Easy Bake Lovin'

by Maggie Wells

His derisive tone made her eyebrows jump. At least, she thought they jumped.

  The buzzing in her blood made every movement seem supersized. “Are you mocking him because he stepped up and did the right thing?”

  “He did the expected thing. Their marriage didn’t last past Ben’s twenty-first birthday, so it wasn’t the right thing, after all, huh?”

  “I forgot how jaded you are.”

  “Realistic.”

  “I bet you’ve never married.”

  “Never found the right girl.” A wicked glint lit his eyes as his fingertips bumped along the line of her spine. The heel of his hand came to rest above the curve of her ass.

  “How are you? Only good things happening for you?”

  She almost choked on the question’s casual assumption. Will was the kind of man who never did anything he didn’t want to do. How could she possibly tell him she’d given up having choices mere hours after he left her bed all those years ago?

  “Yes, my life has been a dream come true.”

  His snicker told her the sarcasm hit its mark. “Good, I’m glad.”

  The gentle pressure of his fingertips in the small of her back held her snug against him. He led with the easy confidence of an expert. She shouldn’t have been surprised.

  Will had been waltzing his way through women since he mastered the art of the sustainable hard-on.

  “So, Josie.” He drawled the nickname directly into her ear. “Anyone waiting at home for you these days?”

  She stiffened and pulled away, prying her reluctant body away from the heat of his as her mind raced. The smug smirk on his face should have made him look like a complete dick, but it didn’t. He was a man made to observe humanity with a hefty dose of amused contempt. And she was a woman determined to reshape her destiny.

  Jo didn’t want to flirt. She had no patience for being coy. The days of playing the unattainable woman of mystery were long behind her. She had the cards she’d been dealt.

  Damned if she’d give in and fold just because life was playing with a marked deck.

  “No, but I do have a giant hole in my porch and a thousand termites. So, I’ve got that going for me.” She attempted to tug her hand from his, but Will held fast. “I don’t want to play this game. I don’t want to dance with you. I want—”

  “Easy. Not a game, just a dance.”

  She squinted up at him, trying to decipher the hidden agenda lurking behind his devil-may-care exterior. At last, full lips settled into a grim line of defeat. He heaved a put-upon sigh.

  “I was flirting, Josie.” He took her pause as permission to pull her against him again. The carefully cultivated scruff on his cheeks and jaw snagged her hair. His lips grazed the burning tip of her ear. “You used to be much better at this.”

  The whispered chastisement cooled her ire. “Yeah, well, I used to be better at a lot of things.” She pressed her cheek to his lapel, and settled into the smooth pattern of his lead. “You’re not exactly out of practice.”

  “Oh, don’t be so quick. Now I’ve seen you again, and I’m thinking my number might be up.”

  The blatant insincerity of the statement struck the right chord to put her at ease.

  Melting into his embrace, Jo shook her head. “You’re just as full of it as ever.”

  “Love at second sight. Never thought it would happen to a nice guy like me.”

  Surrender curved her lips. “You were never a nice guy.”

  “Aw, come on.” He ducked his head to whisper into her ear. “You used to think I was nice.”

  She peeled herself from his chest, grasping his broad shoulders to steady herself as she looked him straight in the eye—as straight as possible after a couple glasses of wine, a flute of the bubbly crap, and two shots of tequila. Or was it three? No, two. She didn’t get to glass number three. Something she needed to remember to remedy. Fate was a first-rate bitch when a girl forgot to play the game.

  “No, not nice,” she reiterated. He laughed his hellraiser laugh and every nerve ending in her body quivered. She tried to play it cool, brushing her hair over her shoulder with a careless flick, but being cool when her insides danced a samba proved to be beyond her. Her heart beat in time to the sway of his hips. She teetered on the edge, nearly drawn in by the lure of him. “Not one bit nice, but you were so bad it was good.”

  Will pulled her close again. “We were good.”

  His smooth insistence made Jo miss a step. The toe of her shiny new skyscraper pumps nipped his scuffed wingtips. The solid strength of his arm wrapped snug around her kept her upright, but the seductive haze of tequila and nostalgia began to dissipate. He spoke the truth. For a blink of an eye, a long time ago, they had been good together. But not good enough for either of them to make the extra effort to keep things going once life interfered.

  “For a while,” she whispered. “We were good for a little while.”

  He inclined his head, a gesture of acknowledgment. Their affair was never meant to be permanent.

  Still, she couldn’t resist a little dig. “Then again, I knew that about you going in. Didn’t I? You’re the kind of guy who can only be good for a while.”

  At least the man had the good grace to blush, but the sheepish look was too practiced to be sincere. “I’m older and wiser now.”

  “Older, yes.” She curled his lapel in her fingers then smoothed the fabric under her palm. Wetting her lips, Jo met his gaze directly. “Wiser? I may even buy that,” she conceded. “But you’re still you, Will. Through and through.”

  Something behind her caught his attention. “I know someone who isn’t….”

  Before she could ask what he meant, a deep voice sliced through the strains of the overheated rock ballad.

  “Excuse me.”

  Their slow glide ground to a graceless halt, and Will turned his attention to the man beside them. “Yes?”

  Greg’s scowl deepened the grooves bracketing his mouth. His nostrils flared when he cast a sidelong glance at her, but he made no move to stake a claim. At least, not physically. “This was supposed to be my dance.”

  Will smirked. “Was it? I don’t know how you’d think so. I saw this beautiful woman standing all alone and I thought—”

  “I know what you thought,” Greg cut him off by turning to Jo and offering his hand palm up. “Wasn’t this my dance?”

  The DJ’s swirling lights reflected in his dark eyes. The song reached a wailing crescendo, but she read his intent loud and clear. She also spotted a compelling sincerity burning bright in their depths. “Yes.”

  Meet the Author

  Maggie Wells is a deep-down dirty girl with a weakness for hot heroes and happy endings. By day she is buried in spreadsheets, but at night she pens tales of people tangling up the sheets. Fueled by supertankers of Diet Coke, Maggie juggles fictional romance and the real deal by keeping her slow-talking Southern gentleman constantly amused and their two children mildly embarrassed. For more please visit www.maggie-wells.com.