Addicted to Love (29 page)
When her blouse was open and he caught sight of the pink bra she wore underneath, he sucked in a fresh breath on a hiss of air. The sound — wholly masculine and appreciative, caused her womb to contract in response.
He reached up to thread his hands through her hair and pulled her head down to his once more. He stared into her eyes, never looking away, letting her see deep inside him.
She thought of how she must look, covered in French Silk pie, and she laughed.
He laughed, too, robust and raw.
And she started giggling and couldn’t stop. She tumbled off him, landing on her fanny on the tile. Brody sat up, pushing a strand of hair back off his forehead, grinning broadly.
“This . . . is . . . this is . . . ” She was laughing too hard to finish her thought.
“Are you laughing at me?”
For one brief second, he looked so vulnerable it hurt her heart, but just as quickly as it came, the expression vanished from his face. She shook her head. “Not . . . you . . . ”
“The situation?”
She hiccuped. Nodded. She felt at once silly and giddy and profound. Everything made a weird kind of nonsensical sense. How had she gotten to this point in her life? Kissing the sheriff on the floor of his office, covered in pie, both loving it and fearing it and completely out of control?
And then, without warning, she started to cry. She had no idea why she was crying. One minute she was laughing and the next minute salty tears were streaming down her face, mingling with the sticky chocolate on her cheeks.
Alarm lit Brody’s face, but then he pulled her into his lap and pressed her cheek against his chest as he wrapped her tightly in his arms. She could hear the steady strum of his heart, feel the heat of his body radiating through her.
“I . . . don’t . . . know —” She broke off as a sob escaped her throat. “Why . . . I’m . . . crying.”
“Shh,” he whispered and pressed his lips to the top of her head. “It’s too much, too soon. That’s all.”
She nodded against him, smearing a thin residue of chocolate over his pecs. He didn’t seem to mind.
“You must think I’m an emotional mess.”
“I think you’ve been through a lot over the last few months. Getting jilted at the altar. Finding out your parents are getting divorced. Losing your job. Incurring the wrath of fifty percent of your hometown. I’m amazed just how damn well you’ve held up, Rachael.”
“I didn’t mean to start this,” she said.
“You didn’t start it.”
“Don’t take the blame. I’m the one who started undressing you,” she said.
“I kissed you first.”
“I didn’t stop you.”
“I didn’t want you to stop me.”
She pulled back from his chest because she wanted to see his face. He looked down at her with the gentlest eyes she’d ever seen. How could a soldier have such gentle eyes?
“What are we going to do about this?” she wailed. “I can’t get involved with you. I want to and that’s the problem. I’ve never been without a boyfriend in my entire life, until the last couple of months. I don’t trust myself. I don’t trust these feelings I have for you.”
“That’s okay,” he said. “I understand.”
With the saddest look in his eyes, he took her by the shoulders and put her away from him, and then he slowly, tenderly buttoned up her dress.
Leaving Rachael more confused than ever.
T
WO DAYS AFTER
the rally Rachael was at home working on her next article for
Texas Monthly
when Deana knocked on her door.
“I gotta talk to you,” Deana said, breezing over the threshold. “I’m in trouble.”
“Trouble?” Rachael blinked, her head still in the article. She forced herself to focus on Deana, who plopped down on the couch.
“Big trouble.”
“Oh dear.” Rachael perched on the arm of the couch beside her. “How can I help?”
“I need an intervention.”
Rachael clucked her tongue. “Are you romanticizing a relationship?”
“More than that,” Deana moaned. “All this time I’ve been going to the Romanceaholic meetings, pretending I’m clean and clearheaded, when I’ve been secretly sneaking around with someone.”
Rachael placed a reassuring hand on Deana’s shoulder. “It’s okay. We all slip up,” she said, thinking about Brody. “The main thing is to get back on track.”
“How do I do that?”
“You’re going to have to back away from this relationship. Give it some time to cool off. Then you can look at it objectively and see if there’s a real future for the two of you as a couple or if what you’re feeling is all hormones and daydreams.”
“I’m afraid it’s too late,” Deana said. “He’s in my blood. I’m addicted.”
Rachael blew out her breath. “You’ve got to stop using language like that. He’s not in your blood, you’re not addicted to him. Do you want to end up in another relationship like the one you left?”
