Crazy Love (21 page)

She rushed on. “Don’t get me wrong, I like having you drop by every day but since Mount Eros you’ve backed off.”

He folded his arms and leaned back, the classic defensive pose alerting her to the fact he hadn’t received her flash of honesty too well.

“We’re friends. We hang out, have the occasional coffee, rib each other about anything and everything. How can that be backing off?”

Physically, that’s how
!

“Guess I thought there was something more going on.”

Now she’d started down this track, she had no choice but to follow through. “You know, after those kisses…”

She deliberately didn’t say more, hoping he’d pick up her thread of conversation and run with it.

“You want me to say I’m attracted to you?”

Not quite what she’d expected but a start. As much as she didn’t want to have this conversation it would settle the question of whether this
thing
between them was a result of wishful thinking on her part or something more, something that could set their world alight given half a chance.

“I want you to say exactly what you’re thinking.”

He fixed her with a piercing stare, the one he’d given her when they’d first met, the kind of stare to see right through her, all the way to her deepest secrets.

“Sure?”

“Yeah.”

He leaned toward her. “Fine. I’m thinking the more time I spend with you the harder it is to keep my hands off you. I’m thinking every time I sit across this table from you I’d like to sweep everything onto the floor and bend you over it. I’m thinking you’re so goddamned addictive I’ll never be able to have enough of you. There, satisfied?”

Happy-dancing on the inside, she struggled not to yell ‘Yay! He likes me!’ But she wasn’t in high school and having a boy like her wasn’t enough. With sexual tension taut between them this time she wanted to go all the way.

“Satisfied? Hmm…let me think.” She tapped her bottom lip, pretending to ponder, before sending him a sizzling look from beneath lowered lashes. “I would be if you followed up on some of those thoughts.”

Before she could blink he’d hauled her across the table and into his arms, ravishing her mouth with an intensity that left her breathless.

The sounds of breaking china as mugs hit the floor barely registered as she slid her arms around his neck and hung on, needing an anchor in a world turned topsy-turvy.

“You’ve got a smart mouth, Angel Face,” he broke the kiss long enough to murmur as his lips trailed hot, moist kisses across her jaw line towards her ear.

“And yours is divine, Slick.”

She tilted her head back, exposing her neck to his talented tongue, desire slamming through her, turning her insides to liquid heat.

His hands were everywhere, tugging at clothes, skimming her skin, creating an erotic whirlpool that promised to suck her into its vortex until she screamed with the pleasure of it.

She clambered onto his lap and wrapped her legs around him, the feel of his rock-hard erection rubbing at her core sending bolts of sensation rocketing through her.

He stilled and she clung to him, her face buried in his shoulder, not willing to stop, not this time.

“Kiss me again—”

“We’ve got company.”

She raised her head, surprised by the laughter in his voice. She’d expected regret, recriminations, and excuses, not the deep rumbles making him shake.

She followed his line of vision and saw Flo’s face pressed against the windowpane, her mouth a perfect O.

“Guess that puts a dampener on things,” he said, his hands clamped around her waist as if he had no intention of letting go. If only.

Sierra slid off his lap and straightened her clothes as Flo dashed across the yard back to her place. Great. The Love grapevine would be working overtime tonight. Not that she cared. Her mind still spun from that scintillating kiss, her body clamoring for more.

“Refill?”

She picked up the coffee pot, torn between dumping the contents on her head in embarrassment and pouring the lot on him for stopping.

“No, thanks. I have to go.”

“Uh-huh.”

Typical. Show a bit of emotion, time to make a run for it. Jeez, guys infuriated her.

“Sorry about the mess. If you show me where the broom is, I’ll clean up.”

“Leave it.” She waved him away, cursing her stupidity for liking him so much, wishing he’d just go.

“Okay. See you later.”

He eased out the back door and she resisted the urge to slam it.

“Damn you, Slick,” she muttered, casting a malevolent glare at the china laying shattered on the floor, hoping her heart wouldn’t soon follow suit.

Flo hobbled as fast as her dodgy ankles could carry her, reaching for her cell phone on the bench top as soon as she entered her kitchen and hitting redial.

