Tempt Me Tonight (42 page)

She had to make him see. “I won’t let you do that. I don’t
want
you to sell the garage. Please don’t.”

Next to her, he just sighed—and started to look mad. “You don’t want me to sell the garage,” he repeated.

She peered helplessly into his eyes. “Of course not. You
can’t.
”

“Fine, damn it,” he bit off. “To hell with it then.”

Trish watched, stunned, as he got to his feet—zipping his pants—then took the few steps to the dresser, picked up Pepper, and said, “So much for a grand fucking gesture.” Then he opened the door and walked out. That quick.

To leave Trish staring at an abandoned bouquet of tulips, numb and confused, as Kent came to the bedroom door. “Who was that guy? Are you okay?”

I don’t know.

I don’t know anything anymore.

Tort(e):
a civil injury or wrongful act to someone or their property;
or
a rich cake, usually made with eggs, ground nuts, and bread crumbs—and on the menu at Trish’s Tea Room and Café.

Okay, wait a minute. I’m sitting here alone, with a bunch of pink tulips he drove two hours to give me. And he just offered to sell his garage and move here with me. And he thinks I just rejected him, even though I was only trying to keep him from making an unthinkable mistake. And he’s gone.

Of course, she wasn’t
really
alone. Kent stood staring at her. And a roomful of people were probably just outside the door waiting to see what was going on. And she cared for Kent. And her work friends. She really did. They were good people.

But they weren’t Joe.

And what Joe had just offered to sacrifice for her was…freaking
astounding!
And insane. Insane that he would give up his business for her. For her and a job that…
oh my God, that I don’t even like!
Who cared that it was an achievement and an honor? What difference did it make if she didn’t even
like
it?

And sure, she was scared of giving up her life here. She was scared of how good she and Joe were together and how much it would kill her if they ever split again. And she was scared of…going after the life she really wanted deep down inside. A simpler life. With Joe.

But he was willing to give up everything for her. His work. His home. Being near Carissa. All of it. When all she needed to do to make them both happy was…be brave, take a risk, for once in her life. And go home.

“I have to go,” she said, pushing to her heels.

“Go where?” She had the vague impression Kent looked worried, but she hadn’t actually met his eyes, so she didn’t know for sure. She was a little wrapped up in herself at the moment.

“Oh,”
he said then, so dramatically and disheartened that she followed his gaze to his feet, where a torn black thong lay.

“Oh,” she said more softly in reply, then looked up. “He was…my old boyfriend.”

Kent stood nodding, his expression decidedly let down. “Maybe not so old?”

“Maybe not,” she answered on a sigh, then took a brief moment to lift a short kiss to his cheek and say, “I’m sorry.”

Five minutes later, she was behind the wheel of her Lexus, wearing fresh underwear, with a bouquet of pink tulips at her side. Hitting the city streets, she headed for I-74 and drove like a madwoman, just praying that the speeding gods were with her and she wouldn’t get a ticket—because she needed to get home to Eden.

As she traveled through the dark Indiana night, the Bellamy Brothers began to sing an old song from her childhood—“When I’m Away From You”—on the radio, and tears began rolling down her cheeks, one after the other.

She’d been so, so foolish!

Not just about Joe and the last few weeks, but—dear God, she’d let something Joe did fourteen years ago color her lifelong opinion not only of
him,
but of
everyone!

When was the last time she’d trusted someone new in her life in a deep,
real
way? Or anyone other than Debbie or her parents, for that matter? As for the friends she’d just left at her party, they were lovely people, but they weren’t people she considered life-lasting friends. And her relationships with men generally went nowhere. And this was why!

She couldn’t even blame Joe. He’d made one mistake—an awful one, yes, but she’d closed herself off from people, from feelings. Hell, no wonder she was such a good defense attorney.

And Richie, well, he was the first defendant she’d allowed herself to feel any emotion for in quite a while, and her trust had been misplaced. And that stung on a lot of levels, but she’d let that influence her decision not to trust in Joe, and that made no sense. Joe and Richie were like night and day.

