Wyatt cupped her face in his hands and made love to her mouth. He licked and sucked and teased, kissing her with a skill that made all coherent thought fly right out of her brain.
She wanted to touch him. Wanted to spread her hands on his bare chest. Lust was a powerful drumbeat in her brain. It had been so long since she’d felt a man’s touch. So long since she’d wanted to. She’d been focused on success. Men didn’t fit into that equation. Not yet anyway.
But this one—oh my, this one.
He kissed the daylights out of her, made her want things she’d forgotten in her quest for independence. It wasn’t weakness to want to be held. Wasn’t weakness to want someone to cherish you, even if only for a night.
Paige ran her fingers into his hair, curled them in the silky strands, and sucked on his tongue. He answered her with more intensity.
And then he broke away, sat back in his seat, and left her scrambling for her wits. She could only stare at him, at that sensual mouth, and wonder why he’d quit when it felt so good.
Her body zinged with sparks. Her feminine core ached with need. She was wet and hot and frustrated.
He shoved a hand through his hair and glanced out the window. “Shit.”
Paige started to tell him where he could stick his regrets, but she caught someone moving out of the corner of her eye. A woman with silver hair, wearing a colorful caftan, bustled toward Wyatt’s truck.
“Oh, for the love of God,” Wyatt muttered as she kept on coming.
His window rolled down as the woman hurried up to them. Her gaze skated past Wyatt and bored through Paige. The woman’s eyebrows rose and fell as if there was some sort of communication with an alien ship going on. Paige watched in fascination.
“Hello, Mrs. Fontana. What can I do for you?” Wyatt asked her.
“Nothing, Wyatt. Nothing at all. Hello, dear,” she said, still staring at Paige. “I’m Hildie Fontana. Owner of Hildie’s House.”
“Nicole Allen,” Paige said, remembering to use the name they’d agreed upon. “I’m just visiting Wyatt for a few days.”
“Hmm,” Hildie said, her gaze darting between them. “I don’t recall Wyatt mentioning any guests.”
“Didn’t know she was going to be able to make it,” he interjected. “And I didn’t want to jinx myself by telling everyone.”
“Oh my, well.” Hildie giggled as if she’d just learned a secret. “I can’t believe Mary Beth didn’t mention you had a girlfriend. But then she also didn’t mention she had diabetes either. Gracious, that woman has gotten good at keeping secrets.”
“Gran doesn’t know about Nicole,” Wyatt said, his voice smooth. “I didn’t tell her because I thought it was over between us. We’re trying to patch it up.”
Hildie’s eyebrows waggled more than ever. “It certainly looked like you were doing a good job of it to me.”
“Hormones,” Paige said. “You know how crazy they can be.”
Hildie looked shocked, but then she laughed. “Oh my, yes. Crazy hormones run amuck. Well, I’ll let you two get back to it. I’ve got work to do. Bring Nicole to the shop, Wyatt. You can show her those shelves you put up. Maybe browse the jewelry section. We have some lovely estate jewelry that just came in.”
Wyatt’s jaw was tight. “I’ll do that, Mrs. Fontana. Thank you.”
Hildie gave them a wave as she scurried away toward one of the shops on the square. Wyatt leaned his head back on the seat and closed his eyes.
“You look like you want to say a bunch of naughty words right about now,” Paige said.
“Hell, yeah. And bang my head on the steering wheel a few times.”
“Why? She seemed harmless enough.”
“Harmless? You ever play the gossip game?”
“You mean the one where you tell someone a secret and then it gets passed around until the last person says it aloud and it’s nowhere near the same as when you first said it?”
“That’s the one. Hildie is the real-life equivalent. She lives for gossip. That woman has her nose in everyone’s business. Always has.”
“So you’re telling me she’s about to start calling everyone she knows and telling them she saw you kissing a woman in your truck?”
Paige shivered anew at the memory of that kiss. She wanted to do it again even if it was a bad idea. Which it probably was. Wyatt Chandler was a small-town boy and she was a big-city girl who was running back there the first chance she got. It was silly to start something that couldn’t go anywhere.
