by Honor James
That had him looking her way. “You don’t like cookies? How is that even possible?” he asked, dropping a spoon into the milk. Moving to the crock pot on the counter, he lifted the lid and stirred the chili, spreading amazing smells through the kitchen. After tasting it and adding a little something to the pot with another stir, he covered it once more and moved back to the stove to stir the pot of milk.
“It’s not cookies so much as chocolate. It doesn’t like me. If I have too much of it, I will become very ill. I get the shakes, stomach cramps and throw up like crazy. Believe me, I’m not that good with lots of chocolate. Didn’t you wonder when we were kids why I would give you my bags of candy? Silly man,” she said, her tone teasing.
He looked at her and then moved the milk off the burner. “Then you’re definitely not having any hot chocolate. You should have said so right off,” he said quietly. He got two glasses down from the cupboard and slid one across the counter to her, as he nudged the brandy her way. “You want ice?”
“Please.” She shrugged and told him, “I like hot cocoa, I really do, and a mug of it here and there won’t hurt me. But thank you for the straight brandy.” She couldn’t seem to do anything right around this man. No wonder he hated her.
“I’m not feeding you anything that’s going to hurt you. That’s just wrong.” He went to the fridge and came back with a tray of ice. Twisting it in his hands, he dropped a couple into her glass but none in his own. He poured a couple fingers of rum into his glass as he settled on a stool next to her.
She took a drink and looked down at the ice, swirling the amber liquid with the ice. Lifting her head, she looked out the large window and saw the snow falling faster and harder. “What happened?” she asked quietly. “Between us? What caused us to hate each other as much as we do?” She didn’t hate him though. Weird how she just realized that. She had kept her distance at his request, but she didn’t hate him, never had.
She felt him look her way, but didn’t turn her head. His glass came down onto the countertop gently; she could just see it from the corner of her eye. “I haven’t in the past and don’t currently hate you. Never have, doubt I ever will. But,” he moved into her peripheral vision and leaned on the counter with a sigh. “Hell, I don’t know. My mom used to say that we were too much alike, we caused friction, and when it got hot enough we sniped at one another. Her theory anyway, but it sure seems to fit the situation if you think on it.”
She smiled and nodded. “Mom always said that you and I were like oil and oil and all we needed was a match tossed in around us so that we would explode.” She shrugged and took another drink. “It wasn’t always like that. I remember when I was five, you and I played together that whole summer.” Before he realized he was older than her and that he was a boy and she was a, shudder, girl.
He snorted at that. “I remember that. Every now and again, when she comes to visit, and we’re sitting around drinking the good stuff she’ll pull out that photo album. Which reminds me, I really need to move that sucker to a new location so she can’t do it on the next trip. Same summer I broke my arm the first time, two days before back to school.”
“I know. I cried when I saw you at school with a cast.” And from then on he had shut her out. “I didn’t know why you shut me out after that.” She admitted it with a slight shrug of her shoulder. “But that’s long in the past, isn’t it?” She walked to the sink, rinsing out her glass and putting it in the dishwasher. “Now, did you want help with dinner? I might not look it, but I have some crazy skills in the kitchen.”
He just watched her for the longest time, not saying anything or doing more than occasionally blinking. Finally, he threw back the last of his rum and stood. “Dinner’s about done. All I need to do is throw the French loaf into the oven to warm, and we can probably eat. If you want to set the table, I won’t argue. Plates are there, silverware in that drawer and glasses are right behind you.” He pointed to each spot. “There’s also a salad in the fridge and, hopefully, some dressing that hasn’t grown legs in the door.”
“Sounds good.” She laughed and shook her head. “Oh, God, don’t even get me started about salad dressings. I’ve had to get to where I make my own because I swear my fridge adds age to them if I leave them in there.”
“I’d do it but really, I’m not that good of a cook. Mom managed to teach me the basics and with some cheater products on the market I get by where I don’t have to eat out. But anything beyond that I’m hopeless. Apparently I can read a tractor manual and put it together blindfolded, but give me a cookbook, and it’s all foreign to me. Might as well be an alien or ancient dialect for all I know.”
