Tempt Me Tonight (15 page)

The very thought of Trish made him shake his head, and anyone watching him would have figured the Lamborghini’s motor had him stumped, when in fact what had him befuddled was Trish Henderson.

The events of the weekend had shown him two things. The first was that, damn, he
really
wanted something with her again. He didn’t know her like he used to, of course, but he
wanted
to—and the past they shared meant they’d always have at least
that
in common. And the passion between them hadn’t faded one iota. If anything, it had grown. That passion had nearly knocked the wind out of him the moment he’d seen her. And Jesus Christ—had he really told her they were
making love?
Why did he even
know
that phrase? God knew he’d never used it before—but there it had been, popping out of his mouth like something he said every damn day.

The second thing he’d found out was that Trish
didn’t
want something with
him
. Or at least her
mouth
said no—until he started kissing it.

At least he’d gotten her to admit it
wasn’t
just sex between them. But for crying out loud, what the hell had she been thinking? Had she seriously thought that two people who were once madly in love could have sex without it meaning something? He knew Trish had been a smart girl and he felt certain she was an intelligent woman, but she’d missed the mark on that one.

The question was, what was he gonna do about all this?

Respect her wishes and consider this over?

Or screw that and do what he
really
wanted to do, which was convince her they could have something damn good together again?

Common sense said to leave this alone. Let her go back to her life in Indy if she was so dead set on it—hell, let her see if she could find any other guy who made her whimper and moan like that. He didn’t think so. Because he didn’t think any other guy could make her feel the way he did—not only in her body but in her heart, too.

So…common sense said to leave this alone. But it wouldn’t be the first time he’d refused to listen to common sense.

Continuance:
the adjournment or postponement of a court case to another day;
or
the act of remaining in the same place or condition.

Everything about this trip was a disaster. Joe was a disaster. Now the whole diner sale was a disaster. Because suddenly there
was
no diner sale.

By ten-thirty Monday morning, Trish had spoken not only to Lois Faulkner but also to the buyer’s agent and the buyer herself. She’d refused to budge on the unreasonable terms she’d slid into the contract, declaring that the deal was off if Trish’s parents wouldn’t cough up the money for improvements. Trish explained that her parents were retiring, living on a very fixed income, that there simply
was
no money to cough up. And that was that. No deal.

Then she’d packed her suitcases, checked out of the Red Roof Inn, and moved back into her old room since Aunt Alma had departed yesterday.

Of course, her mom and dad took the failed sale better than she had. Because they were in denial—that was the only conclusion she could reach.

They hadn’t even seemed alarmed. “There, there, dear,” her mother kept saying, patting her hand—since clearly
she
was the one who needed to be comforted, because all of her simple, well-laid plans for this trip were going haywire. “Another buyer will come along.”

Ha
, Trish had wanted to say.

The fact that no one in Eden wanted to recognize was that Main Street was slowly…well, not
dying
exactly, but definitely molding itself into something new. Taking the place of the drugstore, bank, market, and five-and-dime Trish had frequented growing up were quaint establishments like an antiques shop and a vintage toy store. And a lot of empty storefronts. Business remained on Main Street, but the place wasn’t bustling with townsfolk conducting their daily affairs, and she just wasn’t sure the diner
fit
anymore. She’d felt beyond lucky that they’d found a buyer so quickly, and now that this one was gone, she had no idea how long it might take to find another.

She’d kept her
ha
to herself, though, not
wanting
to alarm her parents. Really, one alarmed person here was enough.

This will all work out,
she told herself now as she drove toward town.

It was late afternoon and she was headed back to the diner for a more serious assessment. They’d gotten an appraisal before putting it on the market, but she needed to study the place closer, for herself. Maybe there were
cheap
things that could be done to increase the property’s appeal and attract another quick sale.