Anxiously, Deana rubbed her palms together. “He’s nothing like my ex-husband.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“He’s just not.”
“Is he charming?”
Deana laughed. “Not in the least. At least not in the way I used to describe charming. He’s something of a dork. He’s a computer geek. But I find his dorkiness charmingly refreshing. It makes me want to take care of him, but here’s the weird part: he takes care of me. Other than Brody, no man has ever looked after me. He’s sweet and smart and Maisy adores him.”
Rachael sighed. “You are romanticizing him.”
“I know,” Deana said. “But how can you tell the difference between romantic notions and real love?”
Rachael had to think about that one. Honestly, she wasn’t sure she knew the answer. “Time.”
“But if time is the determining factor, how come things fell apart for your parents?”
Good question. She didn’t have a ready answer. “I’m not sure what happened with my parents.”
“Basically, you’re saying we can never be sure about love.”
“Yeah,” Rachael said. “I guess that is what I’m saying.”
“He makes me laugh,” Deana said. “And he’s got the sexiest voice.”
“Where did you meet him?”
Deana looked shamefaced. “At a Romanceaholics meeting.”
“Deana!”
“I know.” Deana groaned, tilted her head, pressed her knees together and turned her feet inward.
“You simply can’t get involved with another roman-ceaholic. You’re both playing into the same addiction. He’s romanticizing you. You’re romanticizing him. It’s a disaster waiting to happen.”
“Well,” Deana said, “as long as we have the same fantasy, what’s the harm?”
“You have a daughter. You have to live in the real world for her. She’s your top priority.”
It sounded strange hearing that advice come out of her own mouth. When had she become the voice of reason when it came to romantic relationships? Honestly, who was she to tell anyone how to run their romantic life? She’d made a mess of hers from the moment she’d started dating.
“Let’s get real for a minute,” Rachael said, feeling like Dr. Phil. “Tell me the negatives about this guy. Is he employed?”
“He has a very good job.”
“What kind of job?”
“If I tell you, you’ll figure out who he is.”
“That’s a red flag statement. Why don’t you want me to know who he is?”
Deana blew out her breath. “I’m afraid you’ll think he’s too young for me.”
“How much younger is he?”
Deana gritted her teeth, then admitted, “Eight years.”
Computer geek. Smart. Dorky. Sweet. Romanceaholic. Eight years younger than Deana. Rachael put it all together. “Omigosh, you’re seeing Rex Brownleigh.”
B
rody was having a crappy week. Ever since the rally, Valentine had become even more divided, with the romantics on one side of the fence and the cynics on the other, arguing the pros and cons of Valentine Land, and Kelvin Wentworth versus Giada Vito.
Brody and Zeke had been called out to break up more than one liquor-soaked debate at Leroy’s that had deteriorated into fisticuffs over the difference between sex, romance, and true love. A local B&B on the banks of Valentine Lake, renowned throughout the state for its romantic getaway packages, had all ten of their bicycles-built-for-two vandalized. Someone had cut them completely in half.
With a pipe cutter.
This was the last straw for Brody. He was determined to catch the vandal before the election. For weeks he’d been trying to figure out who was behind these acts with no luck. It was time to set a trap. What he needed was something tempting the vandal couldn’t resist vandalizing. But what?
At the request of its listeners, Valentine’s radio station KVAL — which had once played only upbeat romantic tunes — had taken to giving equal airtime to anti-love songs like “Love Stinks,” “Heartbreak Hotel,” and “Fifty Ways to Leave Your Lover.”
But the greatest cause for concern was the number of couples who’d filed for separation or divorce. At just fifteen percent, the divorce rate in Valentine had been far below the national average. This past week, the rate had jumped to forty-five percent.
Added to the chaos were his chairman duties on the Fish-A-Thon for Love committee. The fishing tournament was a charity event held the last Saturday in October. The money raised from entry fees went to supply the coffers of the local food bank and to buy Christmas gifts and clothing for the needy children of Jeff Davis County. For years, Judge Pruitt had hosted the event Kelvin’s father had created. All the town’s prominent citizens and business leaders were expected to attend.
At least the tournament was a way to bring the town together for a day at an event that had nothing to do with romance.
