Asking for Trouble

by Amy Andrews

  He lifted a hand to her face and cupped her cheek. “You’re not imagining it.” His voice was deep and ragged. “I am attracted to you. I really wish I wasn’t, but…I am.”

  The noise of the rain overhead faded until all Della could hear was their breathing. A rush of emotion swelled in her chest at his husky, honest admission. It was hardly a declaration of raging desire or runaway passion, but she could feel his sincerity—and his conflict—right down to her bone marrow.

  “Thank you,” she whispered, rubbing her cheek into his palm, her pulse fluttering at her temples and her wrists as she dropped her gaze to his mouth. She couldn’t help it. It was such a fine-looking mouth, and she wanted those lips on hers again.

  She wanted to get to know every intimate detail of their lusciousness.

  It took her a beat or two to realize he was staring at her mouth, and he seemed nearer, their bodies moving inexorably closer. Whether she had moved first or he had, she did not know nor care. She just wanted this kiss. She needed it.

  It didn’t have to be like it was in Denver, she just needed the connection.

  Heat poured off his body, his breath hitched, and his eyes fluttered closed. So did hers. Della’s pulse whooshed thick and loud through her ears, thudding at her neck and throbbing between her legs. An errant whimper slid from her mouth in anticipation.

  And then a car door slammed outside, and Tucker, whose lips were like two heated brands hovering just above hers, pulled swiftly back, his eyes flying open. Cussing under his breath, he stripped the blanket away and practically sprang off the futon, striding to the kitchen.

  Della watched him go with dismay, the muscles in her lower abdomen and her upper thighs screaming in disappointment. She stood. “Tucker?”

  “It’s Arlo,” he said as he turned the faucet on and filled the bourbon tumbler.

  And that was the moment Della made up her mind. When she knew what she had to do. If she and Tucker were going to start a bunch of hands-on sex-ed classes, then they needed privacy.

  Which only left one option…

  …

  The front door opened abruptly, and Tucker started guiltily, even though he was as far from Della as was practical within the confines of the living area. But that didn’t mean his hard-on had quit or the aroma of cupcakes had stopped taunting him.

  He should have lied. Should have told her he wasn’t attracted to her. Stuck to his guns. But he just hadn’t been able to this time. She’d looked at him with those blue, blue eyes, clearly wanting him to confirm that her instincts were right.

  That she wasn’t imagining anything.

  So he’d told the truth. I am attracted to you. Five little words, and there was no way he could put the cork back in this particular bottle now.

  He wasn’t sure he would if he could.

  Tucker swallowed half of the water in the glass as Arlo stomped his boots on the mat. “Hey man,” he called, concentrating on keeping his voice regular despite the tightness in his vocal chords. “Bet you could use a drink.”

  Tucker sure as shit could. Hell, that entire bottle of Wild Turkey was looking pretty damn good.

  “Hey,” Arlo said as he shrugged out of his raincoat and hung it and his hat on the stand near the door. “Sorry, did I wake you?”

  “No.” Tucker glanced across the room at Della, who was watching him with a mix of wariness and hunger that sunk hot talons into his balls. “We weren’t asleep.”

  “We?” Arlo looked across to find Della near the recliners. “Everything okay?” He took a step in her direction, his brow immediately scrunching in concern.

  “Yeah, fine.” She held up the flashlight. “The batteries were running low.”

  Arlo nodded, and Tucker took that as his cue for distraction in case Arlo started to ask any questions about their night. He may not have been able to lie to Della just now, but he was totally prepared to lie his ass off to her brother—cop or not—if he had to.

  And so it began…

  “Here.” He walked forward with the drink and the bottle—just in case—thrusting it toward Arlo. “Was it bad out there?”

  “Yeah.” Arlo took the tumbler and gulped down half. “Three dead, two critical.”

  Tucker winced. “No one local, I hope?”

  “Nope.” He swallowed the second half of his drink. “It’s still a bit of a mess. The interstate’s closed westbound while the NTSB guys investigate. Hopefully they’ll be done by morning and we can reopen.”

