Trouble When You Walked In (Contemporary Romance) (11 page)

“Really?” he murmured against her mouth. “You and me together are a lot like a Hail Mary pass. You don’t expect it to work. But when it does.…” He paused. “You know what a Hail Mary pass is?”

“I do now.”

He grinned. “You’re a good sport.” Then he put both hands around her back and yanked her playfully close, his eyes full of all kinds of promise.

Oh, boy. She tried to focus on his gorgeous face, but the zippered-up part of him drew most of her attention. Her heart rate ratcheted up. He was ready for her in a major way. She couldn’t help blushing and didn’t remember being nervous the last time she’d gotten this far—she’d been pretty annoyed, actually, because it had been with a pushy guy she’d met at a college reunion weekend a few years back—but now she was nervous all over.

“Boone?” She simply had to go for it. This part wouldn’t be nearly as bad as the actual asking had been. She could get through it.

“Yeah?” He nuzzled her ear with his lips.

It tickled. But she loved it. “Remember I told you I might have other stuff to tell you as we went along?”

“I do.”

She let a small sigh escape. “I’m almost a virgin. I’ve had sex once. Ten years ago.”

He immediately pulled back. “Really?”

It was embarrassing to admit. Part of her felt like crying. All that suppressed stress she’d tried to ignore, the years of worrying, wondering, waiting …

She nodded, heat rushing to her face. “So I’m not sure that I’m doing it right.”

He smiled. “There’s honest-to-God”—he put up his palm—“no wrong way.”

She was glad his tone wasn’t pitying. He was treating this like a practical matter. Her nerves retreated a half step. “You’re sure?”

“Positive.” He swung her up into his arms before she even knew what he was doing. “Sex is like heaven. Or Disney World. Fun all the time. Leave your cares behind.”

He started whistling “When You Wish upon a Star.”

Happiness surged through her like … like the chocolate river in Willy Wonka’s factory. Why not? She’d always wanted to jump in that river. Now she allowed herself the simple joy of watching her legs bounce as her soon-to-be-lover carried her past the kitchen and kicked open a partially closed door.

They entered a vast space, the master bedroom. It was all guy. She focused on the quilt on the bed that some gifted mountain artisan had labored over. It was abstract: wobbly circles, rings of deep color—reds, blues, yellows. So much energy!

Like Boone. He probably had a lot of energy on that bed.

She was getting more scared and excited than ever. She tried hard to disguise it by breathing long, slow breaths through her nose and not letting her chest rise and fall too much.

“That’s actually an antique pattern,” he said. “I commissioned someone to copy it.”

“It looks like it could go in MoMA.” The Museum of Modern Art in New York City. Maybe he didn’t know what that was … had he ever left Kettle Knob? She didn’t feel she could ask. And she certainly didn’t want to come across as a snob and start explaining—

“I fly to a MoMA gala once a year,” he said with a chuckle.

That must mean he was a big contributor. “I wasn’t wondering—”

He had the grace to kiss her then, long and deep.

She’d made the best decision of her life tonight.

On the opposing wall, across the stretch of floor where he stood cradling her, was a plump divan, a cool modern reading lamp, a small table to hold books (she saw
To Kill a Mockingbird
on top), and a massive flagstone fireplace flanked on either side by floor-to-ceiling windows which marched down the length of the room.

No curtains.

“Wow, what a view. All stars. And that moon.” Her heart hurt just looking at it.

“Incredible, isn’t it?” His tone was husky. Reverent.

She felt the crush consume her. It was like coming over the top of a Ferris wheel, the dip in your stomach, the rush—but she couldn’t do that. She couldn’t fall for this guy.

Why not?
an inner voice taunted her.

He was too popular with the ladies. She could never take him seriously. And then there was the library—her territory—which was in danger. As was her family’s legacy. Her friends’ happiness. And the deliverance of her soul mate.

No, scratch that last thing. No soul mate was going to show up like a UPS package at the library.

“Do you have electronic hidden shades or something?” She needed to get back to ordinary topics.

“I do, but I never use them,” he said. “I love nighttime on the mountain. And I’m a natural early bird. I’m up before sunrise most days. But when I’m here for it, I take it in. Nature’s Prozac. I got these windows put in a couple years ago.”