Thankfully, Liv answered on the second ring.

Flo lowered her voice. “Can you talk?”

“Sure. What’s with the whispering?”

With her eagerness to impart the news, Flo hadn’t realized how quietly she’d spoken.

She cleared her throat. “Better? Can you hear me?”

“Loud and clear. How are you?”

“Fine, but no time for chit-chat now. I’ve got news about Marc and Sierra.”

She imagined Liv sitting up straighter. “Yes?”

“I just saw the two of them in a lip-lock that could’ve set fire to that quaint kitchen of hers.”

“You were
spying
on them?” Liv sounded horrified rather than pleased.

“’Course not. I’d been over there earlier and left my lighter behind.” She sniggered. “Looked like the two young ones were lighting a few fires of their own by the time I returned.”

Liv chuckled. “Sounds promising. Marc tells me he sees a fair bit of Sierra but I got the impression there was nothing romantic going on.”

Flo snorted and reached for a cigarette before remembering her lighter was in Sierra’s kitchen. “There’s plenty going on from what I saw.”

“That’s good news.”

“Sure is. I’ll keep you posted. How’s that old reprobate Hank treating you these days?”

Liv hesitated for less than a fraction of a second, long enough to rouse Flo’s usually suspicious nature. “Fine, though business keeps him busy. I’ve hardly seen him the last few days. He’s made several day trips to Imperial Valley.”

Flo heard the loneliness in Liv’s voice. If anyone could understand, she could. Look where the emotion had got her, pining after some old fogey who probably wouldn’t give her the time of day when he came into town tomorrow.

Keeping her voice deliberately lighthearted, she said, “Lucky you, getting some breathing space from the old letch. I’d be dancing a jig. Once he slips that wedding band on your finger he’ll have you shackled to that kitchen sink, mark my words.”

As intended, Liv laughed. “At least I won’t be pregnant.”

Flo joined in her friend’s laughter, thankful she’d shared that outlook with Charlie. They both hadn’t wanted kids, a fact most people didn’t understand, but she’d never had a maternal bone in her body and had never regretted her decision.

“Flo, I think Hank’s arrived. Speak to you soon?”

“Sure. Take care, you hear?”

Liv had gone, probably rushing to the arms of her man. If only she could do the same.

“Will Jamieson, watch out,” she muttered, as she searched the dresser drawers for matches, desperately craving a cigarette while she contemplated her plan to impress the old fool.

Marc stared out the windscreen and drummed his fingers against the steering wheel. It had been one hell of a day, starting with Rob’s phone call about the Tech file highlighting his ongoing dilemma, followed by his caveman behavior in Sierra’s kitchen, culminating in the meeting with the PI he’d hired to investigate Hank Stevens.

Yeah, one helluva day and it wasn’t over yet. What next?

He’d hired a local investigator figuring he’d get the information on his mom’s fiancé quicker that way. Finders-Keepers were great for prying into financial affairs of companies he wanted to acquire but he’d thought a delicate operation of this kind would be better handled locally.

He’d been wrong. Eric Grayson appeared competent but he hadn’t come up with the goods yet and Marc didn’t have much time left; only a few days to find some scrap of dirt he could use to convince his mom she was making a huge mistake in marrying Hank.

As far as he could see, the farmer was genuine. In fact, the more he got to know him, the more impressed he was. Yet, Marc couldn’t ignore the niggle of doubt in his gut. Something wasn’t right.

He’d closed some dicey business deals by listening to his gut instinct, taking chances when guys around him thought he was nuts. Now, the same gut feeling was telling him Hank Stevens had a secret, something with the potential to tear his mom apart and he’d be damned if he stood by and let it happen no matter how much he liked the guy.

A rap on his side window wrenched his attention back to the present and he stabbed at the open button. Speak of the devil.

“You okay?” Hank leaned against the car and peered in the window. “I’ve been in the general store awhile, saw your car parked out here before I went in.”

“Fine thanks.”

Yet another thing he’d never get used to in this town, the way everyone knew your business. It would’ve riled him when he first arrived but he’d mellowed. With his impending departure next weekend, he could afford to be magnanimous. “How are you?”