“She’ll have us engaged with a baby on the way by the end of it. Or maybe you’re my secret wife come for a visit. With Hildie, you never know.” He sighed and shook his head and turned the key.
The engine fired up and Paige frowned. “What about my socks?”
“They’ll have to wait. I’ll be about five minutes too late, but I need to get to Gran’s and tell her what’s going on before Hildie works her into a tizzy.”
Paige didn’t expect the tummy flip that happened at those words. She was going to meet his grandmother?
“Which version are you telling her?”
His whiskey eyes were somber. “The truth. I won’t get Gran’s hopes up by letting her think you’re my girl. She’d love for me to get married and start having grandbabies. I won’t let her think that’s going to happen when it’s not.”
“You don’t want to get married? Or have any kids?”
He shook his head. “Didn’t say that. I’m not against it, but I haven’t met anyone I’d want to spend my life with, much less take on the responsibility of raising tiny human beings with.”
They passed onto the bridge with the two statues standing sentry at either end. The restaurant in the center was a rather interesting feature, but she didn’t want to ask about it when he was talking about things like marriage and babies.
Though why she found that fascinating she couldn’t say. It wasn’t as if she’d had her heart set on either of those things. In her experience, marriage didn’t last and babies were things you shuffled off to nannies and private schools. Neither was in her vocabulary.
“I think it’s smart to be careful.”
He shot her a glance. “What about you?”
They turned onto a tree-lined street with small Craftsman-style homes set on lush lots blooming with flowers. Sidewalks lined both sides of the street, and a few people were out in yards, pushing mowers or digging in gardens. It was cute. A real slice of small-town Americana.
Paige pictured a little cottage with Mr. Fluffypants in the window and a little boy running around the yard. Wyatt sat on the lawn mower, sweat dripping down his sexy torso, while Paige poured lemonade from a glass pitcher. A little girl with pigtails helped. Paige was wearing a skirt and high heels, and her hair was held back with a scarf.
Oh dear heaven…
She shook herself. He was still waiting for an answer.
“I’ve never really thought about it. I like kids well enough, I suppose, but I’ve never pictured myself with any.”
He didn’t say anything else as they turned into a driveway. The house was adorable, a Craftsman painted a light yellow with black shutters and a wide porch. There was a flowering vine that twined up the posts of the porch and over the entry, and a porch swing that sat empty.
Flowers bloomed in profusion in the garden, and the yard was a lush green. Behind the house sat a two-car garage with an apartment over it. Wyatt’s apartment.
He killed the engine and swung from the truck. Paige followed. He gave her a look before they stepped up onto the porch. Frustration? Embarrassment? She didn’t know. A cute little plaque on the mailbox beside the door said M.B. Chandler.
Wyatt knocked on the door. She would have found that odd, but then she thought maybe it wasn’t wise to barge in on his grandmother. A few seconds later, the door burst open and a small, blond-haired woman stood there. Blond?
Mary Beth Chandler didn’t look seventy-eight. If anything, she looked about fifty-eight. She wore jeans and
a T-shirt that said Never underestimate an old woman who rides a horse.
Paige blinked. Really? At her age?
“Hildie tells me you’re engaged to be married,” Mary Beth said, folding her arms over her middle and giving her grandson a stern look.
“Gran, you know that’s not true. I’d have told you.”
She looked beyond Wyatt to where Paige was standing. “Damn shame. Such a pretty girl too.” She opened the door. “Well, get inside, both of you. Tell me what’s going on without Hildie’s spies listening in.”
Paige preceded Wyatt into a homey living room with a pale couch with flowery pillows and two Queen Anne chairs. There were antique tables, a piano, and oil paintings on the walls. Flowers in vases sat on every available surface. Paige felt as if she could sink into the cushions and read a book.
Except that Mary Beth didn’t look all that inviting at the moment. She folded her arms over her chest and glared at them both. “Sit.”
Paige sank onto the couch. Wyatt sat next to her. They didn’t touch or look at each other. The scents of lemon and lavender wafted through the air. And, wait a minute, were those cookies she smelled?
