Seven-Year Seduction (8 page)

Brushing past her, he made his way through the house and up the stairs. She listened to his footfalls, followed by the sound of the water coming on in the bathroom.

While he was busy in the shower, she put their half-empty bottles of water in the fridge, then went to her room to lay out an outfit for the rest of the day. She hadn't packed work clothes…wasn't sure she even owned true down-and-dirty work clothes anymore. But she found a pair of navy blue slacks and a lightweight tan knit top that would hopefully be casual enough—as long as Connor didn't put her to work painting or scrubbing.

The water in the bathroom cut off, and she heard him moving around for a few minutes before the door opened. When she glanced up, he was standing in the hall just outside her bedroom.

His close-cropped hair was wet, making it appear more dark brown than dirty blond. A drop of water fell from one of the spiky locks, rolling down his temple, cheek and stubbled jawline before dripping onto his bare chest.

What a fine chest it was, too. Broad and firm. Smooth in places, a sprinkling of light hair in others.

She watched the drop of water slide past one flat, bronze nipple to the plane of his washboard stomach. A few inches below, a stark white towel was wrapped around his hips.

“The bathroom is all yours,” he said in a low tone.

Licking her lips, she dragged her gaze back to his face. His eyes smoldered, lips twisted in the hint of a grin.

Great. Not only had she ogled him, but he'd caught her at it.

Way to maintain your distance, Beth,
she thought with derision.

Then again, their little makeout session on the couch last night hadn't exactly screamed
disinterest.

“Thanks,” she said, embarrassed when her voice actually squeaked.

She'd moved to L.A. to get away from Connor and had matured by leaps and bounds. But ever since returning to Crystal Springs, she seemed to be regressing to her pathetic, high-school-crush persona.

All the more reason to get out of here and fly back to California as soon as possible. Maybe then she could regain a bit of her equilibrium.

Seconds ticked by while they stood there staring at each other. They didn't speak, didn't move until stars started to burst behind Beth's eyeballs and she realized she'd been holding her breath almost the entire time.

With conscious effort, she exhaled and began to breathe normally. Turning, she gathered the pile of fresh clothes from the bed, then slipped through the doorway and toward the bathroom, careful not to touch Connor's bare arm or chest as she passed.

“I'll only be a few minutes,” she told him.

“Take your time.”

She cast one last glance over her shoulder before closing the bathroom door, and a shiver raced down her spine at the look of lustful intent on his face.

Worse yet was the echo of that expression strumming low in her belly.

The door clicked shut, and she released a weary sigh.

It looked as if she'd be taking that cold shower, after all.

 

“Clowns are passé.”

“Oh, and teddy bears are all the rage?”

Beth cocked a hip and crossed her arms beneath her breasts. “At least they're cute and cuddly.” She pointed to one of the clowns on the border wallpaper he was holding. “Those are downright scary.”

He lowered his gaze and studied the colorful artwork for a minute, then stuck the roll back on the rack. “You're right. These clowns would probably give the kid nightmares. But I can't say I love the bears.”

The teddy-bear border in her hand was cute—soft and cuddly in an array of pastels. But he had a point; they were kind of boring and probably like every other border in every other nursery in the world.

“All right. No clowns and no teddy bears. What are our other options?”

They started to investigate their choices again, and she thought—not for the first time—how much she was enjoying herself.

She hadn't expected to. If anything, she'd been pre
pared for the day to be akin to shoving bamboo shoots under her fingernails.

After they were both cleaned up, dressed and had grabbed a quick breakfast of toast and orange juice, they'd headed for the hardware store. Beth pretty much let Connor take the lead there, since he made his living building things. Her knowledge of carpentry didn't extend much beyond the difference between a hammer and measuring tape.

He'd bought supplies to make some new shelving, and to pull up the old carpet and refinish the hardwood floor beneath. If the floor was in too much disrepair to be left bare, he'd told her, they'd go out and buy new carpeting later.

But now they were in Crystal Springs's one and only retail store, and she'd taken over the shopping list. They were holding off buying furniture…partly because there wouldn't be space to store it until the room was finished, and partly because she didn't think they could be completely sure what type of crib, changing table or rocking chair they needed until everything else was done. They were waiting to decide on curtains and area rugs for the same reason.

Unfortunately, they'd made the mistake of buying paint already at the hardware store. In retrospect, they'd have been better off waiting until they picked out a border or other items before settling on a color for the room. It was too late now, though; the soft seafoam, a cross between green and blue that would be perfect for either a boy or a girl, was already mixed and waiting in the back of Connor's truck.

“What about this?” Beth asked, holding up a roll of paper for him to see, along with the paint sample they'd brought along from the hardware store. “The blues and greens will match,” she said. “And the little sea creatures are just adorable.”