That had her giggling. “And see, I’m the exact opposite. I can cook like a pro, literally I really can, but give me anything to do with the farm or ranch and I’m lost,” she admitted. Shrugging, she realized just how they complemented each other, but pushed that thought right out of her brain before it took root.
He pulled down large bowls that looked a bit like deep plates, and then a couple of smaller plates. “Then you should take a look through the cookbooks in the living room. Some are from my great-grandmother’s time. You at least would know what to do with them. Around here they collect dust and fill up the shelves.”
He was being awfully nice to her, and she couldn’t figure out why. Licking her lips, she frowned at him. “Wouldn’t you want to keep those for when you get married? I’m sure that your wife would want to be able to fix you stuff from your family’s cookbooks.”
“Good Lord, now you’re sounding like my mother,” he said with a glare in her direction. “Besides, I didn’t say you could have them permanently. If, God forbid, I take the plunge into matrimony and the woman actually has a clue about anything beyond nail care and the latest Paris fashions, I might get them back from you. Until then, have at them,” he said, bending to slide the French bread into the oven.
“Thank you. I think?” she added, because she honestly didn’t know if thanking him would just piss him off again or not. “Oh, God, please tell me that your momma isn’t working with the Bridge Club to try to find you a perfect soulmate.” She groaned. “I feel your pain. Oh, God, I so feel your pain.” How the woman could accomplish that from Florida where she lived half the year she didn’t know, but one thing she had learned was that Grant Franklyn’s mother could do just about anything when she and her Bridge Club got together and began to plot and plan.
“She tries, but that’s easy enough to shoot down. Especially since we came to an agreement that I have the right to refusal on sight. She bitches and moans, but she can’t get out of it. I made her sign her name to a very nice and legal agreement. And yes, it will stand up in a court of law, plus if she breaks the agreement I get to take out full-page ads in the various papers of Texas and Florida. With pictures of her in the early years, all images she never wants another soul to see but that I have safely tucked away where she will never get her mitts on them.”
Jackie laughed. “Oh, God, that is priceless! I love it. I wish I could say it was Mom doing it to me, but it’s the ladies of that damn social circle who think that I need a man. Dawn, another of their ringleaders, asked me the other day if I was a lesbian.” Because she hadn’t attacked Grant yet. Oh, she had been tempted, but the man would likely not appreciate it at all.
“The one in your salon who was eyeing me up like I was a chunk of prime rib?” he asked as he straightened up. Turning, he leaned against the counter to look at her. At her nod, he rolled his eyes. “Why is it everyone assumes that because you are single, you have to be miserable?”
“God knows. I wish that they would realize that I’m simply not cut out to be in a relationship,” she said as she set the plates on the table and went back for the salad. “I mean, yeah.” She shrugged. “It would be kind of nice to have someone in my life, but I’m not going to give up on what I need in a relationship.” She needed someone whose beliefs were just as strong as hers, someone she could trust, someone she could
love. As silly as it sounded, she refused to give up on love.
“Married people just don’t get that some of us like being single. That having no one moving our stuff around is important. That being a slob over the weekend is awesome and not having someone nag at you to pick up one lousy dirty sock is amazing.” He reached over and stopped the beeping from the crock pot. “Yes, coming home to an empty house sucks on occasion. But really, I can kick off my boots where I want, run around in my underwear if I feel the need, and basically do what I want when I want, without having to account for every second of my day to someone. Though talking to myself is apparently a sign of the fact I’m going insane, so sayeth my mother.”
That had her laughing and nodding. “I know the feeling. It’s liberating to be able to do just that. To be able to run around my house as naked as the day I was born. You couldn’t very well do that with someone else around.” Although if he wanted to run around naked, she certainly wouldn’t stop him; she would instead want pictures for later. For those long dark nights alone. She sighed. “Although it would be nice to have someone to help shoulder the burdens, to be able to hold you at night.” She shrugged. “Oh well. Such is life.”
