by Lia Riley
Rhett nodded. “I haven’t seen her equal.”
“She marched to her own drummer. No way was she ever going to be content as a sorority president. Back then girls weren’t allowed on the sail team. There was no co-ed. During a summer in college, she met my dad on her first solo sail to Bermuda. He tended bar at a dive near the marina. They should’ve had nothing in common, but something clicked while he fixed her a Rum Swizzle. And the rest, as they say, is history.”
Beau settled his elbows on the table. All eyes were on him. Lou Ellen’s mouth was practically on the table. That’s the most he’d said all at once at one of these dinners, ever.
He continued, his gaze trained on Tuesday. “Mama wanted me to grow up in her hometown, put down roots. Dad got along with most folks in town, but Bermuda was in his blood. After I went off to college, they signed the deed to Belle Mont over to me and downsized to a condo back on the island, not far from all his people. They spend six months a year bouncing around the Caribbean, two of the happiest people I know.” He smiled around the table. “Present company excluded.”
“A toast.” Cedric raised his glass. “To love. To those who found it and those of us poor souls who are still searching.”
“Hey, us singles aren’t that bad off.” Ginger shrugged. “We still get to look forward to our first kisses.” She gave a dreamy sigh. “There’s nothing like a first kiss, is there?”
At the mention of the word “kiss,” Tuesday sneezed three times so loudly that Pepper and Rhett’s four dogs, Faulkner, Steinbeck, Fitzgerald, and Kitty, broke into uneasy howls.
“Oh, my nerves,” Lou Ellen gasped. “Do they have to be so loud?”
“It was a very nice toast,” Ginger reassured Cedric over the din.
“Certainly was.” Rhett slid back his chair. “And aren’t I supposed to be topping a few of you off?”
“Hold that thought.” Tuesday jumped up so fast she knocked the table edge; the floral arrangement in the middle tilted precariously before Cedric got it righted. “Oops. But you sit down, Dr. Valentine, and keep making more of those googly eyes with your gorgeous fiancée. I’ll get the drinks.” She poked Beau in the shoulder and announced, “And the mayor will continue his commitment to community service by helping me.”
The rational part of Beau’s brain registered that everyone around the table blinked in unison. Tuesday might be an actress, but at the present moment she wasn’t a study in subtlety. And even still, his senses were heightened, her casual touch sending acute waves of sensation through his core, flooding his groin in heat.
“Be right there,” he said, clearing his throat, keeping a cloth napkin casually positioned over his hardening cock as he rose and followed her into the kitchen with horrified amusement, two contradictory emotions that he was beginning to realize were commonplace near Tuesday, and not altogether enjoyable.
But this situation was new, and confusing, and he didn’t want it to be on grand display. Especially with Lou Ellen, who’d be telling half of Everland what transpired tonight on the drive home and the other half at the coffee shop in the morning.
Once around the corner, safely out of sight in the kitchen, he paused, bracing his hands on the counter, letting the cool granite seep into his hot palms. “They’re onto us.”
“I’m sorry. I am so rattled,” she whispered back with a grimace, collapsing against the fridge. “What do we do?”
“We?” Beau hadn’t been a “we” in years, and even then he and Jacqueline had never felt all that much like a “we.” “We get the drinks like you said. You have one. Two maybe. Then we eat.”
“Good, yes.” She nodded. “I can do that.” She took a deep breath. “Get the drinks. Drink a drink. Eat. And that comment I made about cyborgs. I hope you know I was kidding. I mean, of course you had parents—”
“Two very nice ones.”
“They’re still together?” Tuesday’s voice took on a wistful tone.
He pulled out a few beers with a nod. “Yeah. For over thirty-five years.”
“Impressive.”
“They make it look easy.” His parents had that way about them, a kind of hand-holding, easy back-and-forth relationship that made other people want it, too. He’d thought their marriage was normal, what everybody had, and when he’d first met Jacqueline it had felt easy, too. Sexy. Fun. Addictive.
Until it didn’t.
No fairy tale ever said that you could fall in love and get it wrong, that it could be a battle that became a protracted war with no clear winners and losers. That something that seemed for a fleeting moment so right could go horribly wrong.
