A Better Reason to Fall in Love (19 page)

“I’ll just brush my teeth and crash,” he told her.

As Jagger Brodie stripped his belt from the waist of his jeans, Tabby swallowed and tried to avert her attention from the broad, bare, flawlessly sculpted torso before her.

“Uh…um…well, there’s towels and washcloths in the…in the cupboard in there if you want to shower in the morning,” she stammered. The magnitude of the situation was beginning to wash over her. She was standing in her bedroom with Jagger Brodie—and he was beginning to strip. It was scandalous! She realized then how tired he must be. He didn’t want to talk any more—just wanted to get to sleep. She thought for a moment as she glanced to his muscular chest once more that Armando had nothing on Jagger Brodie when it came to ripped-ness.

“Good night,” she managed. She was blushing vermilion, even though she’d managed
not
to see him in nothing but his underwear.

She could’ve sworn she’d heard a low chuckle emanating from him as she closed her bedroom door behind her. What a devil! What a delicious, gorgeous, mouth-watering devil.

She’d never get to sleep—never!

As she unwrapped an extra princess toothbrush from Chloe’s bathroom—because she’d completely forgotten to get hers from her own—she noticed that her hands were trembling. Jagger Brodie had managed to entirely freak her out with his stripping antics. She couldn’t believe he hadn’t let her change the sheets. She was horrified! Her pillows probably smelled too girly to tolerate—like body splash, hairspray, and makeup. Ugh!

Still, she smiled. He didn’t mind sleeping in her bed—in her sheets? It was rather flattering in a way. Or maybe he was just into camping and used to sleeping in sleeping bags that got laundered only once every five or ten years. Either way, she’d never get to sleep.

Jagger sighed, raised his arms, and tucked his hands at the back of his head. Tabby Flanders’s bed smelled like heaven—like lip gloss, perfume, and other girl stuff. It was indecent, the way he was enjoying sleeping between her sheets. He chuckled as he closed his eyes, remembering the look on her face when he’d started to drop his jeans. What was she worried about anyway? He was wearing boxer briefs. Still, he’d thought her jaw might hit the floor or that her pretty blue eyes might pop right out of her head. Girls—they were so easily rattled.

He silently scolded himself for toying with her. However, he’d needed to get her out of the room somehow. He was about two breaths away from kissing her, and the situation demanded a gentleman—not a player.

Jagger drew a deep breath—slowly exhaled. He was glad he’d forgotten that flash drive—glad he’d gone back to the office to find Tabby hiding in the break room. Otherwise, he would never have found himself secluded in her company for so long—never would’ve found himself sleeping in her bed—and he certainly had, and was, enjoying it.

CHAPTER NINE

Although the storm had exhausted itself during the night, it managed to leave a foot of snow in Tabby’s driveway and drifts up to almost three feet against the garage door. Having overslept until almost nine, Tabby had hopped out of bed and called the office’s main switchboard. She was relieved to hear the office would remain closed. Otherwise, she and Jagger both would’ve been insanely late for work.

As Tabby prepared a breakfast of French toast and bacon, she could hear the sounds of neighbors shoveling their driveways. The sun was shining bright and cheerful, but the driveway would have to be shoveled if Jagger hoped to ever escape the prison Tabby had led him into. She figured that once she had breakfast ready, she’d sneak out and start shoveling. In the fresh light of day—with no merciless blizzard blowing to toy with her anxieties—Tabby was embarrassed that she’d caused such a profound inconvenience to Jagger Brodie.

Certainly she had adored having him there in her house, having him all to herself for hours and hours, knowing he was sleeping in the next room—in her room. Still, it was humiliating all the same. The poor man! His entire evening had been ruined.

Tabby sighed, rolled her eyes, and shook her head as she recalled the ridiculous things she’d rattled on about the night before.

“Six Degrees of Kevin Bacon?” she whispered, sighing with self-disgust. Jagger Brodie must think her a complete idiot! Still, she smiled as she remembered his telling her of having crushed on Ginger from
Gilligan’s Island
as a boy. He was so amusing, so witty, a fabulous conversationalist, and, of course, perfect eye candy. She could almost hear his voice in her head—his speaking voice, his singing voice. It was intoxicating—provocative.

She placed the last few strips of now-cooked bacon onto a pie plate lined with paper towels and covered it with a saucepan lid. Putting the pie plate of bacon in the warmed oven with the previously prepared French toast, she sighed. At least Jagger would have a good breakfast waiting for him. She giggled as she remembered the Frito pie he’d prepared for them the night before. He was entirely too entertaining in entirely too many ways.

