Just Kiss Me (14 page)

He continued across the driveway and she followed. “But you looked damn good in your metal-and-leather bikini.”

“I hated that bikini. It had to be taped on and my skin got raw. I broke out in a heat rash.” She scrunched her toes to get a tighter grip on the flip-flops. “The leather cat suit wasn’t much better. It took three hours to get stitched into it. And the sweat …” She must be drunk if she was talking about sweat. “I mean glow. We filmed the ‘Moons of Fontana’ scenes in Yuma, in a hundred-and-three-degree heat. The glow was disgusting.”

“You’re totally blowing my leather bikini fantasy.” He opened the door to a dark building and reached his hand inside to flip on the lights.

She glanced up at him out of the corners of her eyes and bit her lip. Henry had a leather bikini fantasy. She didn’t know how she felt about that. A little shocked that he’d admit it, and a little flattered, too. She walked into the open building filled with big saws and sanders and huge God-knew-what. He moved in front of her and her gaze slid from his dark hair brushing the collar of his white shirt to the crisp pleat centered between his broad shoulders. Her gaze slid to his behind and she wondered what he’d do if she slid her hands into his pants pockets.

“Watch your step.” He put his hand on the small of her back and steered her around a stack of molding.

The shop smelled of freshly cut wood, varnishes, and a slight tinge of oil. The warmth of his palm seeped through her dress and heated her spine.

“Macy Jane asked me to make her a dining-room table and chairs for the row house.” He handed her the bottle of water and pulled a tarp from a long table made of dark wood.

She unscrewed the cap and took a long drink. “You made this?”

He took the bottle from her and raised it to his lips. “Yes, Vivien.”

“Momma had you make a table for a house she never planned to live in?” For a short time, she’d relaxed enough to let her grief ebb like low tide. While she and Henry had talked about his life and stress and her bra, she’d almost forgotten the sadness of the day. The hole in her heart and the ache in her soul.

“She talked a lot about moving into the row house.” He sucked a drop of water from the corner of his mouth then handed the bottle back to her. “But I think she liked to talk about moving more than she really wanted to move.”

That was her momma, all right. Making empty plans.

“She found some tall pineapple candlesticks in an antique store and brought them to me for ‘inspiration.’ I don’t make ornate furniture and, if she hadn’t been your momma, I would have run in the other direction as fast as possible. I restore elaborate furniture for clients, but fabricating cumbersome, overly-elaborate tables isn’t something I do here. It’s not something I
want
to do.”

“Did you mention that to momma?” She raised the water and put her lips where his mouth had just been on the bottle.

He chuckled. “I tried, but each time I tried to talk her out of such a heavy dust collector, she added something even more ornate. Another inlay or lion’s paws, so I avoided talking to her about it.” He got down on one knee and pointed to the pedestals. “I found a guy in Virginia to carve the pineapples and put them on the lion’s-paw base. Hoyt’s been busy staining all those nooks and crannies.”

The pineapple represented warmth and hospitality and her momma loved the symbol of welcome. Vivien lowered the bottle. Or, she mentally corrected herself,
had
loved the symbol. The grief she’d felt since Saturday night rushed at her like a gust of wind, filled with shards of pain and sorrow. She’d managed to hold her emotions at bay through her momma’s viewing and church service. She’d locked down her panic at the graveside and the reception afterward, but it suddenly broke free and rushed up from within the pit of her soul. It stabbed her heart and pierced the backs of her eyes without warning.

“It’s made of African maple with Rhodesian teak veneer inlays.” He stood and brushed sawdust from the knee of his navy-blue pants. He looked over her head and pointed. “The chairs are an original prototype I constructed for her last year.”

Tears blurred Vivien’s vision and she pressed her lips together to keep a sob from escaping. It was the pineapple table her momma would never see. The long emotional day. The wine that made her relaxed and unable to hold back the pain was swamping her like a rowboat in a hurricane.