Brody hadn’t spoken to Rachael since that day in his office. Mainly because he knew if he got around her he was going to have to touch her and he wasn’t real sure how to deal with that. The Friday afternoon before Saturday’s fishing tournament, he walked into Higgy’s Diner for a late lunch. The blue plate special was chicken and dumplings.
The restaurant was practically empty, save for a couple of the waitresses taking their lunch break. At the table in the corner a foursome of old-timers played dominoes. The hearty smell of roasted chicken and yeast bread filled the air.
And there, underneath the
Dirty Dancing
poster, sat the woman he’d been fantasizing about.
Rachael’s laptop was open on the pink Formica tabletop and she had an empty bowl of what had once held chicken and dumplings sitting off to one side. She was busily tapping away at her keyboard with her back to him. Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail and she wasn’t wearing any makeup, other than a shine of peach-colored lip gloss. He thought she was the most gorgeous thing he had ever seen.
Brody plunked down across from her. “You’ve caused me a lot of trouble this week,” he said.
“How so?”
It wasn’t his imagination. She was as excited to see him as he was to see her. The sparkle in her green eyes was a dead giveaway. She had on a pumpkin-colored turtleneck sweater that hugged her curves in all the right places.
“Half the town wants to canonize you, the other half wants to lynch you.”
“So I see your week has been going pretty much like mine,” she said. She reached up a hand to pull the elastic band holding her hair back. A cascade of long blonde curls fell to her shoulders. She tousled the silky strands in a casual gesture.
“I’m worried about your safety.”
“I’m okay.”
Brody nodded at the laptop. “You working on another inflammatory article?”
“I guess it all depends on your point of view.”
“What can I get for you, Brody?” asked April Tritt, who’d strolled over to the table, smoothing out the creases in her apron. She batted her eyelashes at him and leaned over to give him a good view of her ample cleavage.
“I’ll have what she had.” He inclined his head toward Rachael’s bowl.
“Chicken and dumplings, gotcha. Black coffee?”
“That’ll be fine.”
April sauntered off and he turned his attention back to Rachael only to find her closing the lid on her laptop and winding up the cord on the power pack. “You leaving already?”
“Yep.”
“You’re going to make me eat alone?” he protested.
“You’ve got plenty of company.” Rachael indicated April, ogling him from across the room.
“Jealous?”
“No.” She made a derisive noise that told him she was jealous indeed.
“Stay here and make April jealous of you,” he said.
She got to her feet, stowed her laptop in her computer bag. A long curl of hair fell softly against her breast. “Sorry, Sheriff. You’re just going to have to entertain yourself.”
“Why’re you running out on me, Rachael? Afraid of what will happen if you stay and chat?” He certainly was, and he had no idea why he was taunting her. Maybe to ease his own anxiety.
“Nothing’s going to happen between us.”
“How do you know?”
“Because I’m not going to let it,” she said, steely determination in her voice.
“Did something else happen?” His body tensed. If someone had done anything to her, he’d murder them.
“No . . . no, nothing like that.” Concern knit her brow.
“But something happened.”
She shrugged. “Let’s just say I’ve had to do a lot of hard thinking about my mission.”
Me, too.
“The whole love-versus-romance thing?”
“I realize I’ve been a poor example. Those kisses we shared . . . ” She swallowed. He could see the longing on her face because he felt a corresponding longing deep inside him. “Let’s just say I have to keep myself on a tighter leash. If I can’t control my urges, how can I expect my Romanceaholics Anonymous members to control theirs?”
“You do realize you just issued me a challenge.”
“I didn’t.”
“You did.”
They stared at each other.
“Brody Carlton, I swear, if you try to kiss me again, I’ll —” She broke off the sentiment.
“You’ll what?” he dared.
“I’ll . . . I’ll move away from Valentine,” she said, and with that, turned and flounced out the door.
Brody’s chicken and dumplings arrived but he couldn’t eat. His hunger for food had been replaced by a different kind of hunger: He had to have her and that’s all there was to it. He’d told himself he wouldn’t ever get involved in a grand love affair because great love destroyed lives, but he knew down deep in his soul she was the love of his life. And he had to convince her that she could have her happily-ever-after. The first step was to get her into his bed. He’d worry about the happily-ever-after part later.