  Holding up the bottle of bourbon, Tucker said, “Another?”

  “Hell yes. I think every part of me is frozen.”

  Tucker poured, acutely aware of Della’s stillness, her muteness. Normally, she’d have expressed her sorrow at the loss of life and already be nagging her brother about a hot shower and going to bed. But she was just standing there silently, in the same spot she’d been when Arlo had walked in, staring at Tucker.

  And he knew it was only a matter of time before her brother started to wonder why.

  Arlo took another swallow of his drink, then glanced at his sister with a frown. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

  Yup…that didn’t take long.

  Slowly, she shook her head, switching her attention from Tucker to Arlo as he took another sip of his drink. “I think it’s time I moved out.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Arlo practically inhaled his mouthful of booze, coughing and spluttering and bending over double as he gasped for breath. Tucker just gaped. Where the hell had that come from? He was just wrapping his head around her proposition, and now this.

  He could tell from the tremble in her voice she was nervous, but she didn’t appear to be outwardly as she calmly waited out her brother’s coughing fit.

  “What?” Arlo demanded when he eventually stopped choking and righted himself, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

  “I said I think it’s time I moved out.” She held her brother’s gaze, her voice firm and strong this second time.

  Arlo took a step toward his sister, obviously confused. “But I…don’t understand. I thought you liked being here? I thought you were…happy?”

  “Arlo…” She said his name softly, her voice ringing with empathy. “I do like being here. I am happy. But…” She slid Tucker a glance. It was only brief, but he knew with sudden clarity what had happened between them tonight—her proposal—was the catalyst for this announcement. “I’ve been here for three years. It’s time you had your space back.”

  “No.” He shook his head. “Don’t make this about me. I told you when I brought you to Credence that you had a home with me forever, and I meant it.”

  Della crossed to her brother, which brought her closer to Tucker. Even in the dark, he could see the quiet appeal in her eyes as she smiled at Arlo. “And I’m so grateful to you, but things change.”

  “I haven’t changed, nor has my commitment to you.”

  She gave a little laugh. “No, you haven’t. But I have. I’ve loved living here with you, and I can’t thank you enough for the sense of security and family you’ve given me, but…sisters grow up and leave home.” She reached out and gave his arm a brief gentle squeeze. “It’s the next step for me.”

  Tucker admired Della’s patience. He’d seen Drew argue with his sisters over the years, and they were way more in his face.

  “Okay.” He nodded slowly. “I hear what you’re saying, but…maybe you need to think about it for a while first? Maybe talk with Selena about it?”

  Tucker suppressed a smile. I hear what you’re saying? It sounded like Arlo wasn’t just urging Della to talk to her shrink but channeling her as well.

  “I will talk with Selena about it, but we’ve already discussed me moving out one day. She’ll be in favor of it.”

  Arlo grimaced slightly at that piece of news. “Well…what if…” He spoke tenta
tively, like an idea was forming in his head and he was giving it time to fully develop. “You moved in with some friends? Or…the boarding house? There’s still a few women from the summer influx living there.”

  Della quirked an eyebrow. “You know Winona’s still there, right? Her house won’t be ready for another month or so.”

  “Yeah.” He frowned. “Maybe don’t hang out with her too much.”

  She laughed but sobered quickly, shooting a quick look at Tucker before returning her attention to her brother. “I want my own place.”

  Tucker shifted uneasily. She’d made it perfectly clear that she wanted him, and she obviously wanted the space and the privacy to explore those desires. But he didn’t want to be the reason Della rushed into something without thinking it through properly first.

  “You know,” she continued, “I’ve never lived by myself. I went straight from my father’s home to my husband’s home to my brother’s home. I want a place I can call my own. That I can put my own stamp on. That’s mine.”

  Arlo reached out and took her hand. “I get that. Truly, I do. But wouldn’t you feel…safer with other people around?”

  Tucker knew how important feeling safe had been to Della and how Arlo had moved heaven and earth to give that to her.