“My parents married for bad reasons,” she said. “They couldn’t keep their hands off each other.” She grimaced. “I can remember as a little kid they were always kissing and hugging. I thought it was so gross. But they were too different. They might have had the attraction, but nothing went deeper. No roots, so it was easy to pluck out.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“That’s life, right? Not enough happy endings to go around.”
He frowned, despite her flippant tone, there was a flash of hurt in her eyes, a pain quickly hidden behind a blithe smile. The ringing of his phone cut the silence. He glanced at his hands, each clutching a beer. “Mind reaching into my pocket and getting that?”
She glanced at his waist, cheeks flushing. “It seems intimate.”
“It’s after hours. If someone’s calling, it’s probably important.”
“What could possibly be happening? The high school quarterback climbed the water tower and got stuck? An armadillo wandered onto Main Street and held up traffic? This is Everland and we’re at a dinner party.” She crossed her arms. “Relax. Take the night off.”
“I don’t have that kind of job where you punch in and punch out.” He had three more rings until it went to voice mail. “Please.”
Her face softened at the “please.” “Ugh. Fine.” She reached for the pocket that held her panties. Shit. His mind whirled as his heart stopped, and a sense of dizziness overtook him, ready to tumble him into a rabbit hole of panic.
“Never mind,” he growled, stopping her in her tracks.
She arched a brow. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
He stepped back. “It means never mind.”
“What? You ticklish?” she asked, amused and alarmingly inquisitive.
“Yeah, something like that.” He wasn’t, but if she pulled out her white thong, she’d forever peg him as a pervert. “Forget about it.”
“Stop being a big ol’ baby man.” Her hand dipped into his phone pocket. All that separated her fingers from his thigh muscles was cotton. “Although…baby? Man? Guess that’s redundant.”
Blood whooshed into his groin. Fuck. Disaster wasn’t quite averted.
She glanced at the screen and smirked. “Humph Miller? Is that an actual name someone gave their child? Oh, darling,” she mimicked in a high-pitched Mary Poppins voice. “Why, I do declare, he looks just like a Humph.”
The phone stopped ringing. Shit. Humph was a pain in the ass, but he only ever called with a purpose.
“Humphrey,” he bit out. “His name is Humphrey.”
1 new message lit up on his screen.
“Looks like Humphrey can wait until after we eat.”
He met her brow arch with one of his own. “You’re more annoying than Janice in the Water Department, and she replies all to every e-mail.”
She slipped his phone back into his pocket and the edge grazed his growing erection. He swallowed a groan, his breath uneven.
She leaned in close, lips grazing his neck. “What do you want to bet that you’re notorious for marking every e-mail as ‘high importance’?”
“Hey-o! Those drinks coming sometime this century or what?” The General’s baritone boomed from the dining room. “I’m thirstier than a camel in a turtleneck sweater.”
Her low chuckle hit his skin in a soft puff.
Something growled. Shi
t. It was him. His body tensed, his heart thundering in his chest as she walked out of the kitchen murmuring, “Six points for Gryffindor.”
Whatever that meant.
For the next hour and a half he tried to think about everything from sports scores to the agenda for tomorrow night’s city council meeting, anything that wasn’t the feel of Tuesday’s lips grazing his neck. Over dessert she offered breathless, husky moans while devouring his chocolate cake slow bite by slow bite.
He snuck her a sideways glance only to find her staring back.
“So good,” she murmured.
God help him he wanted to knock everything off the table, rip off her top, peel off that tiny sundress, nudge apart her sweet thighs, and see what other sounds she was capable producing. She thought his cake was good? Wait until his imagination got cooking.
His knees twitched, sweat prickling the back of his neck as agitation set in. He needed to get a grip. His body might be ready to rut Tuesday into tomorrow, but his mind sought to cut and run, jump on his bike, and hightail it to safety. He’d just begun to string together an urgent excuse to leave when Pepper suggested everyone move into the living room to play old-fashioned parlor games. Cedric suggested charades, and everyone agreed, getting up from the table.
