Ain't She Sweet? (23 page)

“No doubt I’ll survive.”

“Are you making me breakfast because you’re still working through your guilt, or are you just being nice so you can get to the goodies?”

“By goodies, I assume you’re referring to those delectable parts of yourself tucked away beneath your robe.”

“Those would be them, yes.”

“Probably.”

“Which one? Guilt or goodies?”

“I have to choose?”

“Never mind.” She polished off the first egg. “Tell me about your wife.”

“No.”

“No talky. No goodies.” He didn’t pull his punches with her, and she wasn’t going to do it with him. “How did she die?”

He stabbed at the bacon. “If you must know, she ran into a bridge abutment. Tragic enough under any circumstances, but she did it deliberately.”

“Ouch.”

“Exactly.”

There was a whole world of pain hidden behind that impassive profile. “You know a lot more than I thought about guilt,” she said. “Funny how you can misjudge people.”

“I had no reason to feel guilty. I’d done everything I could to help her.”

Sugar Beth knew way too much about recrimination to believe he was that clearheaded, and she lifted an eyebrow.

He looked away. “All right, she was pregnant, and it took me awhile. But sanity reigned, and I finally worked through it. Learned a bit about myself in the process.”

“Such as?”

“That marriage isn’t for me. Some people can make it work, but I’m not one of them.”

“You haven’t been tempted since then?”

“Hard for you to imagine, I’m sure, but not even once. I finally have my life exactly where I want it, and I’ve never been happier. But enough of my tedious past.” He poured himself a fresh cup of coffee and turned to regard her. “Tell me if there was anything beyond the obvious that possessed you to marry a man forty years your senior.”

“You wouldn’t believe me.”

“I’m becoming more discerning about sorting through your bullshit, so let me try.”

She broke off a corner of her toast, but couldn’t eat it. “I loved him.”

“And why not? He was worth millions.”

“Ordinarily you’d have a point, but I didn’t find out how rich he was until he’d already worked his magic.”

“He was seventy. How much magic could the man work?”

“You’d be surprised. He was a handsome son of a gun, looked fifteen years younger than his age, a Texas version of Anthony Hopkins, but without that scary dental appliance.”

Her throat began to tighten. “The most charming man I’ve ever known. Real charm, the kind that goes bone deep because it’s born of kindness. He was the love of my life.”

“Touching.” His tone was caustic, his smile sympathetic. She appreciated the combination. He pulled out the bacon. “I gathered from something you mentioned earlier that he was sick for quite a while.”

“For two years. In a coma the last six months.”

“And he died four months ago?”

She nodded and shook off her sadness. “So here we are. A grieving widow and a lonely widower staving off lives of quiet desperation with a well-intentioned, but badly prepared, breakfast. It’s enough to make Hallmark cry. By the way, I’m fixing you grits next week. I’ve got a hankerin’.”

He’d begun to pick up the plate of bacon, but now he set it back down, no longer looking cynical, just serious. “There’s not going to be a next week for us, Sugar Beth.”

She jumped up from her chair. “Oh, no, you don’t. I haven’t found that painting yet, and you are
not
firing me. I need the money, as paltry as it is.”

He regarded her with his old haughtiness. “The job is demeaning. I only offered it to humiliate you.”

“You’re coming closer all the time. Another few weeks, and I know you’ll get it right.”

He lifted his eyes. She sat back down. “Please, Colin, don’t be a prick.”

“Exactly what I’m trying not to be. You can’t stay in this town any longer. I’ve written you a check that’ll tide you over for a while. Go back to Houston. You can support yourself a lot better there than you can here.”

Supporting herself had never been the problem. It was paying Delilah’s bills she couldn’t seem to manage. “I’m not leaving without that painting.”

“You don’t even know if it still exists.” He loomed over her. “And whatever luxuries you could buy from selling it aren’t worth giving up your dignity.”

“Easy for you to say. You weren’t born shallow.”

“Bloody hell, Sugar Beth! Look at you. You’re skin and bones. You don’t look like you’ve slept well in weeks. Top that off with the fact that people are spitting at you in the street, and you’re doing nothing to stop them. It’ll only get worse, you know. Make no mistake, Winnie has power in this town.”