“The knuckle joints are—”

She raised her fingertips to her mouth to keep her pain inside. Her mother was gone and was never coming back. No more phone calls and her momma’s soft, “Hey baby girl,” on the other end. No more hugs or kisses on her cheek. No more seeing her happy face and smiling eyes when she was in a sparkling mood. No more wild fantasies she never intended to live.

“Vivien?”

The last memory of her mother’s face was in a casket. With her lips painted a tinge too orange.

“Vivien? Are you okay?”

“No.” She looked up at Henry, a blur of dark eyes and hair. Anguish cut her insides to shreds and clawed at her stomach. She grasped the black dress over her abdomen with her free hand. “It’s not fair.” She sounded like a child but she didn’t care. It wasn’t fair. The world was full of people who deserved to die. Her momma didn’t deserve to die at fifty years old.

“I know.”

She shook her head and brushed her tears from her cheeks. “No you don’t. You still have your mo—mma. And—and Spence. I’m alone. Forever.”

“Please don’t cry, Vivien.”

“You ca-can call Nonnie.” She swallowed and her sob came out as a sort of croak. “I have no—no one.”

“Sure you do.”

“No, Henry. I don’t. Sh-he was all I had.” She brushed away her tears and groaned as he pulled her against the comfort of his solid chest. As if it was the most natural thing in the world, she wrapped her arms around his waist. She didn’t question it. Didn’t wonder how she had come to rest her cheek on his white broadcloth shirt. He smelled like his hunting coat, minus the swamp. Woodsy and fresh; warm skin and cotton heated her cheek and his heart pounded beneath her ear.

“It’ll be okay.” He rubbed his hand up and down her back. “I’m here. My mother will always welcome you, and Spence will …” His fingers brushed her hair from the side of her face. “I’m here for you.”

“It’s not the same.” Her life would never be the same. “She’ll never see her grand—nd.” Her chest caved in and she tried to breath past the pain. “She’ll never see her grandchildren,” she got out. “My children will nev—ver know her.”

“Vivien …”

“I left her at the cemetery so she could be put in the ground. I—I can’t get that out of my head.”

“You’re breaking my heart.” He hugged her even closer, pulling her inside where she felt safe and protected. Growing up, she’d had to protect herself. These days she had bodyguards to keep her safe. There was no one to grab her and give her what she didn’t even know she wanted most.

“What can I do?” Henry spoke into the top of her head. “I don’t know what to do to help you.”

Until now. Vivien pulled back and looked up at him. Up into his handsome face so close to her own. His intense gaze was in conflict with his comforting voice and soothing touch. Slowly he lowered his face and his brown eyes locked with hers.

“Vivien.” Her name was a whisper. A soft breath against her lips that sent shivers down her spine. “I’ll do anything for you.”

For the third or fourth time that day, Vivien stood shocked to her core. Stunned by Henry Whitley-Shuler. He wasn’t looking at her like she was a pesky girl, nor did he appear to want to shake her. No, he looked like a man who wanted to do something entirely different with his hands.

And she wanted him to. She wanted him to touch her and give her something else to think about besides her mother. She wanted him to give her what she hadn’t known she needed until he’d touched her.

He brushed his mouth across hers, lingering for a few breathtaking moments. “Tell me what you want.” His lips pressed into hers, not quite a kiss and entirely too short. “Ask anything.”

She sucked in a breath as her heart pounded in her chest. She wanted him to kiss her and make her breath stop in her chest. To use his strong hands and make her forget the pain ripping at her heart, she wanted him to kiss her all over and take control, but she didn’t want him to make her ask. “Henry,” she whispered and rose onto the balls of her feet. She looked into his deep brown eyes and swallowed hard. She’d never been the kind of girl to
ask
anyone for anything. “Just kiss me.”

A rough groan brushed her mouth as one of his arms clamped across her back, pulling her even tighter against him. His free hand cradled the back of her head, and he kissed her long and slow, giving her what she demanded. Even as he lit a tingly little fire in the pit of her stomach, he never lost control. Just when she would have pushed it—pushed him—he pushed away and his hands fell to his sides. “Let’s get you home.”