Then He Kissed Me

by Christie Ridgway

  Instead of being satisfied with what had happened last night and relieved at avoiding all the potential after-orgasm complications, her actions had left him frustrated.

  His appetite was whetted. He wanted to see her. He was hungry to see her and disappointed that she’d left him like this.

  Like the way a man leaves a one-night stand.

  Damn it!

  He swung his legs out of bed, cursing her, him, the combustible chemistry that was the two of them together. Yesterday he’d anticipated a lighthearted little fling, a way to scratch an itch and get a craving out of his system, and now he knew - despite her pithy, pitiful note - that he wasn’t done with Stevie.

  If he’d followed his usual MO, he would have enjoyed a mutually pleasurable event in her bed and gone off alone. But because of that panic attack or some special Stevie - power or other odd unnamable, after coming he’d fallen asleep in her bed and then she’d turned the tables, leaving him.

  His fingers uncurled from the balled paper and he smoothed it out, compelled to make sure he hadn’t missed some subtle signal. He studied the page, turning it over, turning it upside-down, but there was nothing new.

  Had an airport pickup.

  Oh, hell! he thought, a new thought piercing his rattled brain. He had an airport pickup to make today, too. Scrambling around for his clothes, he tried figuring out how it had come to this. For a man who liked his relationships casual and his women at arm’s distance, female complications appeared ready to take over his life.

  *****

  After back-to-back airport passenger pickups and deliveries, it was late afternoon by the time Stevie dropped off her last party. Now she didn’t know what to do with herself and so she settled on wandering downtown Edenville. Browsing the shops that bordered the city square was safer than either returning to the winery or hanging out at her limo service headquarters. At either place, it was possible she’d encounter Jack. She didn’t want to encounter Jack.

  Because what she didn’t know was how to do post-sex like a man.

  Men never agonized about an awkward morning-after, did they? You never heard them confess to a self-conscious heat rising to their faces when they happened upon the previous night’s object-of-lust.

  It was entirely possible that men didn’t blush, damn them.

  The scents in the organic bath-works shop made her sneeze, so she ducked into the small cookware place next door. Its narrow aisles were crammed with everything from ladles to latté machines, knife sets to nutpicks, aprons to asparagus steamers.

  She was flipping through a stack of blank recipe cards when she heard a man call her name. Her stomach flipped as heat bloomed on her skin. She turned.

  “Emerson,” she said, keeping her groan to herself. He was a close second in her Persons-I’d-Rather-Not-Run-Into contest. But this was Edenville and there were busybodies everywhere. It wouldn’t do to be seen running away from the man. Glancing out the store’s plate-glass window to see who might be passing by, she sketched him a small wave. “Uh, I’ve got to go.”

  But he already had a hand on her elbow. “Not until you help me pick out a gift,” he said, tugging her into the next aisle that put them even more on display to those traversing the wide sidewalk. “What do you think? There’s these designer spatulas or this extra small-sized silicone oven mitt.”

  She blinked. “Are you choosing a gift for the family housekeeper?”

  “No, no. For Roxanne.” His expression turned sheepish. “I do realize it’s not the most romantic kind of present, but I thought I’d select something that would show my commitment to our new life together. I don’t think I’ve been communicating that clearly enough lately.”

  Put like that, she supposed he didn’t seem quite so doltish. “Still…” Wouldn’t lingerie or jewelry or even a box of hand-dipped chocolates be more appreciated?

  But hey, it wasn’t up to Stevie to promote relationship health between her ex and his princess. She reached for a mesh tube filled with sink scrubbies in rainbow colors and handed it over to him. “Nothing says ‘I can’t wait to marry you’ more than a tool designed to remove stains from your porcelain.”

  Emerson gave the purple scrubbie a testing squeeze. “Really?”

  Hell, she couldn’t go through with it. “No,” she said, snatching the item out of his hand and rolling her eyes. “I must say that I didn’t know love could make a man quite so stupid.”

  Instead of taking offense, Emerson sighed. “You think that’s it? You think I’m in love?”

  She stared at him. “What?”