He nodded, his gaze at some far-off point. Then he seemed to shake himself out of it. “Yeah, such is life.” He met her gaze for a moment, and there was something there she just couldn’t get a handle on before he moved at the ringing of a buzzer. He shut off the harsh sound then bent to pull the loaf of bread from the oven. The scent of garlic and cheese reached her nose as he pulled the slices apart and set them on a plate.
Inhaling the scents, she felt her mouth watering. “Oh, that smells so good. Are you sure that you have enough to share with me?” She didn’t want to take his meal. He worked hard and likely had a massive appetite, and she was, after all, pretty much landing at his place without an invite.
“I always make a large batch of chili so that I can freeze some for quick meals. And the bread is better eaten fresh and hot so, yes, there is enough.” He handed her the plate and then, with the aid of a couple of pot holders, lifted the inner lining of the crock pot out and headed for the table. Setting it down on the ceramic piece inlaid in the middle, obviously for hot dishes, he pulled the lid off. Handing her the large ladle that had been on the table long before she set it, he waved a hand. “Dig in. Water, milk, juice or beer to drink?” he asked, moving toward the fridge.
“With this? I usually would have milk, but I just had some brandy, so I think I will take a beer. So, that okay with you?” she asked and spooned herself a large helping of chili and simply inhaled it. When he sat down at her side, she looked to him and smiled. “You know.” She took another bite. “You are really very good. Why haven’t you entered any of the chili contests?”
He passed her a bottle of beer and shrugged. “Where would I find the time for that? Besides, it’s passable but not really award winning. As long as it’s edible it serves its purpose around here. Though Mom does offer up advice now and again.” He’d thrown in some air quotes around the word advice and rolled his eyes for extra effect.
“Well, I think that it’s really very good. It’s more than passable.” She snorted. “Yeah, your momma offers up advice to me too. Often. She’s been trying to fix me up with one of your ranch hands.” She shook her head. The phone calls from his mother had become more and more frequent as of late, which was wearing thin on her nerves. Between his momma and the Bridge Club Brigade, she was sure she was going to lose her everloving mind one day on those sweet, loving but interfering old ladies. “Swears she will find me someone.” That made her roll her eyes. “No offense. I love your momma, but goodness gravy, it’s exhausting.” To have everyone trying to fix her up just because she hit the big three-oh this year.
“I doubt you will ever have trouble finding someone,” he said. Taking a long drink, he set his bottle aside and then began to eat his bowl of chili. For a time, it was quiet as they ate, just the clink of their spoons to the bowls or slight clunk as they set their beer bottles down on the table. “So, idle curiosity and the fact we’re now snowed into the same house together, why haven’t you found the perfect man and had a passel of kids?”
“No one has ever been right,” she admitted with a shrug. “I don’t know. I just…” She lifted her hands. “No one has ever filled the hole that I have in my heart. I’ve never found someone who gets me.” Add to it that she had a crush on one Grant Franklyn since she was little. Yep, it sucked to be her.
He didn’t say anything, just watched her with a question she couldn’t quite figure out.
Chapter Six
They’d done the dishes, sat in front of the fire roasting marshmallows and kept all conversation to the mundane or on pure gossip. And, four hours later, she was more than ready to hit the sack. He must have seen it because he pulled her up from the rug and tugged her down the hall.
“Bed,” he told her, pushing her gently into a guest bedroom. It was done in warm earth tones with splashes of red and orange. “Bathroom is through there. It’s got its own bath and shower, so if you want either, go for it. I put in a tankless system so don’t worry about running out of hot water. Did you want a shirt or something to sleep in?” he asked, moving around collecting a couple of towels and a face cloth for her.
“A shirt would be nice if you don’t mind.” Wasn’t like she had packed for a sleepover or anything. “Because I think if I started running around naked in your house you would dump me outside in the snow.” And since she preferred to be naked as opposed to having clothes on, that just wasn’t a good idea at all.