Of course, the diner wasn’t the only thing on her mind. Which was probably why she found herself driving right past it—right past the whole Main Street business district, another mile or so to the outskirts of town, past the new grocery store and a car dealership, past the new middle school and a pizza place that hadn’t been here when she was a kid…and then past Shermer’s Garage—which she hardly recognized.

A big, new brick façade fronted the building that now sported an attractive gable above the office area. Bold, appealing signage told her the establishment had become Ramsey’s Auto Repair. The garage possessed two more work bays than the original two Mr. Shermer had operated. And fortunately, Joe’s business sat far enough off the road that she felt safe driving past slowly, taking in all the details.

The only thing about the place that looked remotely familiar was the peeling wooden sign hanging from a front awning, announcing in an old-fashioned 1950s sort of script,
We Fix Anything on Wheels.
She had to smile, remembering the sign, and suspecting it remained as an homage to old Mr. Shermer.

Joe and his dad hadn’t been overly close. Mr. Ramsey had been pleasant enough to
her,
but often grumbly to Joe for no reason she could figure out. Joe had always acted cool about it, but she knew it had embarrassed him; probably hurt him, too. And he’d never said so, but she’d also known in high school that Mr. Shermer had grown special to Joe because he’d treated him with respect and kindness.

As for why she was driving past the place—and now turning around in the new bank lot across the street…she had no idea.

All she knew was that her skin tingled whenever she thought about him.

And Lord, just remembering the intensity of having him inside her, of looking deep into his eyes while he moved in her—yikes, it sent a shiver down her spine even now.

Yeah, sex with him really got him right out of your system. Good call on that one, Trish.

Of course, some hedonistic part of her—likely that damn biker chick—wanted to pull into his lot, walk into his garage, back him into some dark room or closet, and have her way with him again. Turned out it was hard to get enough of Joe.

But she knew she couldn’t do it. Only madness that way lay. It didn’t matter how much sex they had—she’d still be going home to Indianapolis once this whole diner fiasco was somewhat settled, and more importantly, she still wasn’t even remotely ready to deal with the barrage of emotions he brought tumbling down on her.

What she’d told him was true. She didn’t forgive him.

She wanted to be bigger than that, more mature—but in her heart, she remained hurt by what he’d done all those years ago. How could she have something—
anything
—with a man she didn’t completely trust? And having more sex would just create more emotions. It was a no-win situation.

Well, unless you counted orgasms into the equation.

Which was easy enough to do—because he gave her
earth-shattering
orgasms. When she’d been giving
him
an orgasm, she’d told herself she didn’t care about her own, but really, she did.

Yet orgasms, unfortunately, only lasted a few blissful seconds. Emotions lingered.

As she exited the bank lot back out onto the two-lane highway with a sigh, she was thankful Joe didn’t know her car, since driving past his garage demonstrated all the maturity of a sixteen-year-old. But she supposed she’d just wanted to see his place, see what he’d made for himself.

Now she had. And was duly impressed.
And that’s the last ridiculous move you’re going to make that has anything to do with Joe.
She hoped.

Letting out a sigh, she headed back to Main Street, remembering she really had far bigger problems now. Her parents might not think this failed sale was a big deal, but she had to think, plan—and worry. They were going to be in serious financial trouble if the restaurant didn’t sell, and it was up to her to make that happen.

Pulling to the curb outside the Henderson Family Diner, Trish went inside, without bothering to lock up this time. Debbie was right—no one stole things from cars in Eden.

Heading to the back room, she found some all-purpose cleaner and set to wiping down tables and booths, windows and doors, counters and cook surfaces. The place had sat empty for a few weeks now, and a
shiny
diner was an
appealing
diner. Glad she’d worn old jeans and a tee, she soon realized she was wiping down the diner so vigorously that it was almost as if she thought she could somehow wipe away her memories of the weekend just past, as if the hard work would purge all the emotions still ravaging her. Because no matter what she did, he was still on her mind. And not just a little—more like with every breath she took.