  “You know me, Steve. Maybe better than anyone. Do I seem like myself?”

  “Not now you don’t.” Without thinking, she reached up to smooth a funky cowlick springing up at the crown of his head. Emerson was usually so wellgroomed. “What’s wrong with your hair?”

  His hand tried smoothing it himself. “The Glop isn’t working,” he said, his voice morose. “I don’t know what’s next. Kindergarten paste?”

  She glanced out the shop window again, wondering if men in little white coats were hovering nearby, waiting for their latest patient to emerge from his shopping excursion. “Emerson, maybe you need a cup of coffee or a candy bar. Something.”

  “I need answers.” Reaching out, he gripped her shoulders and pulled her close. “Stevie, you gotta tell me.”

  “Tell you what?”

  His fingers tightened and his eyes bored into hers. “Can it be real? I had this instant alertness, you know? A sense of … well, under other circumstances you might call it doom.” He let out a raw laugh. “Because it was as if I recognized her somehow and I knew that from then on my life was never going to be the same.”

  Stevie recalled New Year’s Eve. Her immediate interest in the dark figure exiting the resort. The way she’d studied the man she now knew was Jack, the shiver she’d felt tracking down her spine when she was sure he was studying her in return.

  How she worried he might wound her.

  “I know what you mean,” she murmured absently, looking over Emerson’s shoulder and out the plate-glass window without really seeing any of the passersby. Her mind remained fixed on that very first night. She remembered Jack sliding along the front seat of the limo. His scent. His leg nudging hers and the way that simple touch shot through her system, causing that weird hiccup in her breathing. “Though I haven’t a clue what to call it.”

  “Love,” Emerson supplied.

  “What?” Her gaze jumped to his.

  “That’s what I’m talking about,” he continued. “I’m actually looking for a little reassurance here. I’ve been doubting myself. You know, wondering if it could be real, when it happened so hard, so fast.”

  Ice invaded her veins. “That’s not love!” It couldn’t be. It wasn’t.

  Emerson frowned, his hands still gripping her shoulders. “Yes, it sounds like a storybook, but it happened to you, too, Steve. You knew Jack for … what five days? And then -”

  “I happen upon my brother-in-law-to-be,” a silky male voice said from behind her, “manhandling my -”

  “Darling!” A woman’s voice gushed.

  Emerson turned, his hands dropping to his sides. He was immediately enveloped in the embrace of a tall, platinum-haired woman while Jack looked on, wearing a bemused expression. The trio stood between Stevie and the shop’s exit, leaving her no choice but to scurry in retreat to the rear aisle.

  From between a stack of Julia Child’s The Way to Cook and cork coasters shaped like grape leaves, she played Peeping Thomasina. The blonde’s back was turned to Stevie, but even so, she clearly had the figure of a stunner. She was chattering away, one hand on Emerson’s forearm, while her other was tucked in the crook of Jack’s elbow. A lover?

  As if he heard her question, he glanced around and she ducked her head, grabbing a copy of Child’s title. On page twelve it described how to prepare cream of corn soup. For a few moments, she pretended to purée Jack instead of the yellow kernels.


  A mouth touched her temple. A voice murmured in her ear. “You left me to make the walk of shame alone.”

  She whirled, then caught his amused smile.

  “Yeah, as if men do the walk of shame,” she retorted, putting space between them. They didn’t blush, they didn’t shame, and while that all seemed like a fine example to her, she could feel embarrassment creeping over her skin anyway.

  Last night she’d ground herself against him in wild abandon. He probably thought she was desperate.

  “I wanted to take my time with you, mon ange,” he murmured now. “It was over so quickly…”

  Yes, desperate.

  She moved a little farther from him, even as she shot a look at the woman he’d accompanied into the shop. “You can thank me, as it looks as if you’re a pretty busy guy.”

  He followed her gaze, grimacing. “That’s exactly why I need a do-over for last night’s missed dinner. Without some other distraction, being at her beck and call will send me straight over the edge.”