“Not bad. Just picking up a few things your mom wanted. Why don’t you come for dinner? She’d love to see you.”

Marc glanced at his watch, not really caring what the time was. He didn’t have any place to be, he couldn’t concentrate on business while Love Byte was on A-Corp’s hit list and sitting in the little apartment over Flo’s garage was too close to Sierra.

He’d be tempted to head over there and finish what he’d started earlier, a dumb move despite his libido roaring
go for it
.

The closer the timeline to finalizing the Tech file, the further he backed away, hating to get too close for fear of hurting her when the truth came out.

And it would. It was only a matter of when: when he told her, when he decided what the hell he was going to do, when he stopped mulling every possible solution where he could seal the deal and get the girl too.

“Unless you have something else to do?”

Hank wore a strange expression, his steady stare probing, trying to read his mind. Ridiculous. Probably his own guilt at having the farmer investigated playing tricks on him.

Why should he feel guilty? He wasn’t trying to ruin the man, just protect his mom, something he should’ve done years earlier.

“Dinner sounds good.”

Hank nodded. “Excellent. Gives me a chance to open a bottle of cognac I’ve been saving, if your mom doesn’t mind. I’m hoping you’re a connoisseur?”

“I can be persuaded.”

Damn it, why did the farmer have to be so nice? He genuinely liked Hank, an educated, gentle man with good taste. Not to mention caring enough about his mom to consider whether drinking around her would be okay.

Was his gut instinct wrong this time? His protectiveness tainting his opinion? It didn’t take a genius to decipher his over protectiveness stemmed from guilt, a constant, nagging guilt for not being there for his mom during her nightmare marriage to George.

He’d never understood why she’d stuck by George all those years after he’d grown up, had lost respect for her because of it, had preferred to ignore his parents and look out for himself. He’d missed the signs of his mom’s drinking by shutting off, had never forgiven himself for finally acknowledging the truth of her downward spiral when he’d walked in on her lying unconscious in a pool of vomit.

That horrific day remained etched in his mind: arriving early to pick up some old college documents, finding the patio sliding door open, calling out repeatedly only to be greeted by silence, an eerie, taut silence that raised the hairs on the back of his neck.

He’d known something was wrong the moment he stepped inside the house, the pungent stink of vomit permeating the air as he barged through the family room, the kitchen, before almost stumbling over his mom’s prostate body in the dining room.

Right beside the liquor cabinet. An empty vodka bottle clutched in one hand, an unopened gin bottle in the other.

He’d learned at an early age that tears were wasted. They didn’t make your parents stop fighting, they didn’t make the pain of being called a sissy repeatedly by the one man you wanted respect from go away, and they sure as hell didn’t make your father disappear.

So he’d stopped crying but the second he knelt next to his mom, pried the bottles out of her hands, gently lifted her and carried her to the upstairs bath, the tears were back, angry tears that blinded him, furious tears of recrimination and self-loathing that he’d been too wrapped up in himself to care about his mom.

She’d revived in the bath, her eyes glazed yet desolate and he’d vowed right then to do whatever it took to get her cleaned up.

He hadn’t done much. His mom’s shame had been complete that day; she’d hit the bottom of the bottle and there was only one way out.

He’d helped her pack a few essentials and she’d moved in with him the same day. George had gone ballistic but they hadn’t cared. She’d attended AA meetings regularly, started socializing again and finally smiled, something he hadn’t seen in a long time.

Sober, his mom could take on the world. But what if she was taking on more than she could handle in Hank?

He stared at Hank, hoping his instincts were wrong. If Eric Grayson came up with nothing, he could head back to LA conscience clear. If not…he hated to think of the devastation his mom would face again.

A failed marriage closely followed by a broken engagement would be two emotional upheavals too many, more than she should have to face, more than she could cope with and he’d hate to see her regress to the drunken mess she’d been before leaving George.

“Okey-dokey, I’ll see you at home.” Hank banged the roof of his car twice, stepped away and waved.

Marc saluted in response and started the engine, hoping he was wrong about Hank, ready to help his mom handle the fallout if he wasn’t.