Now, thoughts of her job, her new responsibilities, and Richie’s upcoming trial—which started next week—filled her with a slow sense of emptiness bordering on dread. Oh God, when had
that
happened? At the diner, when she’d discovered she was attached to the place and wanted to run it? Or while spending time with her parents? Helping her mother cook—albeit poorly? Helping her dad with the hay? Or had it been doing something pure and simple and good with her law degree—getting justice for Marjorie and her little dog?

Or had it been when she was with Joe, letting him remind her of a time when she wasn’t so afraid of her own emotions that she’d choose to wrap herself up in other people’s problems for a living?

Oh God, she
hated
it. Really
hated
it!

She hated the slick, black, modern furniture in her new office.

She hated arguing with judges and other attorneys.

She hated making it so criminals were free to rape, rob, and hurt people again.

She hated her suits and high heels.

Okay, wait. She didn’t
really
hate her high heels—that was going too far. A girl was allowed to love her shoes. But she also wouldn’t care if she didn’t have a reason to put them on very often. In fact, jeans and flowing skirts had started feeling all too comfortable lately, and panty hose were a drag.

So it boiled down to this: She hated what she’d chosen to do with her life.

Which was sobering.

And maybe a little crazy.

But she reached toward her purse, fishing out her cell phone as she drove, to call Elaine. No answer—just a recording. Not a surprise, given that Elaine was actually at Trish’s loft, probably still helping Kent figure out what to do with all the tiny crepes and mini-cheesecakes. But she had to unload this from her heart
now,
so she left a message. “Elaine, I’m so sorry to do this to you, and I’ll explain later, but I need to let you know I can’t defend Richie Melbourne. You already have all the paperwork associated with the case, and this will be a great opportunity for you. I’ll talk to Mr. Tate first thing Monday about making you first chair. I know this comes as a surprise, but…I’m officially removing myself from the case.”

And the firm. But she’d have to deal with Tate, Blanchard & Rowe later since there was only so much business you could do after ten o’clock on a Friday night. For the moment, at least she’d disassociated herself from Richie, and if he was set free to rape again, it wouldn’t be her fault.

No, there wasn’t much
business
you could do at this hour—but there was
pleasure
.

And before pleasure came…fixing what she’d messed up so horribly.

She squealed into the parking lot at the Last Chance at nearly 11:30. The bar happened to be on the way to Joe’s house, so she figured she might as well check there first. It took only a glance to spot the big pickup with naked women on the mudflaps—and her heart went wild in her chest.

Only as she got out of the car still clad in her cocktail dress, a bouquet of tulips clutched in her fist, did she realize what a spectacle she was about to make of herself. But she supposed it would be no different than Joe walking into her party tonight, so she never slowed her stride as she headed toward the big steel door. She’d told herself she had to be brave and this was a good time to start.

When she pulled it open, “Must Be Doing Something Right”—the same song she’d danced to with Joe on that very first night—spilled out. Stepping inside, she scanned the room. Thirty sets of eyes looked her way, and two of them belonged to Kenny and Debbie. Kenny smiled. And Debbie’s jaw nearly hit the floor, but her eyes filled with glee.

A sexy, dark-haired man with a cobra tattooed on his arm sat at the bar, a beer bottle in his hand. He didn’t look up until she grabbed onto his wrist and said, “Dance with me.”

He blinked, mouth open, eyes caught somewhere between pissed off and stunned.

“Please,” she said. Willing to beg him now, if that’s what it took.

Wordlessly, Joe set his beer on the bar, climbed down from his stool, and accompanied her to the dance floor. He took her in his arms in that old, intimate way of slow dancing she remembered from their first encounter—but he didn’t meet her eyes, and even as close as he held her, she felt the distance she’d put between them hours earlier.

So here she was in a cocktail dress, dancing with a man who didn’t really want to be dancing with her at the Last Chance Bar in Eden, Indiana. There was a hell of a lot wrong with this picture—but once and for all, she was going to make it right, and she wasn’t going to waste any more time.