There were playful dolphins and turtles, orcas and jellyfish…even a few sharks and octopi that anyone would find charming.

Connor met her gaze and gave her one of those sexy, lopsided grins that filled her belly with butterfly wings. “I like it. We could even buy a bunch of stuffed animals for the crib and shelves and rocker to match.”

“You don't think Nick and Karen will be upset that we're choosing the theme of the nursery for them?” she asked, voicing a concern she'd had since the beginning.

“Nah. They'll love it. And if there's anything they don't like, we just have to make it clear that we won't be hurt or offended if they change it. After all, it is their house and their baby.”

“Yeah,” she agreed, fighting not to let the moment turn bittersweet. “We should probably keep that in mind.”

“We will. Now grab up a bunch of those so we can get moving.”

She did as he requested, filling her arms with the number of wallpaper rolls they'd agreed earlier should do the trick and dumping them in the shopping cart.

“Only one thing left on the list.” He stood with legs splayed, hands on hips, studying her from head to toe.

“What?” She looked down at herself. Had she spilled orange juice on her sweater earlier?

“Are those the best work clothes you have, or were you going to change when we get back home?”

Biting her bottom lip, she linked her arms self-consciously across her waist. “I'm afraid this is it. I didn't exactly pack for my brother's wedding with the intention of getting sweaty and dirty.” And she didn't exactly spend a lot of time getting sweaty and dirty back in L.A., unless it was at her personal trainer's command.

Connor's nostrils flared at that, his eyes wandering back to the area of her breasts. She bit her lip to keep from fidgeting under his concentrated scrutiny.

“Well, that won't do. Sorry. We're going to have to buy you some jeans and T-shirts.”

“Are you sure?” She cast another glance at her dark slacks with their nearly razor-sharp creases down the front from where they'd been pressed and folded with almost military precision, and the expensive sweater she really wasn't looking forward to ruining.

“Yep. It's gotta be done.” Pressing his palm to the mesh end of the cart, he gave it a little shove, nudging her in the side. “Come on…to women's clothing we go.”

She turned obediently and started walking in the direction he pointed.

“Do you really want to take the time for me to try on work clothes?” she asked, half hoping he'd change his mind.

Instead, he speared her with a cocky grin, keeping the cart on course. “Oh, yeah. I'm looking forward to it. If I'm lucky, I figure you might even let me in the dressing room with you to see how everything fits.”

She shot him a quelling glare. “Keep dreaming, bub.”

But as she slipped between the racks of blue jeans to hunt for a pair in her size, she thought she heard him murmur, “Oh, I will, believe me.”

T
he sounds of sawing and hammering echoed through the house, along with music from a radio they'd set up in the hall. They'd been working for three days straight, and Beth had to admit the room was looking good.

Connor was in charge, no doubt about it. But he was a good boss, explaining what needed to be done and showing her how to handle certain things without growing short on patience or making her feel stupid.

So far, they'd taken down the plain, dusty white curtains from the windows, pulled up the old, worn carpet from the floor and repolished the golden wood beneath. Now the floor was covered with plastic and drop cloths, and Connor had set up sawhorses and a wide array of tools to use while he worked.

At the moment, he was standing on a ladder on the far side of the room, looking sexier than any man had a right to. His gray cotton shirt molded to his back and biceps like a second skin, and his jeans rode low on his narrow hips, showcasing his truly spectacular rear. And if that wasn't enough to drive every sensible thought from her mind, the tool belt strapped around his waist actually turned her on. She could watch him remove and replace tools from the worn leather all day.

There was just something about a man who was good with his hands…

Shaking her head, she turned back to what she was supposed to be doing. Connor was tacking up beautiful crown molding and she was putting the first coat of seafoam paint on the walls. The artfully carved strips of wood he was handling were bare now, but later they would paint them white to create a bright, clean border along the ceiling.

She dipped her roller in the pan of paint on the floor and took up where she'd left off before Connor's fluid, masculine movements had distracted her.

He'd been right about her needing a set of work clothes, too. As careful as she tried to be, after three days of manual labor, she was covered with specks of paint, streaks of dirt and a layer of sawdust. She'd even managed to snag her bright red Hot Stuff ballerina tee in two different places.

As she transformed the walls from boring eggshell to a green-blue sea fit for the marine life they would eventually add, she hummed along and danced a little to the B-52's song playing in the background.

“You having fun over here?”

Connor's voice, coming from just over her left shoulder, caused her to jump and splash more paint on herself.

“Geez,” she yelped, pressing her free hand to her heart. “You scared the life out of me.”

“Sorry,” he said with a sneaky grin that told her he wasn't sorry at all. His gaze moved back to the wall she'd been working on. “Looks good. You should come to work for Nick and me.”