  “I do feel safe, Arlo.” She slipped her hand on top of his and gave it a squeeze. “And not just here in Credence but wherever I go, and that’s down to you. Knowing you have my back, knowing that Tucker”—she paused briefly but didn’t look at him—“and Drew and Winona and Annie and Mr. Downey and every single person in this town has my back, knowing that it’s my right to feel safe—you did that. You restored my sense of security. That’s why I know I can do this.”

  “God, Della…are you really sure?”

  “I know it’ll be an adjustment, but…” She slid her hand out of Arlo’s and looked him straight in the eye. “I’m not asking for your permission.”

  “I know.” He nodded. “I guess I kinda got used to you leaning on me. I think we all did. I think maybe we’ll always worry about you a little.”

  Della stiffened. It wasn’t obvious, but Tucker had been reading Della’s body language for a long time, and he understood her affront at being viewed as an object of collective pity.

  “Tucker’s not worried. He thinks it’s a good idea.”

  Tucker blinked. Oh. No. She. Didn’t. Just drop him in it like that. Arlo’s laser-like focus sliced toward him, lethal as a lightsaber. “That a fact?” he said.

  With his mouth. His eyes said, what the fuck, dude?

  Both of them were looking at him with stares that demanded he pick a side. Arlo’s was calling Tucker on their lifelong friendship. Della’s was crystal clear. Do not let me down now.

  There was no contest, as far as he was concerned. He might be ticked that she’d put him on the spot, but Tucker was always going to be in Della’s corner.

  “Yeah, I do,” he said, dragging his eyes off her to address Arlo. “Della knows what she can and can’t handle.”

  Actually, he was pretty sure she had no idea how to handle the proposition she’d put to him tonight—he sure as hell didn’t. But that was a worry for another day.

  “See,” Della crowed. Relief and the kind of gratitude that did funny things to his pulse poured off her in waves. “Tuck has faith.”

  Arlo grunted. “Tuck is a kiss-ass. But yeah…” He stopped glaring at Tucker, his gaze softening as he glanced at his sister. “Just don’t rush into anything, okay? And promise me you won’t be a stranger.”

  Della’s face broke into a grin. “I promise.”

  She leaped forward, hugging Arlo tight around the neck, meeting Tucker’s eyes over her brother’s shoulder, her grin getting bigger. “Thank you,” she mouthed.

  Tucker shook his head at her, also grinning, despite the shit ton of holy fuck that had just gone down. Her happiness was infectious, plucking at his chest and pulling at his breath.

  Christ, this thing between them was really going to happen. There was an inevitability about it that Tucker wasn’t going to even try to fight anymore. He was going to give Della what she wanted. He just had to remember that this liaison was only temporary. Della wasn’t looking for long-term, and he absolutely understood why. At the end of this, the most important thing was to keep their friendship intact.

  And that was all that mattered.

  …

  Much to Arlo’s dismay, ten days later, Della was moving into her own place. Bob Downey—who apparently owned half the houses in Credence—had a little two-bedroom cottage with a small back garden, which was perfect for Della, and the rent was affordable. It was also next door to the faux-antebellum, wedding-cake monstrosity of a house belonging to Wade and CC, who were planning on moving into it permanently when their baby came.

  The Saturday morning weather was warm as Arlo, Tucker, Drew, and Bob and Ray from the old folks’ home helped her move into the house. Not that she had much. The furniture—her bed, a spare bed for the second room, some couches, a dining table and chairs, a coffee table, a washing machine, a dryer, a fridge-freezer and some bookshelves—had all been bought secondhand from people in the local district or had been given to her.

  Molly, Marley, Winona, Rosemary, and Ruth also lent a hand, unpacking boxes and bags as they were brought inside. It was mostly kitchen stuff and some meager linen supplies—again, mostly sourced secondhand. Then there were her books and the few knickknacks she’d accumulated over the last three years.