“I screwed up when I left you,” she told him. “But tonight, you misunderstood. I’m moved beyond words that you would leave the garage for me. But the reason I said I didn’t want you to is because you
belong
there, it’s a part of you, and it would just be wrong. What would be right is
me
coming
here,
to be with you.”

“What about making partner?”

“Screw making partner,” she said. “I figured out as soon as you left that there are things I want a hell of a lot more. I want
you.
I want
Pepper.
I want the
café.
I want it all, Joe.”

He gazed down at her then, but his eyes didn’t soften—in fact, they sliced right through her. “How do I know you won’t just change your mind again tomorrow? How do I know you’ll really come home, really stay? How do I know you’ll finally trust in me, Trish?”

She peered desperately up at him, willing him to believe. “Because I
do.
I do trust in you. I swear.”

“All I know is, I’ve apologized for my mistakes and promised I won’t make them again. I did what I thought you wanted tonight, I made the grandest gesture I know to make, and I left there feeling like a fool. How can I trust
you
now, Trish?
How?
”

Oh boy—this wasn’t going well. What if she’d
really
messed up? What if he
really
wouldn’t believe her? What the hell was she going to do to make him understand, make him
know
that she would love him forever?

Then his determined plea in her parents’ yard came back to her. She felt just as desperate now as he’d been then, so she gazed into his eyes, pressing her palms to his chest. “Forgive me, Joe. You
have
to forgive me. You
have
to.”

Because nothing else made sense. She’d understood his simple, needful words when he’d said them, that forgiveness between them was the only way to ever make things right and as they should be—and now she stood in his arms, praying he’d give her another chance, too. She’d finally realized that life came with no guarantees, that she just had to put herself out there and
trust.
Now he had to do the same thing.

His response came silently, softly—he simply leaned his forehead over against hers. They no longer moved to the music, the only two people on the dance floor, and the lack of pool balls clacking together probably meant everyone was staring at them, but she didn’t care. She drew her hands from around his neck to his face and tenderly kissed him.

She still clutched the tulips in one hand, the petals now brushing his cheek. He drew them down to look. “You brought the flowers.”

“That’s because they’re beautiful and I love them and they’re the flowers I’m going to carry when I marry you.”

He went utterly still, lifting his eyes from the tulips to her face. His lips trembled slightly, but his voice came deep and steady. “Is that a proposal, cupcake?”

Wow. It had sure sounded like one. And she hadn’t exactly planned that, but…just like forgiveness, nothing else made sense. “Yeah. I think it was.”

In response, he grabbed her hand and pulled her toward the door—and straight out into the parking lot! She’d been thinking they might announce the news to the bar, perhaps be the center of some applause, of some grand ending worthy of a romantic movie—but apparently not. “What are you doing?”

As he led her to his truck and opened the door, he said, “That’s a pretty untraditional marriage proposal. So I’m gonna give you a pretty untraditional acceptance.”

The word “acceptance” was just registering in her mind as he climbed inside and pulled her into his lap. Settling his arms around her, he delivered a long, slow kiss to her mouth.

“So,” she said, a bit breathless, “is that a yes?”

He nodded. “Mmm hmm. And here’s another one.” He kissed her firmer this time, lifting one hand to her cheek, touching his tongue to hers and igniting a fresh fire inside her.

A few minutes later, the kisses had deepened and the crux between her legs rippled as he slid one hand to her breast, stroking his thumb across the nipple through her dress. Trish considered her marriage proposal fully accepted now as they both sank deeper into more of the pleasure portion of the evening she’d been anticipating ever since leaving Indy. “I can’t believe,” she purred, letting out a small laugh, “that I’m making out in a truck with naked women on the mudflaps.”

“They’re silhouettes,” he said low and sexy between kisses. “You don’t know for sure they’re naked. It’s…mysterious.”

Smiling at her lover, she curled one arm around his neck and gave him a short but heated open-mouthed kiss. “I would never try to change you, Joe—I love you just the way you are. But surely you realize…those mudflaps have to go.”