“Yes, I made cookies,” Mary Beth said, staring straight at Paige.
Holy wow, the woman was psychic.
“You can have one when you two tell me the truth.”
“You can’t be eating cookies, Gran,” Wyatt said, and Mary Beth glared daggers at him.
“I know that, child. Doesn’t mean I can’t bake them for friends.”
“Like you didn’t sample one to make sure it was good.”
“One never killed a soul.”
“You’re diabetic,” he growled.
She popped her fists on her hips. This grandmother didn’t look all that frail or grandmotherly to Paige. Not at all what she’d pictured when Wyatt had been telling her about his seventy-eight-year-old grandma he wanted to take care of.
“I know that, Wyatt William Chandler. Stop telling me what I already know.”
Wyatt looked militant.
“Now, who is this lovely young lady and why were you kissing her in front of Hildie’s store?”
Wyatt leaned forward, elbows on knees, head in hands. “It’s nothing, Gran. Nicole is a client. Remember the job I said I was taking yesterday? The reason I’d be gone a few days? Nicole is the reason. I kissed her because I lost my head for a second.”
Mary Beth’s eyes turned to Paige. “And why did she kiss you back?”
Paige shrugged even though she felt like she was currently speared on a pin beneath a microscope. “He’s a good kisser. I couldn’t help myself.”
“Really?” Mary Beth looked pleased. Or maybe it was amused. Paige wasn’t certain. “Maybe you should try again sometime. But not in front of the whole town, of course. I expect by nightfall I’ll be getting calls about where people can send the baby blankets and booties they’ll be knitting.”
Paige’s mouth dropped open. Wyatt still hadn’t lifted his head. He pulled in a deep breath and sat up slowly.
“You can’t tell anyone she’s a client, Gran. It’s top secret stuff.”
“I get that, young man. I’m not an idiot. Your grandfather was in the OSS. I know how to keep a secret.”
“Gramps was OSS before he met you,” Wyatt said. “He was out by the time the OSS became the CIA.”
“Doesn’t matter. I still understand the value of a secret. And I know how to practice good OpSec.”
“Oh my God,” Wyatt groaned. “You did not just say that.”
Paige had no idea what they were talking about, but it was fascinating to watch the back-and-forth between Wyatt and his grandmother.
“That’s operational security,” Mary Beth said. “In case Wyatt doesn’t explain it.”
“Gran, please.”
“Thank you,” Paige said. “I was a little lost.”
She liked this woman. Mary Beth had Wyatt flustered as hell. It was cute.
“Is your name really Nicole?”
“No. It’s Paige. Paige Spencer.” Because there was no way this woman would tell anyone her real name. Paige believed that down to her soul.
“That’s lovely, Paige. Please call me Mary Beth. Would you like a cookie?”
“I would,” Paige said. “More than anything.”
Chapter 10
Wyatt followed them into the kitchen, more because he wanted to watch Gran than anything. She’d better not eat a damned cookie. Though if she did, he didn’t know what he’d do. Short of grabbing it from her hand—which would earn him a swift kick in the behind—he wasn’t going to be able to stop her.
She went over to the baking rack sitting on the counter and grabbed some cloth napkins from the drawer beneath. Then she handed Paige two cookies on a saucer.
“Thank you, Mary Beth,” Paige said.
“You’re welcome, child.”
“Do you want a cookie, Wyatt?” Gran regarded him with an arched eyebrow.
“Yes, ma’am.”
She repeated the napkin, saucer and cookie routine, handing him two cookies.
“Milk?”
“That would be lovely,” Paige replied.
Wyatt wanted to tell her it was a trap, but the words wouldn’t come out when he had a mouthful of Gran’s famous chocolate chip cookies.
“Sit, both of you.”
They took a seat at the kitchen table while Gran poured milk into glasses. She carried it over and set it down. A moment later she was back with a plate that contained two cookies and a glass of milk.
“Gran,” Wyatt began, and she held up a hand to silence him.