Her room at home had a beautiful view, too, but the windows were small. She’d always loved it, but this place brought nature’s magnificence inside.

Boone was definitely one of nature’s finer examples of man.

He set her down on a fluffy sheepskin rug. “Any time you want to stop what we’re doing, just say
Pluto
. Or
Daffy
. Okay?”

“Are you kidding? I’m not going to want to stop. Although if I did, I’d say
Ariel
.”

“Okay.” He grinned, but then his face grew serious. “Do you want to talk about it? Your big dry spell?”

He tugged her onto the bed like they’d been lovers for years, kissed her once—a deep, erotic kiss that made her nearly moan out loud—then pulled back to give her space. Leaning on his elbow like that, he looked like a mythological god.

She could barely breathe from the nearness of all that sexy. “I had a fiancé in grad school.” God, she hadn’t thought about him in years. “He kept saying he wanted to wait. I thought that was his way of respecting me. So the one time we got together—well, it wasn’t like Disney World or heaven. Okay?”

Boone fell back on his spine, a beautiful sight, and looked up at the beams on the ceiling. “There’s always an exception to every rule. Too bad you discovered that the hard way.”

She noticed his zipper again. “Well, since it wasn’t anything to write home about, it worried me. I pressed a little harder and found out that he was actually in love with another girl and didn’t know how to tell me.”

“That sucks.”

She sighed. “Pretty much. Although I’ve seen him on Facebook.” He looked over at her, his eyebrows raised. “I’m not stalking him, I promise! He and his wife—yes, they got married—show up on pages of mutual friends—and I’m really glad, obviously, that it didn’t work out between us. We weren’t … soul mates.”

“You believe in soul mates?”

“That’s like asking someone if they believe in Santa Claus. You might say he’s not real. But I won’t say that. Ever.”

He leaned close. “There’s no fat man in a red suit and a white beard flying around the sky on Christmas Eve.”

“I didn’t hear that,” she said with a grin. “I was singing ‘Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer’ in my head.”

He smiled back, and she felt that connection again, as if he really got her. She couldn’t help a small shiver.

“You cold?” he asked.

His tone undid her. He actually sounded like he
cared
. “Nah.” She shrugged. “Just a little freaked out by this whole night.”

“That’s understandable.” He scooted up a little closer, his warmth a bank of coals against her body. “What happened after the breakup? Were you scared off from other guys?”

“For a little while. I came back here, licking my wounds. Mother and Daddy and Nana seemed to appreciate having me around. I got the job at the library. Hung out with Laurie. But no guy that I wanted to be with ever showed up. And time just went on. Life happened. Next thing I know, I’m thirty-two and asking a near stranger to sleep with me.”

“Funny that I was here the whole time.” He wrapped a tendril of her hair around his finger. “And we’re not near strangers. We go back to grade school.”

“Yes, but—”

“But what?”

“I was invisible to you until yesterday.”

His expression was grim. “I’m not going to deny it and make you more mad.”

“I’m not mad.” She closed her eyes, then opened them. “Yes, I am.”

“I’m sorry.” He sounded sincere enough. “But it’s a two-way street. You made no effort to talk to me, either, all these years.”

“That’s because you’re on this huge pedestal. I’d have to cup my hands around my mouth and shout up to you. Clash some cymbals together.”

“I don’t buy into that kind of excuse making. You could have propositioned me ten years ago, and you decided for some reason not to. That’s your style. So own it.”

“I don’t have a style.”

“Oh, yes, you do.”

“Me? A style?”

“Uh-huh.” His eyes gleamed.

“I’m not some easily predictable person. Okay, I am, somewhat. But I’m fighting against that. As I’ve told you.”

“Let’s talk about now.” He pulled her up off the bed. “We’re going to sit in the hot tub on the back deck under a canopy of stars. Get you warmed up a little. Help you forget that last guy.”

“You must take all the girls back there.”

“Actually, no. Never have.”

“Why not?”

“That’s too long a story to tell to a near stranger.” He turned her around to face a door, presumably to a bathroom. “Now go get naked. There’s a bathrobe in there if you’re so inclined.”

He was a real smart aleck.

