Last First Kiss (10 page)

Most everyone here was a newcomer, but a few locals rubbed elbows with the high flyers. Guests decked out in jazz wear swiveled their heads in his direction. Some subtle. Others? Appraising. Sawyer hadn’t played dress up, figured his uniform was good enough.

“Liquid refreshment, sir?”

“Arch? Who the hell let you weasel through the front gate?” His brother was almost unrecognizable out of blue jeans and square-toed boots that served as his daily dude ranch uniform. At some point his little brother would have to stop showing off for tourists and grow up. He didn’t know why Archer didn’t have a chat with Grandma, request more responsibility at Hidden Rock. The two of them had long butted heads, but it seemed a sensible, responsible course of action. Then again, those were two words no one ever applied to his brother.

Archer shrugged. “A new friend landed the catering contract and got me on the guest list. What’s your excuse?”

“The sheriff gets invited to everything, even fancy shindigs, it seems.” Sawyer plucked a bottle off a silver tray and took a swig, rolling his eyes toward the oil-painted cherubs frescoed on the drawing room’s ceiling. Fat babies weren’t his go-to decorating choice but the ale was perfectly chilled and dark, exactly how he liked it.

Archer’s eyes danced. “Looking for anyone special?”

“Why do you ask?”

“Now I don’t fancy myself a private investigator, but you’re scanning the crowd like it’s your job. The way I see it, you’ve come here to either take someone down or get lucky.”

“Just minding my own business,” Sawyer muttered to his brother’s back as he swaggered away. Outside the floor-to-ceiling bay windows, the snow-capped pinnacle—Mount Oh-Be-Joyful—turned rosy from the sunset’s lingering flush.

Watch check. What he wouldn’t give to convince Annie to blow this Popsicle stand and head back to his cabin for a drink while watching the sunset. He stalked the room’s perimeter. Gilded framed paintings hung from crimson wallpaper while beaded lamps brightened even the darkest corner. The Dales looked the best it had in years. Decades of neglect had allowed the historic mansion to fall into disrepair. The new owner must have sunk a small fortune into returning the crumbling estate to its former glory.

The folks shooting him curious side eyes were from the new crowd, the ones who drove the Land Rover and Mercedes Benz SUVs. Sawyer’s old ’73 Ford F-100 stood out like a sore thumb in the circular driveway. He liked it that way.

This set acted out elaborate cowboy fantasies on their multi-million-dollar ranches on prime cattle land, hopping private jets when they got sick of playing country. Sawyer didn’t begrudge success, but Brightwater was his home, born and raised. These days, you couldn’t get a pot to piss in around the quiet, mountain-ringed valley for less than half a mil. He made a good sight less than that. The wealth these people had, it was so far out of reach he’d need a telescope to see it.

And there, right in the thick of it—surprise, surprise—stood Ruby. Smiling, with those blood-red lips, the same shade she used to smear on his collar, his chest, his cock.

Sawyer didn’t feel a twitch when their gazes caught. His body knew she was bad medicine. She jutted a hip, and that smoldering look could set hell ablaze.

Did she think he’d saunter over and play nice? Apologize for leaving her half-dressed in his house last week? Or better yet, sneak her into an upstairs room and give her multiple orgasms for old time’s sake?

Sorry, sweetheart. I’m not your plaything.

Just because trouble came visiting didn’t mean you had to offer it a place to sit down. He looked through her before striding to the corridor. Big band music and raucous laughter retreated the farther he walked.

Where was Annie?

He peered through open doors. A music salon, followed by a personal home theater, and finally the library. She wasn’t anywhere to be found.

“Moose?” Ruby’s whisper echoed up the corridor, clearly on the prowl.

Shit.
The last thing he wanted was to deal with her games. With any luck, the rumor of this old house would prove true. He stepped forward, seeking out a red-leather-bound account of the Lewis and Clark expedition. Found it. He yanked the book forward, and the wall gave a low grinding sound before the bookshelf swung open, revealing a narrow but well-lit hall.

He rocked on his heels, deciding. Grandma had ingrained in his thick head a few steadfast rules. The first was don’t let your yearnings get ahead of your earnings. The second? Never go in if you don’t know the way out.

“Moose?” Ruby was close, mere heels clicks away from discovering his ass.

Sawyer plowed into the passageway.

Rules, like hearts, were meant to be broken.

Chapter Twelve

“H
OLY
SMOKES
,” A
NNIE
muttered. She’d pulled the book as per Quincy’s directions and the shelf swung open to reveal a secret passageway. Be still her Nancy Drew–loving heart—the rumors were true.