“Thanks.”

She grinned with obvious pleasure, the light in her eyes slipping under his skin and twisting his guts.

God, she was beautiful. Over the last seven years, he thought he'd made more of her appearance than there was. Imagined the glossy russet of her hair, the periwinkle blue of her eyes, the sparkle in her smile.

But if anything, she looked better than he remembered. Confident, alluring…she'd really grown into herself.

When he'd finished with the last piece of molding and turned to see how she was doing with the walls, he'd just about fallen off the ladder. She was stroking the paint roller up and down, and doing some kind of little jiggle in time with the music from the radio that had her hips swaying and her bottom rocking, the hem of her top riding up to show an inch of creamy torso.

It was enough to send him into cardiac arrest, which was why he'd slipped his hammer into his tool belt and very carefully climbed down off the ladder before he tripped over his wagging tongue and broke his neck.

He cleared his throat, dragging his attention back to the present. “If you're about finished, I say we wrap things up for today and start getting ready to head over to the Longneck. You're still meeting your friends there, right?”

She looked startled for the space of a heartbeat before lowering the paint roller and sticking her hands in the back pockets of those low-riding jeans.

“Oh, yeah. I didn't realize it was so late already. What time is it?”

With a quick glance at his watch, he said, “Almost six. We probably have time to grab a quick bite after we get cleaned up and dressed, unless you plan to order dinner at the bar.”

“We probably will get something to eat there. You're welcome to join us,” she added in a low voice.

At first he thought she was only being polite, but he could tell by the look in her eyes that the offer was sincere. And for a minute, he seriously considered taking her up on it, if only as an excuse to stay close to her.

“Thanks, but I think I'll pass,” he finally forced himself to respond. “You and your friends probably want a little time alone to bash men and discuss panty lines.”

She laughed, wiping the back of her wrist across her nose. The gesture left a small streak of seafoam paint behind.

“Is that what you really think women talk about when they get together?”

He shrugged. “I'm close, aren't I?” he murmured, distracted by that tiny smudge and the energy it took to keep from reaching out and wiping it away.

“Only if one of us has recently been dumped. Then, I admit, we're none too charitable about the opposite sex. But other than that, we don't usually spend much time disparaging the male race.”

“So what do you talk about?”

“Our jobs, our families. Once in a while we do discuss the latest fashions, but that's usually after we've had a couple of drinks or run out of other topics of conversation.”

“Good to know,” he said, and then gave in to temptation by lifting a hand and brushing the paint from the tip of her nose. When she gave him an odd look, he held up his fingers to show the blue-green tint.

“Thanks.” She rubbed absently at the spot herself. “Guess we both need a shower.”

Connor's blood thickened and pooled low in his belly at her words. Being this close to her, watching her breasts rise and fall as she breathed, smelling her spicy floral perfume was sheer torture.

He wanted to do more than reach out and swipe paint from her nose. He wanted to grab her up and kiss her senseless. Run his fingers through that long, silky mass of chestnut hair. Suggest they conserve water and shower together…or skip bathing altogether and head straight for the bedroom.

Swallowing hard, he made himself stop that train of thought before it got out of hand. Or worse, he acted on it.

That night on the couch had been a fluke. They'd had wine on empty stomachs and gotten a little carried away.

For God's sake, Beth had barely spoken to him during the last seven years, and he was living with another woman. At least, he had been until very recently.

This…whatever it was…must be residual attraction from their teenage and young-adult years. Unresolved issues from their one night together.

As soon as she flew back to California—which would probably be sooner rather than later—whatever was between them would pass. The electricity, the longing, the teeth-rattling, knee-buckling lust.

They would both get over it and go on with their respective lives, so it was better not to start anything now, no matter how much he might wish it could be otherwise. Especially something that would cause them to avoid each other for another seven to ten years.

The same as in high school, he never wanted to do anything to hurt her or her family. Nothing to cause tension or pain between them…between any of them. Beth and him, Nick and him, Beth and her parents, or her parents and him.

It was a tangled, convoluted mess, and he felt like a fly struggling uselessly to free itself from the sticky web of a hungry spider. Except that he was as responsible for spinning this particular web as anyone else.

Unfastening his tool belt, he lowered it carefully to the newly polished hardwood floor. “We should probably start getting ready,” he told her, though it was the last thing he wanted to do.

He would much prefer to spend the evening just like this. With Beth, standing close, looking into her eyes, maybe curling up on the couch to watch another
movie. Even if nothing happened between them—which it wouldn't,
couldn't
—being alone with Beth still beat hanging out at the Longneck any day of the week.

“Right.”

She glanced away guiltily and turned to clean up her work area, but not before he saw the tip of her tongue dart out to wet her lips.