She wished she could dwell on that, but now she had to get ready. The whole crazy scenario began to seem real when she saw her very boring undergarments (sigh!) hung over the bathroom towel rack. And when she wrapped her naked body in a heavy white cotton robe—man-sized—she felt very girly. It helped that when she looked in the mirror, her cheeks were bright red, and so were her lips.

Kissing a hot guy was a better beauty trick than any makeup or lotion.

“Keep this going,” she whispered to herself. “You can do it, you vixen, you.”

She could be an Elvis girl.

But deep in her heart, she was still afraid. Perhaps there was a reason it had been so long since the last time she’d been intimate with a man. She looked over her always-too-curious eyes, her broad, brainy forehead, her nose—which was her finest asset, princess-like, elegant—and her chin, which even she could see was distinctly stubborn.

When she came out, Boone was already in boxer briefs. She wondered if he’d done any Calvin Klein ads in New York when he was there. He should have, and his image should have gone in Times Square on one of those massive billboards.

“Ready?” he said, as if their arrangement was no big deal.

“Sure.” She gave a little laugh and wished she didn’t feel like she was going to the guillotine when he escorted her outside to the back deck. Thank goodness the big wind was gone, but the cold, crisp air hit her hard. She was glad to breathe fresh oxygen, but she could never get naked in this. Ever.

“Don’t worry,” he said. “You’ll sit on the edge, warm your feet and calves while we sip some champagne, then slip off the robe when you’re ready and get in.”

“But it’s so cold, steam is rising from the water.” She tried to sound equally casual. “I don’t want to compromise my immune system. I-I can’t afford to get sick. Not when I have to fight you on the library and deal with the insurance company over the house.”

“You won’t get sick. Hot tubs and sex are good for you.”

“I thought that was Guinness’s slogan.”

He laughed. “I’m borrowing it tonight.”

Only the lamps from his bedroom illuminated the deck when he helped her up on the side of the hot tub. She wiggled onto a sturdy portion of the edge, glad the water was dark.

Suddenly, the water lit up at the same time the house lights disappeared. The stars became clear bits of crystal in the inky night sky.

“Oh, my gosh,” she said.

He handed her a glass of champagne, and she didn’t even say thank you. She was too wrapped up in the spectacle above their heads.

“Ah,” he said. “This feels good.”

Her heart jumped. She looked down, and he was in the tub.
Naked
. The boxer briefs were flung over the side. But she couldn’t see anything. There were too many bubbles. And he had a glass of champagne in his hand.

She wished she could see. But it was good that she couldn’t. She was already trembling from nerves. She swallowed down the rest of her champagne to assuage them.

“Wanna join me yet?” he asked above the soothing whir of the hot tub.

But she drew her legs up. “I’m still getting used to it.”

“Take your time. How about I top off your champagne?”

“Yes, please.”

He’d never get there without standing up and really stretching, which might involve a show of some kind.

“No!” she said too loud. “No, thanks. I’m fine. I, uh, think it’s too late for drinking. You know, more than one glass. We have work in the morning. I forgot.”

He shot her a skeptical look. “All right.”

They sat in silence for at least three seconds, but she couldn’t bear it. What if he was thinking about her? He probably was. She was the only other person there. What kind of thoughts was he thinking? Sexy ones? Scornful ones? Pitying ones?

“Are you thinking … anything right now?” she asked him.

He took a healthy sip of champagne. “Yep.”

“Like what? What’s on your mind?”

“You dropping your robe and getting in the water while I close my eyes. You telling me when I can open them again.”

“Oh.” She could do that. She set her glass down. The champagne fizz was going to her head already. She pushed back her robe, felt the icy air on her breasts, tummy, and back, and slid down into the welcoming heat of the water.

Utter bliss. Cold versus hot. Square of light in bowl of dark. Bubbles dancing beneath her arms, between her legs, her fingers …

And then her toe touched his, and she pulled her leg back.
Scary, naked man. Sexy and strong.
The words filled her head. She was dying to touch him. She stole a glance back at his room. Remembered
To Kill a Mockingbird
.

“Have you ever read Dick Francis?” she asked him, which was her form of foreplay.

“No,” said Boone.

“You’re in for a treat.” And then she remembered that she was sharing her deeply personal book love with her enemy. Her stack of library cards loomed before her, and her neatly catalogued books.