Manhunting in Mississippi (13 page)

He explored the recesses of her mouth with his tongue, taking everything and wanting more. She moved her mouth over his with no trace of timidity, conquering in her own right, draining him. Ian felt himself fal ing into her, past the point of no return. Nothing could stop the momentum of their need for each other.

The peal of the phone rent the air, and Piper stiffened. Ian knew he’d lost her, but urged her on with his mouth. But she turned her head, breaking their kiss, and covered her mouth with a shaking hand. On the third ring, she jumped up and lifted the phone from its cradle, turning her back to him. “H-hel o?”

Unwil ing to let her go, Ian stood on unsure knees and strode over to stand directly behind her. When she didn’t acknowledge him, he touched the back of his fingers to the

sensitive area of her neck she unwittingly exposed by shoving back her wet hair. But instead of melting into him, she froze, then stepped away from him.

“Oh, hel o, Henry. I’m doing fine.” Apparently she thought it would be safer to keep her eye on him, because she suddenly pivoted to face him and leaned her hips against the counter. At least she appeared to be as shaken as he was—she barely made eye contact.

But who the hel was Henry?

“Yeah, it’s hot,” she agreed breathlessly. “Hmm? Out of breath? Oh, I’ve been—” she flicked her gaze over him “—exercising.”

Ian set his jaw, and reached for her again. But she held up her hand to stop him.

“Seven o’clock tomorrow night,” she said to Henry, a bit too cheerful y for Ian’s liking. “I’l be ready. Goodbye.” She hung up the phone, but maintained her position against the counter, her gaze on her shoes.

“I take it that wasn’t Rich,” he said quietly.

An irritated noise emerged from her throat and she glanced up. “That’s right.” Piper straightened. “Just someone I have a date with tomorrow night, that’s al .”

She was trying to make her boyfriend jealous. Ian looked away and jammed his hand through his hair. “I guess I’d better be going.”

“I guess so.”

“Are we stil on for tomorrow morning?”

For an instant, she looked remorseful. “Yes. I hope you don’t let this, this…
incident
cloud your business judgment—Blythe is stil the best company to fil your contract.”

Annoyed at her insinuation that he would let personal issues interfere with doing his job, he only hoped she would deliver something wonderful enough to make his choice an

easy one.

CHAPTER EIGHT

During the first date, score your suitor on a scale from one to one hundred. To predict his husbandly behavior, divide by two.

FROM HER SEAT
at the end of the lab table, Piper fidgeted, watching the chances of getting her bonus soon dwindle as Ian moved from the cocoa-raspberry mousse to the transparent chocolate tart with no comment. He shook his dark head almost indiscernibly while scribbling notes on the bottom of each fact sheet.

With the previous night’s events hanging between them, their interaction had been limited to nods and monosyl abic words. A stone of worry and regret lay in her stomach.

Although the chocolate desserts probably weren’t going to win him over, she felt sure the flirtation that she’d encouraged, then stopped abruptly, hadn’t exactly helped her cause.

His eyes did light up at the sight of the simple chocolate layer cake, though. “Chocolate cake—my al -time favorite,” he murmured, probably because the silence was making

him uncomfortable. With her fingers crossed under the table, she watched his face as he chewed, then swal owed.

“It’s very good,” he pronounced, nodding and making notes. Then he lay down his pen and pushed the tray aside.

“But?” she prompted, already knowing the verdict.

“But,” he repeated slowly, “I’m looking for a recipe that strikes a balance between uniqueness and price point, and the white chocolate mousse I sampled at the plant in Il inois seems to come the closest to those requirements.”

Piper released a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. She tried very hard to concentrate on his words, but disappointment mixed with images from last night tumbled over and over in her head. And it seemed incongruous that mere conversation flowed from the mouth which last night had induced such an amazing physical reaction within her. If Henry hadn’t cal ed, they would have probably been late for their own meeting this morning.

He picked up his pen, uncapped it, recapped it, then laid it back down. “Piper, look, I know this is an awkward situation, and I want to prove to you and to myself that I’m being as fair as possible. Take a few days, take a month if you need it. Give me a moderately priced premium chocolate cake, have marketing slap a catchy name on it, and you have my word that Blythe wil get my business.”

Her ears strained, listening for any little inflection that would indicate he was playing games. As always, he sounded calm, col ected, in control. It was obvious that their encounter had not affected him as much as it had affected her. She felt like a country bumpkin, naive and ignorant of the ways of the world, of the ways of worldly men.