Damn
. He had to get out of here before he did something stupid, like pulling her up from where she now crouched on the floor, pressing her back against the wall, and taking her the way he'd imagined for over a decade.

Man, he was warped. He'd just finished convincing himself he needed to walk away, keep his distance, yet here he was picturing her with her top yanked up and her legs wrapped around his waist.

Struggling for breath, he asked, “Do you need any help?”

She cocked her head, fixing him with those soft blue eyes. “No, that's all right. Thanks, though. I just want to get the lid on this paint, then I'll stick the roller and brushes in the sink to soak while I get cleaned up. How about you?”

“I'm good.” Or doomed. He hitched a thumb over his right shoulder. “I'll start getting ready. It shouldn't take me more than a few minutes, then I can be out of your way.”

Beth nodded. “Take your time. Gail and Jackie won't care if I'm a little late.”

Inclining his head, he turned and started through the doorway to the hall.

“Oh, and Connor?” she called after him.

He turned back, giving her his undivided attention. “Yeah?”

“Women don't usually talk about panty lines when they get together because we already know how to avoid them.”

“How's that?” he asked, his voice thick with restrained arousal.

“Simple. Don't wear panties.”

She shot him a quick, wicked smile, then turned back to what she was doing while he stood there like a deer caught in headlights.

Damn.

 

The Longneck was already jumping when they walked in a few minutes after eight. Music blared from the jukebox along the far wall, couples two-stepped across the dance floor, and just about every table and seat at the bar was occupied.

“Wow, it's really busy for a Wednesday night.” She leaned close to Connor, raising her voice to be heard over the din of the music and crowd. His arm was at her waist, but she let it go, telling herself it was a protective gesture only, to keep her from getting jostled around by the bar's exuberant patrons.

“You should see it on Friday and Saturday nights. This is tame in comparison.”

She returned his grin with one of her own. She'd forgotten what it meant to go out and have fun in Crystal Springs. No stiletto heels, skintight sheaths or sparkling diamonds necessary. No fancy mixed drinks in
even fancier glasses. In central Ohio, jeans were dressy enough for both men and women, and beer was the beverage of choice, whether it came in a bottle or a frosted glass.

This type of thing hadn't been her scene for a very long time, so she was surprised by how comfortable she felt the minute she walked through the door. Even the loud country music, which normally would have set her on the fast track to a migraine, seemed to seep into her bones instead. She found herself tapping her toe already.

“Are your friends here yet?” he wanted to know.

“One of them is.” She pointed across the room at the booth her friend had staked out for them. From the looks of it, Jackie had gotten the ball rolling on their girls' night out with a bottle of light beer and a tray of nachos.

With a slight pressure at the small of her back, Connor accompanied her through the crowd.

“Beth!” As soon as Jackie spotted her, she jumped up and threw her arms around her friend. “It's so good to see you again. I missed you so much!”

Beth laughed with genuine happiness. “I missed you, too. You look great.”

“Me?” Jackie glanced down at herself, brushing her hands over the hem of her sweater where it hugged her well-rounded hips. “Honey, I've had four kids…I haven't looked great since high school.”

It was obvious her friend was joking and was actually quite comfortable with her robust figure, so Beth felt safe chuckling in response. But she couldn't resist
adding a gentle chastisement. “Don't say that. You're still beautiful, your children are adorable, and your husband is hopelessly devoted. You're one of the luckiest women in this town, and you darn well know it.”

Jackie's cheeks turned crimson and the corners of her mouth lifted in a goofy grin. “Yeah, I know it. But you…” She stood back, eyeing Beth from head to toe. “L.A. agrees with you. You look like one of those gorgeous runway models, putting everyone here to shame.”

Since the only pair of jeans she currently owned was spattered with paint, Beth had opted for a tailored gray pantsuit with a pale blue blouse to add a touch of color, and her black, all-purpose sling-backs. She felt slightly out of place among the sweatshirts and western wear, but not nearly as much as she'd expected. Here, she was simply one of the girls, a Crystal Springs native, no matter how she was dressed.

“Thanks. Jackie, you know Connor Riordan, don't you?” she asked, pulling Connor forward a few steps in hopes of diverting her friend's attention.

“Of course.” She reached out to take the hand he offered. “How are you, Connor?”

“Just fine, thanks. And you?”

They chatted for a few brief minutes before Beth spotted Gail at the entrance of the restaurant. She lifted an arm and waved until her friend saw them and started in their direction.

Again, Beth made the introductions, and then Gail and Jackie slipped into the booth and waved for a waitress to bring them more drinks.

“I'll call you when I need a ride home,” Beth told Connor. “Or get one of the girls to drop me off.”