“Mine are sugar free, Wyatt. I bought them when I went to the store for more flour.” She took a nibble of the cookie and sighed. “Not quite the same, that’s for sure.”
“Do you ride, Mary Beth?” Paige asked suddenly, nodding at Gran’s shirt.
Wyatt didn’t know if she was changing the subject to get him out of a bad situation or just asking questions, but he was grateful anyway.
“I do indeed,” Gran said. “There’s a dressage barn about five miles out of town. I go there. Do you ride?”
“I did,” Paige said. “I had a hunter when I was a teenager.”
“You should ride again. It does wonders for the soul. And the body,” she added. “I started taking lessons again after many years away.”
“And you didn’t tell me you’d started,” Wyatt grumbled.
Wyatt didn’t like that Gran climbed up on horses at her age. But she refused to stop. When he’d learned she’d taken up riding again, he’d nearly blown a gasket. Her horse—because of course she’d bought one of the damned things—was so tall she needed a ladder and a grappling hook to get up on top of him.
Okay, not really. But she did have to stand on a riser, called a mounting block, and get on that way. Wyatt wasn’t scared of much—he’d danced with death more times than he could remember—but seeing Gran on that giant beast, appropriately named Zeus, had nearly scared the hell out of him.
Fortunately, Zeus was gentle. He did whatever Gran asked of him and never tried to unseat her. Thank God.
“I don’t owe you any explanations, young man,” Gran said sternly. She smiled at Paige. “As I was saying, you should ride again.”
“I’d like to,” Paige said. “One day.”
“How about tomorrow? You can go with me for my lesson.”
Paige shot Wyatt a look. He shook his head slightly, hoping she took the hint.
“I don’t know, Mary Beth. I kind of have to do what Wyatt tells me to do. He’s responsible for my safety, after all.”
Gran cut a stern look at him. Yeah, she was still annoyed about the cookie thing. And the horse thing. But dammit, he wasn’t going to lose her to some senseless and preventable tragedy too.
“Is it that bad, Wyatt?” she asked.
It took him a few seconds to catch up. “Yeah, it is, Gran. Someone is sending Paige threats. He even threatened to hurt her cat.”
“No, I definitely won’t.”
“Don’t you think the poor girl could use a distraction in the meantime? Riding would help take her mind off it.”
“I don’t have anything to ride in,” Paige cut in. “But I appreciate the invitation.”
Gran reached out and patted her hand. “It’s okay, sweetie. You can come another time if you prefer.”
Wyatt didn’t think that was true, but he wasn’t going to mention it. Once the Seattle PD found King and put a stop to this, Paige was going back home. Neither Wyatt nor Gran would ever see her again.
He thought of that kiss earlier and disappointment speared into him. Not at the kiss, but at the idea of her leaving. He wasn’t quite sure why he’d kissed her, except it had seemed like the right thing to do at the time. Little did he know that frigging Hildie Fontana would catch them at it and he’d be forced to come to Gran’s for damage control.
But in those quiet, blissful moments when he’d been caught up in Paige’s mouth, in the feel of her kiss, he’d wanted nothing more than to strip her slowly and take her to heights she’d never forget.
Not gonna happen, but he’d wanted it. He’d come to his senses and pushed her away—but not quick enough. Hildie had seen them and now she was playing her game of gossip. By the time it was through, Wyatt would be getting married and have a baby on the way. Gran wasn’t wrong about that.
“You need anything from the store, Gran?”
Light blue eyes speared into him. They still had the power to make him tremble in his boots even if he was six foot three and a badass former SEAL.
“I’m fine, Wyatt.”
“I know. Just asking since we have to go into town. Thought you might want me to pick something up for you. Milk, bread.”
“I’m good. Thank you for asking.”
“I don’t know when I’ll be back in the apartment. However long this assignment takes. But if you need the grass cut or anything, just call me.”
Gran took a bite of her cookie. When she made a face, Wyatt knew she wasn’t kidding him that it was sugar free. She set it down and speared him with a look.
Wyatt (7 Brides for 7 Soldiers #4) Page 6