  And they came bearing gifts. Potted plants and a pasta maker and a slow cooker. Champagne, too, for celebrating when the work was done. Rosemary had made her some curtains for her bedroom—the only one in the house without blinds. They were in a gorgeous paisley fabric that reminded Della of a peacock’s tail and would be a good sun blocker for the east-facing room. And Wade’s mother, Ronnie Carter, had baked a batch of chocolate chip cookies and a big tray of homemade lasagna so Della didn’t have to worry about cooking for the next couple of nights.

  Arlo bought her a gift, too, in his typically practical style. Three flashlights, all large enough they could easily double as weapons, and a huge box of batteries. He’d actually wrapped them in colorful paper and a bow, which was sweet.

  “For the BOBs?” Winona mouthed over his head, and Della had to bite her cheek to stop herself from laughing.

  By five o’clock, with everything but her clothes unpacked, the champagne drunk, and the house duly christened, Della was utterly exhausted and sent everyone home, promising a proper housewarming party in a couple of weeks. Arlo stayed, which was fine by Della. Yes, she’d pushed for this, for her own place, and she was beyond excited that the moment was finally here, but…she was going to miss seeing her brother every day.

  They ate lasagna together, and he set up her smart TV, and they watched the news for a bit and the start of a movie, but Della was yawning so much she ended up chasing him out.

  “You’re going to be all right here by yourself?” he asked as he hesitated at the door.

  “Yes.” She bugged her eyes at him in exasperation, but she was smiling also. She knew Arlo would eventually get over his need to hover. “I promise. I’m so tired, I’m just going to unpack my clothes, have a bath, and go to bed.”

  With Tucker Daniels, if her luck held out.

  She felt a little uneasy about her subterfuge as she waved her brother off, but not for long, because tonight was the night, and she refused to feel guilty about going after what she wanted. Not that Tucker had actually agreed to anything at this point. Between the house hunting and the packing, she’d seen very little of him since that stormy night to confirm his intentions.

  But, after today, there was no doubt in her mind that Tucker would come to her tonight.

  Every time he’d looked at her or brushed past her this morning, she’d known. His glances had been furtive bu
t lingering, his touches light but deliberate. And her body was humming like an electrical substation.

  It hummed all the way through unpacking her clothes and having a bath and even trying on half a dozen different outfits, wondering what the hell she should wear. Eventually she settled on a fluttery floral skirt with blue flowers that matched her eyes and came to just above her knee and a plain green T-shirt that matched the leaf pattern of the skirt. At the end of March, it was still cool enough at night to be in jeans, but she was running pretty damn hot at the moment and totally prepared to sacrifice warmth for access.

  Yup. Access.

  There were no buttons or zippers—not even a bra—to slow them down. Hell, if she’d been brave enough, she’d have gone commando.

  Then she fiddled with her hair—up or down? She didn’t know. Makeup or not? She didn’t know. So she tried a few different looks before scrapping them all and deciding to go minimalist. Hair down and some lip gloss. Would he approve?

  Ack! She didn’t know that, either. She just had to hope.

  And then, with a knock at the door, it didn’t matter anymore. He’d come—that was all that mattered. Taking a deep breath to steady the wild beat of her heart, Della flipped on the porch light and turned the handle.

  The sight that greeted her made her ovaries throb. Tucker looming large in jeans and his Jack’s T-shirt, a smile parting his scruffy whiskers, his dimples bling-blinging.

  “Hey,” he said, leaning one big shoulder into the doorframe. He looked at her like he had earlier, lingering and hungry, and for a second Della thought she might just disgrace herself with a spontaneous orgasm.

  She didn’t, but things certainly twinged a little on the wild side down there.

  “Hey,” she returned, overwhelmed by the stirrings of her body and his height and his breadth and the sheer bulk of him. The aroma of beer wafted toward her, and also jasmine—from the bushes out front—and it was heady. He was heady.

  Flicking a glance over his shoulder, she searched the street. “You didn’t drive?”

  “I…thought it might be more circumspect to walk from Jack’s.”