Five minutes later, they were all resituated with fresh drinks in hand.
“What fun! Why, I haven’t played charades since Girl Scout camp way back when.” Lou Ellen rested her head on Snapper’s shoulder, snuggling into the love seat.
“I’ve never played,” Beau said flatly, kneeling by the television. He was trapped in a hell of the sweetest kind, but it was hell nevertheless.
The source of his torment gave a disbelieving gasp, plopping next to him. “What do you do during the winter?” Tuesday asked.
“It rains for a few days, and sometimes we have to put on a sweater. Otherwise it’s probably the same as a New England summer,”
She had a small smudge of chocolate on the corner of her bottom lip, so small no one would notice, unless they made a careful study of her mouth.
Pepper explained the rules in her no-nonsense lawyer tone while passing out thin slips of precut paper. “You write down ideas, like famous quotations”—she pantomimed quotes signs in the air—“movies”—pretended to look through a lens and crank an old-fashioned camera—“books”—pretended to read—“plays”—she made a flamboyant gesture—“songs”—she feigned bursting into song—“and finally…television shows.” She made a box with her fingers.
Rhett burst into spontaneous applause, and she leaned down to plant a kiss on his forehead with a giggle, “Aw, thanks, baby.”
Beau’s gut worked itself into a knot. Look how Pepper and Rhett made being happy look easy. So did Lou Ellen and Snapper, snuggled on the love seat, and the General and the Colonel, sprawled on the green striped couch. Even Ginger and Cedric appeared comfortable sitting cross-legged on the ground.
He and Tuesday sat cross-legged, their knees a hairbreadth apart.
They weren’t easy. They were…He didn’t know.
But, God help him, he wanted to find out.
Chapter Eight
What made Beau’s hands intriguing? Tuesday couldn’t tear her gaze from the broad knuckles and visible veins. If he gestured just so, palms out, rough calluses appeared, lining the pads. No doubt hard-won through sailing and fodder for dirty fantasies as he stood in the center of the living room rug and pressed his middle and pointer fingers together to make a box.
“Okay, what do we got here? A television show,” the Colonel muttered under his breath, kneading his temples. “Our Netflix addiction might finally come in handy.”
Beau held up three fingers.
“Three words?” the General mused, crossing a leg and leaning forward. “I Love Lucy! Will & Grace! Beverly Hills, 90210?”
Beau shook his head.
“Don’t stand there staring like a blind bat. Do something,” Lou Ellen ordered, scooting to the edge of her seat.
Beau curled his lips back, baring his straight white teeth.
“Vampire!” Tuesday shouted before she had time to think.
Beau nodded and waved his three fingers.
“Oh!” She clapped her hands. “The Vampire Diaries! Too easy.”
“Got it.” Beau flashed a thumbs-up, and she threw her arms into a victory V.
“What? How?” Pepper swiveled her disbelieving gaze between them. “Did you peek? That was impossible.”
“What can I say?” Tuesday shimmied in her seat. “I’ve got the gift.” Easier to gloat than be startled at her strange telepathy with the mayor.
“A gift, huh?” Beau took his seat and glanced over, the rare twinkle in his eye replacing his usual penetrating stare. “What’s it called. Humbleness?”
“Did you just make a joke, Mayor Marino? Quick, someone check out the window and tell me if there’s a flying pig.” Hearing Beau speak fluent sarcasm was unsettling. Her sanity found it much easier to keep him in a sexy-but-too-stiff-and-bossy box. Watching him willing to look silly while playing a parlor game was a whole other receptacle. Her abdominal muscles tightened as if bracing for a sudden impact. She’d been so certain that she had this man pegged—more evidence that she didn’t know how to read someone.
But he didn’t have a slick veneer of charm like Philip. No, he wore his faults on his overstarched sleeve. Not a bad boy but also not laid-back or funny.
Charades carried on and everyone took another turn. When it circled back to Beau, he got up and placed his hands on either side of his mouth.
“A song? A song. A song. Okay, Snapper, you love music. You got this, sugar.” Lou Ellen executed a quick but complicated cheerleading-routine clap.