  She glared at him. “I’m not something you use to avoid your … your…”

  “Mother.” Jack turned her to face him fully, a smile hovering on his lips. “You realize that’s who that is, don’t you?”

  “I don’t care who it is.” His mother? She peered at the other woman and now had a better view. Tall, buxom, blond, but definitely not a young woman. Her outfit was chic: dark jeans, boots, a navy blue blazer over a silk shirt. There were tasteful diamond-edged hoops in her ears and…

  “Is that a crown on her head?” she asked Jack, her eyes wide.

  “I wish I could deny it,” he said. “Roxy and I have tried for years, but…”

  It wasn’t ostentatious, not really, but holding back her platinum hair like a headband was a simple, diamond-edged tiara. “Wow,” Stevie said. “I guess she takes the Queen of Ardenia thing seriously.”

  “If only it were that,” Jack replied. “This affectation is actually a throwback to her pageant days.”

  A squeal came from the woman in question and she tented both hands over her mouth, as if she’d just been announced Miss Universe. “Jack?” she called out. “Jackie-boy?”

  “Oh, God.”

  Stevie slanted him a look, not bothering to suppress her little grin. ‘Jackie-boy’?”

  “Just wait,” he murmured.

  Glancing around her, his mother raised her voice. “Where are you, darling? Emerson says you’re engaged?”

  “Oh, God.” It was Stevie who prayed this time. “Oh, God, I hadn’t really thought … I never took it this far in my head…” Though she’d told Allie and then Jules the truth, she’d not refuted the lie in front of the Platts and had even counted on the news making the rounds of Edenville, depending upon it to squelch the persistent rumor that she was pining over Emerson.

  But beyond that, she’d not fully considered the ramifications.

  “I’m an idiot.” She turned to him. “What the hell are we going to do?”

  “What we were going to do from the first. Keep the fantasy going and then later, after Roxy’s safely married, break it off.”

  “I’m really looking forward to that,” she said, with feeling.

  He grinned. “No doubt. But for now…” Taking her hand, he tried towing her forward.

  She dug in her heels. “No! Not now! I can’t -”

  And then her body was enveloped in a warm, scented embrace. Jack’s mother was slightly taller than Stevie and she had to bend a little to kiss her once on each cheek. She laughed, then said, “That’s enough of the European bullshit,” and swept her in for another lavish hug.

  Once released, Stevie felt a little dazed. “Uh … nice to meet you, uh, ma’am.” Was she supposed to curtsy or something? She glanced at Jack, who looked much too attractive with a glitter of laughter in his eyes.

  “This is Stephania Baci, Mom,” he said. “Stevie, this is my mother, Her -”

  “Oh, stuff it, Jack. Don’t try that crap on my pretty American friend.” She grabbed Stevie’s hand and squeezed. “I’m Rayette - after my daddy, Ray, of course - and my favorite title is my very first - Junior Miss Vidalia Onion. I was named that at eleven. Later, I went on to be Miss Georgia Peaches & Pralines, and after being crowned in Atlanta, I traveled to Ardenia and met Jack’s father. He was a stubborn, handsome son of a bitch - still is - and the ass wouldn’t let me leave the borders unless I married him.”

  It was really too much to take in. Rayette was stunning, gregarious, and talked like a truck driver. “Uh…”

  Jack was openly laughing now. “Mom, I think you’re shocking poor Stevie.”

  His mother rounded on him. “Now why would that be? Shocked that I called your father stubborn? You’re exactly like him in that way, as I’m sure she’s already found out for herself.” Then she gazed back at Stevie. “Now, when can I meet your parents?”

  “I…” Shaking her head, Stevie just went with the truth. ”Unfortunately, you can’t. My father passed away last year and my mother … a long time ago.”

  “Then I will stand in for her, starting today,” Rayette declared.

  Jack cleared his throat. “Mom…”

  She ignored him as she studied Stevie. “You are such a pretty girl. Strong cheekbones, long eyelashes, that cute pointed chin. In the pageant circuit we called those lips you have a ‘blow-job mouth.’ Automatically doubled your points in the appearance category from the male judges. Those dirty old men got all riled up around girls with mouths like that.”