She stepped inside, a floorboard depressed under her weight, and the door slammed closed. The blood pounding through her ears increased to a Niagara Falls–level roar. She pushed on the wall. No budging. Maybe if she’d paid more attention in yoga she’d remember a helpful tip or two for calm, centering breaths. She resisted full-blown Stage Five freak-out hand flailing only because the corridor was well lit. Music from the party played ahead. If she could hear the piano and horns, people would hear screams for help. Right?

She started walking and realized her initial claustrophobic fears were overblown. A door tucked away in an alcove ahead, one with an actual knob that turned, leading back into the world. She cracked it open and peeked into the bustling kitchen. Staff in starched white chef coats scurried in every different direction under Edie’s calm supervision. The pretty redhead stood in the center looking remarkably unruffled. Relief shot through her. She wasn’t trapped, instead she could go back to embracing her inner sleuth.

The hall veered in a sharp corner, widening into an antechamber. The walls were peppered by holes.
Oooooh, perfect for spying!
She peeked through one. Two women leaned on the other side.

“ . . . surprised she got an invite.”

“I’m more surprised she turned up presentable, no tie-dye in sight.”

“The question is should she sell Five Diamonds? Look around. With all these newcomers, maybe we’d be better off sticking with the kooky Carsons.”

“True, good point. Better the devil we know.”

She gripped her champagne flute tighter. These women were talking about her.

Jesus God, why did she bother going anywhere in this town? The band started up the Charleston and trumpets drowned the mean-girling. Annie drained the rest of her champagne, set the glass against the wall, and swayed to the beat. She threw up one hand and flipped the bird to the wall before spinning around and narrowly avoiding a big male body.

“Ack,” she squeaked.
Sawyer?
How’d he manage to sneak stealthily behind her? And what was he doing in here?

The air changed, infused with coffee and cinnamon. She wanted to breathe deeper, but being a creeper who went around sniffing local law enforcement wasn’t going to improve the situation.

“I frightened you.” His husky voice snapped her back into the moment. He removed his ever-present tan Stetson. Dormant nerves started firing. Stupid, as Sawyer was just a friend. They’d shaken on it after he’d chased her through the meadow.

But who stared at a good buddy like that? Did the flare in his eyes mean he . . . that he . . . oh God, more neck kissing seemed imminent. She searched for words to string together a semblance of a sentence, but they were all in hiding.

He idly stroked the scruff shadowing his chin with a big, broad hand. He did work with those hands. She had an impulse to touch one, or let it touch her in soft places, regions that could use a little roughening up.

She cleared her throat, resisting the urge to face-fan. Sawyer regarded her gravely.

“How did you find your way in here?” she asked.

“I have my ways.”

Maybe it was the champagne, the dancing, or the fact she hadn’t been touched in far too long, but a giddy restlessness took hold, as if the bubbles she’d consumed migrated into her bloodstream.

He stared at her as if she was something he’d never seen.

“You here alone?” She made a show of looking around. “No half-naked women throwing themselves at you?”

His mouth crooked in one corner. “Not unless you’re planning to drop that dress and make my night.”

“Excuse me?”

“Relax, Annie.” The skin around his eyes crinkled. “I’m yanking your chain. Got to say, you make it easy.”

Was he flirting? He really sounded like he was flirting. “I’m not easy.”
Unless you start in with those neck kisses.

“I know that. You take effort, like that toy you have to twist around to make all the colors line up, I forget the name, had one as a kid.”

“A Rubik’s Cube?” she asked with a laugh, unsure whether to be offended or flattered.

“Yeah, that.” He regarded her steadily. “Those things take patience, but I’m a patient man.”

“Really, because Ruby doesn’t seem like the kind of woman who’d keep a man waiting.” Ugh. Listen to herself. “I’m sorry. That was out of line. Women are entitled to live their lives any way they choose.”

“They are indeed. But so are men. And me and Ruby, well that’s the thing, see, there is no me and Ruby. I got lucky with her—lucky I got out before I made the worst mistake of my life. I mistook fool’s gold for the real thing, and it’s an error I don’t plan on making twice.”

She nodded slowly. Gregor gave her Atticus, but that was the only reason she didn’t regret their marriage. “Yeah, I know what you mean.”

His face softened. “I’m sorry you’ve had a hard time. I know I’ve said it before, but smiling is a good look on you.”

“Do you dance?” she blurted. His “smiling is a good look” line churned her brains better than her trusty KitchenAid mixer.

“No,” he answered, too quickly.

“Spoilsport.” The champagne must have loosened her inhibitions. “I bet I’ll get you to dance with me someday.” What was she thinking talking about the future? She’d be out of Brightwater soon.