“I’m not afraid of Winnie Davis.”

“I’m sure you’re not. But Winnie Galantine is a different kettle of fish.
She’s
Diddie, Sugar Beth. Get that through your thick head. Winnie has all the power your mother used to have.”

“But none of the charm.”

“Then there’s the issue of the two of us.” He scowled. “Last night more than satisfied my blood lust, but I still don’t exactly wish you well. That said, I find it particularly ominous that we’re on the verge of having sex. More than on the verge, if I have my way about it.”

“Which you may not. I’m still making up my mind.”

“Liar. We’re throwing off so many sparks the walls are smoking.”

“Sparks caused by faulty wiring. We’re the two most mismatched people in the universe.”

“Which only makes it more alluring, doesn’t it?” His eyes burned her. “I avoid high-maintenance women with a vengeance, and they don’t come any more high-maintenance than you.”

“I pride myself.”

“You thrive on men who worship you, and that won’t happen with me.”

“I love the way you sweet-talk.”

“The sexual attraction of opposites.”

“You’re making a good point, except I’ve got this sneaky feeling you’ll be a major disappointment in the sack.”

His voice descended to a single ominous note. “And why is that, may I ask?”

“You know.”

“Do share.”

“The prissy thing. My body isn’t neat like yours. It’s female. It gets all musky. Wet.

You’re fastidious. I just don’t think you’re going to like it that much.” She tried to figure out exactly what she thought she was doing other than scaring herself to death.

“You, my dear, are the very incarnation of evil.”

She beamed at him. “I know.”

“Eat.” He slapped the plate of bacon in front of her. “Not hungry? Fine. Let’s go upstairs.”

“If I do, I get to keep my job.”

“This doesn’t have anything to do with keeping your job, and you know it.” Gordon howled at the front door just as he began to reach for her. “That bloody cur.”

“You’ve finally seen the light.”

He let in her dog, who headed for his water bowl. She gazed down at the bacon, but she’d lost her appetite. Until she’d come back to Parrish, grief and anxiety had pretty much taken care of her sex drive. Then she’d met Colin Byrne again. Why did he have to be the man who’d jarred her out of her uncomplicated limbo? He hadn’t exactly been blowing hot air when he’d said he didn’t wish her well.

“Tell me you’re not coming to your senses,” he said, gazing down at her.

“Stupidity is hardwired into my DNA.”

“Thank God.”

She knew that she was going ahead with this. At the same time, she needed to make sure he understood this was all fun and games. “Let’s get it on,” she said, rising from the table to head for the stairs. “And you’d better not be a dud because, if you are, I’ll make sure the whole town finds out about it.”

“And you, my dear, had better be more than talk, something I’m beginning to doubt.”

“Is that so?” She stopped right there on the third step from the bottom, unfastened her robe, and let it drop.

He took in her white bra, black thong, and the cowboy boots. “I’m dumbstruck.”

She trailed the tip of her thumb down her belly. “And you haven’t even seen the good stuff.”

“You couldn’t be more mistaken.” The corner of his mouth quirked, and in three long strides, he’d covered the distance between them. “Although I’ll admit I’m more than a little anxious to see the rest.”

“Okay, but I get to keep my job.”

“Shut up, will you?” He snaked an arm around her waist and pulled her off the step, hard against him. The toes of her cowboy boots banged against his calves as she looked down at him. She dipped her head, his lips parted, their mouths met, and he kissed her with a thoroughness that should have been foreign to such an elegant man.

Without breaking their kiss, he walked her backward to the couch. His arm reached behind her, and he tugged open her bra. “You are magnificent,” he whispered as he tossed it aside.

“I know.”

He chuckled and massaged her breasts, then kissed her again with that same thoroughness. As good as it felt, she wanted more. She wanted his mouth on her breasts, his tongue there, too, his teeth—

Gordon barked.

And
she wanted privacy.

“Get rid of him,” she groaned.

“He’s a dog.” Colin nibbled at her lip. “He won’t tell.”

“He’ll watch.”

Colin cursed and shot Gordon a commanding look. “Stay.”

He grabbed her wrist and pulled her up the stairs to her bedroom, the dog following along. When Colin kicked the door shut, Gordon began to howl. Despite her need, Sugar Beth smiled, then laughed out loud at the vaguely murderous look on Colin’s face.

