Mr. Write (Sweetwater) (33 page)

“She no more
bumped
into you at a lumber yard than hens have teeth.”

“
I have no idea why anyone would think that hens have teeth, but I’m assuming that means you think she ambushed me.”

“Of course she did.
  Conniving little harpy.  And I can guarantee that it wasn’t the length of your mattress she wanted to measure.”  She ran her finger around the rim of her glass.  “I guess this is the part where I apologize.”

“You can start with that
.  Groveling is good.  And of course, sexual favors are always welcome.”

“Of course,
” she said airily, then sighed.  “I am sorry, Tucker.  I just couldn’t stand the thought that I’d slept with someone who was dumb enough to fall for such an obvious female ploy.  It meant I’d really misjudged you.  I seem to be having a problem with that lately.”

“I think there may have been a compliment buried somewhere in there.”

“There was.  You’re smart and shrewd.”

“You forgot charming
and sexy.”

“Of course, Harlan was
all of those things, and he married her.  I guess she just has whatever it is that makes smart men lose their heads.”

“A satellite TV sports package?”
 

She sent him a droll look. “Victoria
wouldn’t invite me to their wedding.  Allie asked. But Torie didn’t want the daughter of the town drunk spoiling her party.  Despite the fact that I was fully grown, and my father had been sober for years.”

“Fuck her.”

A smile flickered, then faded.  “Many have.  And if you’d chosen to join their ranks, it really wouldn’t be my business.”

“That’s where we disagree.”  When those changeable green eyes registered surprise, he figured she was no more taken aback than he was. 
But he pulled out a chair, took her hand.  “I don’t mess around, Sarah.  Not to say I’ve been a choir boy, but my mom taught me that if you don’t respect a woman enough to be monogamous, you’ve got no business having sex with her in the first place.”

“Admirable.”
She linked her fingers with his.  “I guess I keep forgetting that your mama was from Sweetwater.”

“Born and raised.  She made a place for herself in the city, but she never really pulled out those roots.”

“Sometimes they’re entrenched.”

“And sometimes
they get bound, and need to be transplanted so they can breathe again.”

She studied his face. 
“Are you breathing again, Tucker?”

“Starting to.”  He kissed their linked fingers.
  And when that surprise flickered again, went with instinct.  “Tell me about your family.”

“My… w
hy?”

“Because I haven’t bothered to ask.  Because I was determined to think that
the other branches on a person’s family tree didn’t necessarily have anything to do with the direction their own grows.  But when you share the same root system, it matters.  Even when you don’t want it to.”

“I guess you’re right.” 
She sat her wine aside.  “You met my brother.  What you see with Noah is what you get.  He’s hardworking, forthright, nobody’s fool.  And he has a streak of loyalty as wide as the river.  My father…” she drew a deep breath. “I mentioned he was the town alcoholic. And for a while that was true.  We lived thin after my mama died, and occasionally just a little rough. But he fought his way back. He’s one of the strongest men I know.  My mother was… bright, I guess is the best word.   Bright hair, bright smile, bright outlook.  We lost her to ovarian cancer when I was ten.  And it was like a light went out.”

“You take after her.”

“So they say.  Although that outlook part is debatable.”

He thought of her setting up shop in a town that seemed to hold as many bad memories
for her as good ones.  And busting her tail to make it thrive.  “Seems to me you find a way to make things work for you.”

“That’s… nice, Tucker.”

“I’m a nice guy.”

She laughed.  “No, you’re not.  But you’re honest, which is better.”

“Glad you think so.  Because I’m going to be honest, and tell you that I have plans that involve you and this very ugly table.”

“You mean this table that your ex built?”

“Designed.  And you don’t have to worry that we already christened it.  Her creativity didn’t extend to that area.”

She
frowned at the table.  “Maybe you should be grateful.”

When he grinned, leaned
forward, she slapped a hand against his chest.  “You have shrimp that need to be boiled.”

“They’ll wait.”

He plunked her onto the table
.

“
You were serious.”

“Of course I was.”  He
started yanking at the row of tiny buttons on her long-sleeved shirt.  “Don’t think I don’t know why you wore this.”

“Modesty?”

“Perversity.  I told you to wear something easy.  Screw it.”  He took the fabric into his hands, and ripped.

“Hey!” She protested as buttons rained down onto the table, scattered across the wood floor.  But then his mouth was on her
, warm and wet and skilled.   

“I’ll buy you another shirt,” he murmured against her breast.

Her hands remained trapped in her sleeves when he tumbled her back, pushed at her skirt.  And when he set that clever mouth to the juncture of her thighs, added a layer of helplessness to the arousal.

“God.  Wait.”  She fought with the shirt, fought desperation.  She needed
her hands on him. 

“No.” He licked and sucked at her through the silky fabric. 
The gentle scrape of his teeth was an almost unbearable thrill.  By the time she got her hands free, pressed her fingers into the thick muscle of his shoulders, the orgasm slammed through her in one long, erotic gush.  

When she finally blinked her eyes open, it was to find his face tipped close to hers.

“You’re beautiful.”  He ran a hand through her hair, watched it drip like rain through his fingers.  “Have I told you that yet?”

He hadn’t. 
Probably because she wasn’t beautiful.  She was clever and smart and maybe even sexy when she made an effort.  But he tucked her hair behind her shoulder, slipped one fingertip over the curve of her breast.

And Sarah felt beautiful.

He pulled her to him, mouths barely touching so that his breath feathered her face, soft and warm and… sweet.  This was sweet and romantic, and so not what she expected from him.