“Here we go.” Beau held up eight fingers with a grin.
“Eight words? This is going to be a mouthful.” Ginger flopped back against the couch, her riotous black curls bouncing around her chin.
Beau slapped his chest, then stared around the room.
Everyone returned the stare with confused expressions.
“Tarzan?” Cedric ventured.
“You might need to work on your math skills, History Boy,” Ginger said with a good-natured chuckle.
Beau slapped his chest again.
Tuesday mashed her lips together and shifted in her seat. Bless his heart, as they said down here. Beau Marino might be as sexy as heck. He might even be an amazing elected official. But there was one thing he was not.
A good actor.
He pulled his brows together and glowered, jabbing a finger to his forehead, face screwed in concentration.
The answer struck faster than a midsummer lightning storm. “When I Think About You I Touch Myself!” she blurted, jumping to her feet and throwing up her arm in a high-five.
“Bingo!” Beau slapped her back, his fingers interlacing with hers for a fraction of a second before he readjusted his jacket and turned his attentions to the map of Georgia pinned to the far wall. “How’d you guess?”
She didn’t have a pat answer. It was like she’d read his mind.
“I say, that was uncanny.” Cedric swigged his dark beer, stating the obvious.
“Downright spooky if you ask me,” Lou Ellen added. “Technically it’s “I Touch Myself” but I’ll let it slide given the circumstances.”
Steinbeck, Rhett’s golden retriever, woofed in assent. The other two, Fitzgerald and Faulkner, wagged their tails. Kitty, Pepper’s dog, kept right on snoring.
“Well, now.” The General glanced at his watch. “This has been a hoot, y’all, but we better mosey home and check in on Fido.” Fido was the General’s pet alligator. The Colonel tolerated the animal but made it clear it was his husband’s quirky responsibility.
Kitty, Pepper’s puppy, whined by the back door.
“Yep, it’s getting to be about that time.” Pepper yawned behind her hand. “Hey, Beau, are we still on for lunch tomorrow? I want to get your insight on the shelter’s final building plans befo
re they go to the planning review committee.”
He conferred with her as Tuesday watched from a discreet distance. Imagine being in charge of so much. She barely managed responsibility for J. K. Growling. As much as she hated to admit it, his understated authoritativeness was superlatively sexy.
“Thanks for coming,” Rhett said, handing over her purse and distracting her.
“It was fun.” She meant it. Especially charades. “We should do it again soon.”
“Maybe go French,” Rhett said. “And after dinner we’ll watch Amélie. Pepper’s choice.”
“Ooh la la! Oui, we love that movie!” Tuesday pirouetted. “Maybe this time I’ll get upgraded into bringing something that people can actually consume?” She waggled her eyebrows, trying to stamp out a flicker of annoyance, because guess what? It sucked not to be taken seriously. Sure she was a hot mess, but sometimes it would be nice if the more responsible folk weren’t quite so patronizing. Just because she misplaced her shoes and car keys a few (dozen) times a week didn’t mean she was incompetent in all things.
Her sister didn’t mean to hurt her—even if her words stung—and so she gave her sister a quick squeeze before turning for the door.
“Hey, hold up. I’ll walk you out.” Beau’s comment had a too-studied note of nonchalance.
Pepper and Rhett exchanged a glance. Ginger nudged Cedric.
Yes, Beau Marino was a terrible actor.
But in the grand scheme of things, maybe his transparency went in his favor. It made him the polar opposite of a lying, cheating, Tony-award-winning director who said they were finalizing their divorce when really his wife was on an extended work assignment to Europe. If she asked to go out in public he berated her until she felt like she was the problem. Then said wife came back to surprise said director for his fortieth birthday and claimed Tuesday was a conniving home wrecker rather than dishing a helping of blame on her husband.
Beau wasn’t Philip, but could she trust him?
Her dating track record had been woefully devoid of good guys with the exception of Ryan Shelby in fifth grade, who’d always slipped her his chocolate milk at lunch. Wait, scratch that. Didn’t Ryan Shelby also serve time for mail theft after high school?