“Don’t you move,” he snarled as he shot back out the door.

Still smiling, she sank down on the side of the unmade bed and pulled off her boots.

Colin either found a doggie treat or some rat poison because things stayed quiet when he let himself back in. She looked up at him.

“Lovely,” he said, taking her in.

She wore only her thong and a pair of purple socks with a Powerpuff Girl on each side.

She’d bought them for Delilah, who hadn’t liked them because she was going through a pink phase. “I do know my lingerie.”

“No argument there.” He stood in the center of the faded old floral rug and began tossing aside his clothes. When only his jeans were left, she rose and walked toward him. “Let me.” She hooked a finger over the fastener and began toying with it.

“Need help?” His voice caught in a husky rasp.

“No, thanks.” His skin warmed the backs of her fingers. She trailed her thumb over his zipper. He was thick, hard, and—another of his surprises—very large. Nose. Hands. Feet.

She should have been prepared.

Her need was as urgent as his, but she couldn’t bear the idea of having this over too quickly . . . or of making it too important. “You should never have given me a D on my Charlotte Brontë paper.”

He expelled his breath in a warm hiss against her neck. “Perhaps we could discuss this later.”

“I don’t think so.” She fiddled with his zipper tab. “I worked real hard on that paper.”

“And turned it in a week late, I’m sure.”

She lowered the zipper half an inch, then stopped to pout. “Still . . .”

“I’ll change it to a C. I promise.”

She released the tab. Ignoring the sweet lethargy in her limbs, she took a step back and regarded him sulkily. “I want an A.”

She wasn’t the only person in the room who knew how to play games.

“
That
you’ll have to earn.” He gestured toward her feet. “Give me one of those socks.”

“Only one?”

“I’m nothing if not reasonable.”

“I guess.” She propped her foot on the edge of the bed and leaned slowly over her thigh.

She drew the Powerpuff sock off as if it were a fishnet stocking, then stuck it in the waistband of his jeans.

“Very nice, indeed. I’ll take that thong now.”

“An A plus.”

“For your body alone.”

That was nice, especially since they both knew she was too thin and her thighs hadn’t been near a StairMaster in forever. Still, long legs counted for a lot with men. “Only if you kiss me first.”

“My pleasure, indeed.”

This kiss was even slower than the others, more intense, world-class. He tunneled his fingers in her hair. His jeans abraded her flesh. She could feel herself reaching the breaking point even before he hooked his thumbs in her thong, pushed it down, and went on his knees.

She let her head fall back as he buried his face. He inhaled her in the way good men did.

And bad ones, too, for that matter, but no need to worry about that when she was the only sinner in the room. He pushed open her thighs. One of his hands cupped her bottom.

He devoured her.

Her legs lost their strength, but he held her in place with his massive palm, keeping her right where he wanted, open and accessible.

Her orgasm caught her by surprise. She let out a strangled cry.

He stayed with her through the waves, then laid her on the bed as if she were a doll. He got tangled in his jeans, and his unusual clumsiness made her lips curve in a slumberous smile. He’d come prepared, she noticed, as he dragged a thoughtful, but unnecessary, condom from his pocket.

Finally naked, he pushed her to her back and trailed his mouth from nipple to belly and then below. Who could have predicted such earthy generosity from so fastidious a man?

She dug her hands into his thick hair, rough silk under her fingers. He toyed with her, bringing her to the brink again, but never quite letting her tumble over. She rolled to her side to return the favor.

Drunk on sensation they explored—touching and tasting, trading sweet smut and breathy groans, making themselves crazier and crazier. She tried to close her legs so she could torture him more, but he would have none of it.

“Don’t even think about it.”

He caught an ankle, the one still wearing the sock, and pressed it high on the bed. Then he clasped her opposite knee, pushed it wide, and thrust himself deep inside her, not being brutal about it—he was too big for that—but not being all that careful either. Just as if he could read her mind.

She wrapped her legs around him, and their bodies locked in the rhythm of longtime lovers. The muscles in his back quivered beneath her hands. He angled his hips, cupped her bottom, found a new spot to please her.