  Mom. Jack had his hand over his eyes.

  “Well, it’s true.”

  Stevie found herself laughing despite the awkward situation. For a second, she supposed that the queen might be the kind of woman who wouldn’t mind a little girl wandering the house with grape-stained clothes and a collection of rocks.

  Rayette beamed at her. “This is going to be wonderful. We’ll all have dinner together tonight. You’ll tell me about your wedding dreams, we’ll think about dresses and trains … I always like a dramatic cathedral length, don’t you? Roxanne has insisted I’m completely hands-off when it comes to her big day - both my damn children can be so hellishly stubborn like their father - but you don’t have a mother, so maybe you’ll let me do for you what she…”

  Stevie’s laughter had died several sentences ago and she moved closer to Jack, clutching his wrist. Save me, she telegraphed.

  “Mom. Mom.”

  She broke off, frowned at Jack. “What?”

  “I’m sure Roxy and Emerson expect your full attention tonight. Why don’t you focus on their wedding first?”

  She waved a beringed hand. Her manicure was perfect. Maybe, Stevie thought, she wouldn’t overlook grape stains after all.

  “Jack, I can focus on both! I can focus on many things at once!” She smiled at Stevie. “My husband says I’m like a spider, I have eight eyes and they’re looking everywhere. I like spiders, but I tell him he’s damn lucky I’m not some black widow. So about tonight -”

  “I can’t make it tonight,” Stevie said quickly. “I’m sorry.”

  “No?” The older woman frowned, but then her gaze caught on Jack’s. “Ah. Oh. Well.”

  Stevie shot him a warning glance, but he ignored her to slide an arm around her shoulders. He nuzzled her temple again. “You read my mind, Mom.”

  “It wasn’t that hard,” his mother responded drily. “In my experience, men’s thoughts rarely stray from a single track.”

  “Well, you guessed right. Stevie and I have special plans of our own this evening.”

  No, they didn’t. Her jaw dropping, she half turned under the tight grip of his hand. Hadn’t she made clear they would be together like that one time only? One sex-like-a-man time.

  His mother had wandered away to look for Emerson when Stevie rediscovered her voice. “Listen, Jack -”

  “You wouldn’t want to make a liar out of me, darlin’.” The Southern Man had reemerged, likely due to his mother’s own impossible-to-ignore accent
.

  Stevie bristled. “Oh, I certainly -”

  His hand clamped over her lips, muffling her protest. “Mom’s only half right about that blow-job mouth. I’d quadruple your points in the appearance category.”

  The comment left her speechless. And allowed him - the man she’d meant to avoid - to hustle her out of the shop.

  Then He Kissed Me

  12

  ************************************************************************************************

  It was raining again, the sky so low that the clouds seemed to hover at head level. With Jack at her heels, Stevie ran across the parking lot that served both Edenville Motor Repair and Napa Princess Limousine. At the rear of the lot was a stucco two-story duplex, half of which she owned. Her bedroom was on the second level and she operated her business from the kitchen table.

  Unlocking the front door, she glanced behind her. “I still don’t know why you’re here.”

  “We’re going for a second try at that dinner we missed.” Jack shrugged. “You said you wanted to change clothes, and -”

  “My clothes.” She’d wanted to change because before that dinner she also had an after-five meeting at the winery, but now it registered that she’d met Jack’s mother in her black-and-white driver wear. “Do you think Emerson told your mom what I do for a living?” That her son is engaged to a chauffeur?

  He shrugged again as he followed her over the threshold. “Why does it matter? My mother spent her formative years working in a business that had her spreading Vaseline on her teeth and super-gluing her bathing suit to her butt. She’s not one to judge. My father, on the other hand…”

  She didn’t insist he elaborate. “Stay here,” she said, pointing to the kitchen. “I’ll be right back.”

  With a man downstairs, her closet turned into a fabric jungle-hot, tangled, and dangerous. “Why did I agree to go out with him again?” she mumbled to a leather belt coiled like a python around a hanger.

  Because they’d missed their dinner the night before, he’d reasoned.