His eyes widened before a chuckle broke free from deep within his ribs. He leaned against the opposite wall, crossing his arms. His shirtsleeves rode up, revealing a line of lean muscle. Someone won the genetic lottery.

Why did he stare at her like that? Did she have tiramisu on her face?

“Why are you so quiet?” She casually brushed her cheeks. No crumbs seemed evident.

“I say something if it requires saying.” His eyes dropped a fraction, checking her out. Either that or she’d spilled cake pop crumbs down her front.

“Maybe I could show you a move or two,” she said, because this moment didn’t count. A chance encounter in a secret passage wasn’t real. It was a hall pass.

Those big hands. How often had she fantasized about them the past few weeks? Her ability to perform long multiplication in her head didn’t go that high. She took one hand into her own. It was rough, with calluses etched across the palm, and she fought a sudden urge to suck his index finger into her mouth. His breath came a little more uneven, as if he could read her thoughts.

“I told you”—his words were a rumble—“I don’t dance.”

“Who said anything about dancing?” Her fingers looked absurdly small next to his. “I’m going to tell your fortune.”

“You are?”

You are?
Her subconscious added a silent, “You know I know what you’re doing.”

But she needed this, she craved a few stolen moments of fun. The Fourth of July had made her remember how it used to be with them, and she wanted more. More everything.

“You seek something.” She traced her nail down the centerline in his palm. This one fanged like a fork in a river and she chose the path that ran deep toward his inner wrist. “And this tells me you have a strong sense of passion.”

“Does it?” He sounded amused.

“Hands never lie.” She was talking straight out her ass. She didn’t have the first clue how to distinguish a life line from a love line. Nothing was going on here but pure, awkward wish fulfillment. If it didn’t work, it didn’t matter. She’d leave and fake a sudden case of amnesia.

“Interesting.” She circled the pad beneath his thumb. “It says here that you want to kiss me,” she whispered, raising her gaze, but not quite daring to meet those guarded green eyes.

He leaned in, fingers tangling in her hair. As he tilted her head back, his whisper brushed hot against her skin. “I do, more than anything.”

G
OD
HELP
HIM
,
Sawyer wanted his mouth on Annie’s since he’d woken her up that first morning on the farm. He knew what would happen if he did this. He’d burn. And a long-forgotten part of him hurled toward the blaze like it wanted nothing more than to feel the sweet hurt.

She settled her red lips at the join between his fingers, and when the warmth of her tongue licked his skin, the last grasp on his self-control snapped.

He grabbed her hips. Her ass was curvier than expected. The low-waist dress hid interesting dips and swells. Such a crime. When she nestled against him, the fit was perfect, like she’d always belonged there. He hadn’t messed around for a good long while. But he’d never been so goddamn hard, because this was Annie in his arms, the culmination of his boyhood dreams.

Cool it.
She’d feel his need.

She rubbed against him, her belly teasing against his thick cock.

Yeah, she felt it.

He crushed his mouth against hers and tasted a champagne tartness followed by a deeper richness, close to hazelnut, and another flavor lingering behind, alluring and elusive, like the woman herself. He devoured her whimper as his hands connected at the back of her dress, tugging up the fabric and grazing—what the hell? Sweet Jesus—garter belts.

Another moan followed, and this time it came from him. He flipped her around and pinned her with his own body against the rough wooden wall. She arched when his lips fastened to her throat, tracing her pulse with the flat of his tongue. Strong. Vital. Her fingers fumbled behind her, searching out his buckle, while his slid to the satin of her panties. His thumb skimmed along the elastic hugging her inner thigh, catching a hint of warm, wet arousal.

“And supposedly they kept the moonshine stored in these alcoves.” A nasally voice echoed from around a corner ahead. His quicksilver melted from his grasp. Annie stared, her chest heaving in ragged breaths.

“I—”

“We have to get out of here.” She grabbed his hand and tugged him away from the direction of the voices.

What else could he say?
No. I want more.

“Here, this way.” She yanked a door knob and hurtled them through the exit. They stood, blinking, in a busy industrial-sized bright kitchen.

“Sawyer!” He turned instinctively at Archer’s shout.

He glanced back to help Annie navigate through the activity but all he saw was her dress glint as she ducked through a swinging door into the party.

His brother held up a beer across the kitchen, questioning.
Want another?

He shook his head and pushed into the hall. Annie wanted him, he could taste it in her kiss, but their connection ran deeper than pure physical desire. She could run away all she wanted, but when his mouth was on hers, damn if she couldn’t get closer.

At last he’d found the one bet he’d be willing to make. He’d gamble his heart on Annie. Time to find out if there’d be a payout.