was like our Hot Wheels toys come to life. But Pop couldn’t let him find his own way. Couldn’t understand why Ford of all of us—the oldest, the one he doted on—didn’t care.”
Leave the Night On Page 18