She suddenly stopped scrubbing one of the booths, struck with a memory: stolen kisses over milkshakes and hamburgers.

For heaven’s sake, everywhere she went, another recollection waited to leap out at her.

But then, maybe it was unrealistic to expect herself not to think about him. After all, her whole perception of the world had changed—she’d finally had sex with Joe. And not just sex. Hot, ravenous, blood-curdling, spine-tingling, moaning, practically
screaming
sex. Way better than fudge.

She lowered herself onto the booth’s vinyl seat and replayed in her mind the moment when he’d left her last night—after he’d delivered those lush, melting kisses good-bye. She’d watched him walk to the door, feeling awkward and empty, and thinking—
This is it, the only thing I’ll ever have with him, and it’s ending, over.

But then he’d shocked her by stopping, looking back over his shoulder—and a strange arrow of hope had pierced her heart.
He’s going to find some miraculous way to change things, some magic sentiment that will make me trust him and forgive him and make me
really, truly
believe something good can happen here.
Yet instead he’d only said two little words. “Bye, Trish.”

She sighed heavily. Ill-fated love sucked.

Life was easier without love of any kind than love gone wrong.

’Twas
not
better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all.

“Time to get back to work,” she muttered. It had been a long time since she’d sat around wallowing in despair—fourteen years to be exact—and this was no time to start.

She refocused her energies on her cleaning and by the time she finished, she felt even
more
discouraged. The Henderson Family Diner, with its aqua booths and white Formica tables and the ancient jukebox that hadn’t played any new songs since 1980, might be considered stylishly retro in a big city or even a bustling suburb—but here, in small-town America, it just seemed old and outdated.

If she really wanted a quick sale, maybe the place would benefit from a light makeover. Just as houses sold easier if one took the time to hang some new curtains and paint a few walls, so might the diner. She wasn’t sure what she could do to update the booths and tables, but a little painting couldn’t hurt. And besides making the place more marketable, it would also be a good diversion, a good way to banish thoughts of Joe Ramsey from her mind until she could get the hell out of Dodge—or Eden—once and for all.

Just then, the bell on the front door jingled and she flinched, immediately wondering if Joe had come to ravish her again. Unfortunately, the lightning-quick thought appealed—because the diner possessed a number of dark rooms and closets and would be just as good as the little fantasy she’d been indulging about the garage a couple of hours ago.

So it came as a bit of a blow to look up and see Marjorie Wilmers, who ran the flower shop next door.

“Trish Henderson, is that you?” She splayed her fingers across her chest. “Why, as I live and breathe, it
is
you! Little Trishy, all grown up! My word—come here and give me a hug!”

With someone as enthusiastic as Marjorie, there was little to do besides give her the hug. Marjorie was around the same age as her parents, and it was as shocking for Trish to see the older version of Marjorie as it was for Marjorie to see the adult her. Marjorie’s dark curls, always cut close to her head, had gone gray, but she looked just as energetic as Trish remembered, her eyes shining through stylish mauve-framed glasses.

“I heard you were in town, helping your folks with the diner, but—my
goodness,
it’s good to see you, hon.”

Trish said, “It’s good to see you, too, Marjorie,” and she meant it. Sometimes she forgot about all the people she had known and genuinely cared for in Eden. Just like her relationship with Joe, that part of her existence seemed a lifetime ago.

So Trish put on a pot of coffee and sat down with Marjorie in the same booth where she used to kiss Joe, and they spent some time catching up—on Marjorie’s kids and husband, and the fact that her shop had lost a little business over the years but she was still making a living. “Guess people still get married, get sick, and then die,” Marjorie said, matter-of-factly accounting for the bulk of her orders. “When are
you
ever gonna get married?” she asked in the way only someone with no idea of the romantic turmoil in your life could.

“Me?” Trish knew it was a hypothetical question, but she felt as if someone had just shone a spotlight on her. “Probably never.” She laughed, trying to play it off.