He
wasn’t what she expected.

Sarah
’s chest tightened, and she went a little dizzy.  His palms were big and rough where they skimmed her shoulders, brushed her thighs.  When he slid her underwear down her hips, it caused a thousand little aches of need.  The kiss spun out, deeper, longer, undoing her knot by knot.  Just when she was in danger of unraveling, he pulled away, and watching her, shed his clothes.

His eyes were smoke, hot and dark. 
He wrapped her hair around his fist, held her captive as he thrust into her.  It was primal and shocking and… right.

When h
e let his forehead drop to hers, she drew in his breath with her gasp.

“Again,” he murmured, and kissed her.  “Again.”

He moved easily, almost languidly now, and she found it effortless to match his rhythm.  To touch and taste as he had.  To sigh.  He rolled with her, carefully, until she rose over him on the hard table.  But it was softness she saw in his expression, softness she felt as she drifted down to him again and again.

The dying rays of daylight streaked through the w
indow, set the air around them to flame.

She savored it. Savored him.

Until he murmured
“You’re killing me,”
digging his fingers into her hips.  Not to urge her faster.  But to maintain his own slippery control.

He trembled, and the pleasure of it
, of driving a strong man to the brink, pushed her to ride him to peak. 

Tucker
whispered her name as he spilled himself into her, and Sarah felt herself give.

Far more than she’d ever intended.

CHAPTER NINE
TEEN

ALLIE
tried to work up some enthusiasm for the band, who were doing a pretty decent rendition of Carolina Girls.  But her head seemed to pound in time with the drums.  Will had finally rousted Harlan from some dive on one of the outlying islands. It was always worse than when he allowed him to wander home on his own.  Harlan was belligerent and defensive.  Will was disgusted and pissed off.  The past couple of days had been like being trapped with two snarling Rottweilers in a gilded cage.

She’d needed air.  Needed to pretend
everything was normal and fine.  Needed to forget that her father was fading away before her eyes, that Harlan was drinking himself to death. That Will was overworked. That Bran was bored and restless.

And she needed to prove to herself, she thought, as she watched Wesley take a
turn around the grassy lawn, swaying his body in time with a redhead Allie recognized as the assistant librarian, that she had moved on.  That she was satisfied with her new life just the way she’d made it. 

She had work that she enjoyed, good friends.  If she
hadn’t had a date in the past six months, that was okay. She didn’t need a man – particularly a man who, at the core of it, had been using her – to be happy.

Allie pressed a hand to her jumpy stomach, and considered going home. 
It was ridiculous for a woman who’d been raised to graciously entertain the local movers and shakers to be nervous about a casual gathering in the park.

She
’d nearly balked when she realized she’d be coming alone, because Sarah would be occupied with Tucker.  But she wasn’t twelve, for God’s sake, and this wasn’t a middle school dance.  The idea that she’d come to rely so heavily on her friend had her girding her loins, and donning a flirty red polka-dotted dress.

Now
she just felt like an over-dressed wall flower.

The dancers twirled past her, laughing, and Allie felt a hot spurt of anger. Not at the librarian.  She had nothing against DeeDee MacKenna, and certainly no longer had a claim on the man who held her so close in his arms.  She wasn’t even angry with Wesley.

No, she was angry with herself.

“Hello.”

The pounding moved from her head straight to her heart.  Which was foolish, she told herself as she turned, met Mason’s brilliant smile.  Just foolish.

“Hi.”
So much for clever repartee.

It was just that he was so handsome.  The setting sun turned his hair a fiery gold, made his
eyes glow bronze as aged whiskey.  The slightly shaggy hair, the unshaven cheeks only served to highlight that perfect male beauty. 

And mor
e, so much more, was what lay behind it.  Most men, if given his looks, would be bowling women over like ten pins.  Or they’d be cool and aloof, maybe cynical.

They certainly wouldn’t be wasting their time taking a casual
acquaintance’s car into the shop, holding her hand as he walked her home in the rain.

O
r smiling at her on the fringes of a small-town concert, when all they had to do was snap their fingers, and leave with nearly any woman they chose.

When his brow lifted, she realized that she was staring.
  “I didn’t realize you’d be here tonight.”

“Sort of a last minute decision.  I figured the lovebirds needed room to smooth their ruffled feathers.  I quite like your dress.
”

“Oh.  Thank you.”

He stroked a finger over one wide strap, let it linger just above the sweetheart neckline.  “Very retro nineteen-fifties.”

“Ah.”  She couldn’t think.  Couldn’t breathe. 
“Um, are you enjoying the music?” she asked inanely.

“Indeed.” He stuffed his hands into his pockets as he considered the stage
which had been erected beneath the twisted boughs of an ancient oak.  “It’s better than I expected, actually.”

“This band is good.”  They’d been on the short list for playing at her reception.  The lead singer was a client of Wesley’s.  “They’ve certainly inspired lots of people
to get out there and dance.”

Those intoxicating eyes lit with humor
.  “You mean shag.  Which, by the way, has a far different meaning where I come from.”

“
Oh. Right.”  She felt heat creep up her neck. 

He
turned his attention to the crowd, where a little cheer had gone up when the band launched into “Summertime’s Calling Me.”   

“Sounds like a popular number.”  He
slid her a sideways glance.  “Shall we shag now or later baby?”

It took her a moment, but then the laugh simply bubbled out of her throat. 
Several people turned to look their way, but Allie was too busy smiling at Mason to pay attention.  All he needed was a bad wig and fake teeth, and he could give Mike Meyers a run for his money.  “You do that really well.  The accent.”