“And on that note, I’m going to go and find you a shirt.” Spinning, he took off out of the room awfully fast, slightly insulting, unless… Hmm. A couple minutes later he came back with a t-shirt and a pair of shorts. Holding up the shorts, he shrugged. “Figured you might not want to dress in your dirty clothes so you can wear these first thing. We’ll do a load of laundry in the morning, and then everything should be nice and clean by the time everything melts enough for you to be free of this place.”
A little drunk from all the brandy, she grinned. “Now, Grant Franklyn, if you wanted to get me into your shorts all you had to do was say so.” As soon as the words had spilled from her lips she realized that she spoke them aloud instead of the internal monologue she typically had going when she was anywhere near this man. “Crap, I mean.” Her face likely flushed redder than a summer tomato, and she felt the heat rolling off her skin in her embarrassment. Crap, she did it this time!
For a long, long moment, he stared at her. It was extremely uncomfortable. What did one say after a gaffe like that? Then he moved closer. What the hell was he doing moving closer? Leaning in, he didn’t blink as he stared into her eyes. “If I want you in my shorts, you will never have to guess. It will be all too clear, Jacqueline.” Then his hands were cupping her face, and he was kissing her. Grant Franklyn was kissing her!
She was stunned first by the words that he gave and then his touch, but when his lips met hers, all higher brain function went right out the door, and all she could do was feel. React. Be a part of something that had been building all their lives. She kissed him like a woman starved for a man, kissed him back with eager and greedy movements that soon had her hands touching bare chest, his shirt opening under her greedy and searching fingers.
A low rumble vibrated against her before his arms came around her, crushing her to him. His mouth became hungrier, taking and giving at a fierce rate, just as starved as she was. Then he broke the kiss, and they stared at one another, breath coming hard and fast, the only sound their ragged breathing. “Tell me to leave right now and I will,” he said quietly, his voice rougher than before. “Because, if you don’t,” he broke off and gave her a look of warning.
“If I don’t, what?” Her fingers tightened in his hair, and she lifted up on her toes. Maybe it was the booze, or maybe it was years of repression that had her acting as she was, but she leaned into him. “I’m not te
lling you to leave. I’m asking you to stay.”
A shudder ripped through his body and next thing she knew, her back was to the nearest wall. And he was kissing her again. No, that was too tame a word. He was feasting on her mouth, sucking on her tongue, a man gorging after fasting too damned long.
Jackie pushed his shirt off of his shoulders, moved one hand from her body and then the other to get his chest bare. When he was naked from the waist up she began to tackle his belt buckle. Her lips devoured his; she was captivated by his kisses and damn if she wasn’t like a woman starving and needing more.
His hands were busy as well, working in the opposite order, though, on her. He was pushing at her pants, shoving them down her legs as much as he could without breaking the kiss. Cupping her ass, pulling her closer to him and disrupting her plans for his jeans. Then her panties were sliding down her legs too, and he lifted her up by her buttocks. “Get rid of them,” he muttered against her mouth before sealing his lips to hers again.
After kicking off her jeans and panties, she tugged his pants open, her hands sliding inside to cup his heavy erection. She moaned, couldn’t help herself, but she broke the kiss and was panting. “Now.” God, she couldn’t wait to get him naked; she wanted him. No, she needed him, right now. Not in a moment, but right now.
“Naked, bed,” he said, biting her lower lip a little. Turning them, he got them started on a not so straight path to the bed. His hands pulled on her shirt. “Arms up, you can put your hands back after you are naked.”
She let him peel her out of her shirt and then began to push at his jeans as soon as her ass hit the bed. Although with the level she was at, she couldn’t help herself. Leaning in she took the head of his cock into her mouth, her tongue stroking over it even while her hands and then feet pushed his jeans off his body.
“Son of a bitch,” he shouted. A hand thrust into her hair and tightened on the strands, not to push her away, thankfully, but to guide her. He let out a moan. It might have been a word, but she was much too intent on her task to pay much attention. After all, she finally had Grant Franklyn just where she wanted him.