Tabby wiped her hands on her apron and then reached around to untie it at her back. As she did so, she turned, gasping slightly as she saw Jagger Brodie leaning on one shoulder against the wall—and smiling at her.

“I-I made you some breakfast,” she said. “Do you like French toast?” Somehow in the light of morning, Jagger Brodie didn’t seem as approachable as he had the night before. She was nervous.

“It’s my favorite,” he said.

“Well, then…have a seat,” she said, gesturing toward the table. “I figured the least I could do after all your help and patience with me is to start your day off with a good breakfast,” she babbled as she took a plate down from the cupboard.

“You’re not going to eat with me?” he asked.

“Oh, I already ate,” she explained, opening the oven. “I want to get out and shovel so you won’t be trapped here any longer than you need to be.”

Pulling on a couple of oven mitts, Tabby removed the pie plate of bacon and the plate of French toast, placing them on the table. The syrup was already there, along with a set of silverware and a napkin.

He shrugged broad shoulders. “It’s okay. I’ve never used Huckleberry Kiss bodywash before.” He smiled up at her. “But it claims to moisturize as it cleanses…so we’ll see.”

“Well, if it’s any consolation, you smell very pretty,” she teased.

“Thanks,” he chuckled.

“You enjoy your breakfast, and I’ll run out and shovel the driveway so you can escape,” she said. “By the way, the office is closed today. I called.”

Tabby bit her lip, delighted by his old-fashioned chivalry. Still, it was her fault he was trapped, so she began, “No, really. You don’t need to—”

“Here,” he said, pulling her arm so that she was directed to sit in the chair next to him. “You just keep me company while I eat. Then I’ll shovel.”

Tabby suddenly suspected that Jagger Brodie might be even more flirtatious in the light of day, following a good night’s rest, than he was in the evening.

“Maybe I’ll just hide the evidence,” Tabby playfully countered. “What she doesn’t know won’t hurt her.”

“I guess that’s true,” Jagger chuckled.

He had to hurry. Jagger nearly gulped down the delicious breakfast the dead-sexy redhead had prepared for him—because he had to hurry and get out of there. He’d managed to remain a gentleman the night before. He’d even managed to get to sleep, eventually. However, Tabby Flanders was too attractive—too tasty-looking. It wouldn’t be wise to linger—to risk losing his resolve to move slowly. If he didn’t leave soon, who knew what he might slip up and say—or do?

Jagger made certain the conversation wound along rather shallow lines as he finished his breakfast. Then he went to the garage, grabbed his jacket out of the car, and asked Tabby where she kept her snow shovel.

Tabby felt a little ridiculous. It was obvious Jagger could shovel seven hundred times better and faster than she could. Still, she wouldn’t leave him to the chore all by himself. What would he think of her then? She’d been so ridiculously pitiful the night before that he’d had to literally come to her rescue and drive her home. Then she’d kept him up until midnight yammering on about who knew what kind of nonsense. Top that off with the fact he’d slept in used sheets. She considered herself lucky that he was still speaking to her.

Jagger smiled as he paused to watch Tabby a moment. She was so cute, with her little shovelfuls of snow. He glanced at the house. It was cute—a little two-bedroom, maybe eighty years old, and recently remodeled. It would be a great starter home for some little couple or family.

She smiled at him. “So you don’t have to worry about my car still being at the office. You don’t have to give me a ride tomorrow.”

“Oh,” he said, as if his mind had been on the planet Mars instead of on their shoveling. “But it’s on my way.”

Tabby smiled, shaking her head. “What? The-hamster-needs-food story again?” she asked. “Jocelyn only lives a few streets away. She can bring me. That way you won’t have to come all the way over here to get hamster food.”

The dazzle of his smile caused Tabby’s heartbeat to increase. He was so very, very handsome. It wasn’t fair!

“Well…we’ll see,” he said.

Tabby smiled. She adored the way he was commanding—yet not. He wasn’t a pushover, but he wasn’t a domineering jerk either. Nope—he seemed to be a good balance.

It took Jagger less than fifteen minutes to clear the driveway, no thanks to Tabby. The snowplow had passed, clearing the street, as they had been shoveling. He was free to leave, and the thought depressed her a little—actually a lot.

“I’ll start the car and pull it out,” he said, returning the snow shovel he’d used to the garage. “I probably should let it warm up a bit while I get my stuff.”

“Probably,” Tabby said. Her heart felt disappointed, as if she’d never be excited about anything ever again.

She watched as Jagger slid into the driver’s seat of his car—as he backed it out into the driveway. It was a strange feeling—a miserable, lonesome feeling that she’d never before experienced.