“Your offer seems more than fair,” she agreed, then steepled her hands and chose her words careful y. “But we could have saved a lot of time if you had simply told me you

wanted chocolate cake.”

He smiled tightly. “Wel , I like to try new things, but I guess when it comes down to it—”

“You go back to your old favorite,” she finished for him.

He nodded, then his smile dropped. “Are we talking about the same thing?”

Suddenly anxious to end the meeting, she stood and extended her left hand out of respect for his left-handedness. “I appreciate your offer to give me another chance, Mr.

Bentley. I wil take you up on it.”

Standing slowly, he shook her hand, but when she felt needlelike pain pressing into her palm, Piper winced and released his hand abruptly.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, looking at the inside of his left hand.

“You might want to check your engagement ring,” she said with a faint smile, flexing her hand. “I think it’s booby-trapped.”

Peering more closely, his mouth tightened with irritation. “The prongs to one of the settings has pul ed away.” He tugged on the ring, but it wouldn’t budge. His face reddened with the effort and he final y gave up with a frustrated sigh. “Damned humidity,” he muttered.

“At least you don’t have to worry about losing it,” she said sweetly. “In this weather, it’s as good as a tattoo.” She led the way out of the lab, walking quickly to speed their parting, and smiled at Rich as he approached them.

After the men exchanged greetings, Rich turned to her with a wry expression in his eye. “Piper, I hope you enjoy your evening with Henry.”

“I intend to,” she said in her best warning voice, then shook her head at his back as he walked away.

“You didn’t mention what this Henry fel ow does for a living.” Ian’s conversational tone brought her back to the moment.

Piper weighed her options. “No, I didn’t.”

“Wel ?”

“Wel , what?”

He cleared his throat mildly. “Wel , what does the man do for a living?”

Her mind raced. “Henry’s a businessman.”

“Real y? What kind of business?”

“Uh, films.”

“In Mudvil e?”

“Wel , he’s sort of into distribution—he travels quite a bit.”

He looked at her for a moment, then shrugged. “Listen, I’l be at the motel for another week. I might as wel get in a few days of fishing before I return to Chicago.” He scribbled the number on a piece of paper. “In the meantime, if you want me to drop in and sample a recipe, just cal . If we come to an agreement on a product in the next couple of days, perhaps I can meet with marketing and production before I leave.”

“Then you wouldn’t have a reason to come back,” she observed lightly.

He handed her the paper and returned his pen to his shirt pocket. “I guess not,” he agreed quietly. Was that the smal est hint of regret in his voice? Ian turned to leave without saying goodbye, then snapped his fingers. “I almost forgot,” he said, suddenly smiling. “I brought you something.”

Piper’s heart rate kicked up as she watched him lay his briefcase on her desk and flip up the latches. Then he reached inside and withdrew a compact, black umbrel a with a

leather handle. “For you, Ms. Shepherd.” He extended the elegant umbrel a to her with a heart-pounding grin, and added, “Just in case you run out of plastic bags.”

She watched him walk away, shake hands with a couple of passersby, then step onto the elevator without a backward glance. Turning the umbrel a over in her hands, she

recal ed al too wel their fateful meeting. A sad smile curved her mouth. Had things turned out differently between them, the incident might have made an interesting story to tel her own granddaughter some day.

By lunchtime, Piper decided to take the afternoon off—she could brainstorm better in her own kitchen than in the lab anyway. And it would give her plenty of time to get ready for her dinner date with Henry. Perhaps a lengthy ritual would assuage some of the guilt she felt at not being more excited about spending the evening with him.

When she pul ed into the driveway, she saw Lenny lying shirtless in a hammock between two smal trees in his mother’s tiny front yard. The trees themselves were fairly buckling under the strain of his dead weight. He appeared to be snoozing, so she emerged from her van as quietly as possible and tiptoed around the side of her house.

“Hey, Piper, what’s shakin’?” he croaked.

Piper groaned and turned back to watch him struggle to stand. The trees bowed violently with his efforts. Suddenly the hammock twisted and flipped, catapulting him facedown

into the grass. Piper gasped in dismay and trotted back to see if he was hurt.

“Len.” She shook his bare shoulder and experienced a stab of alarm when he didn’t immediately respond. “Len,” she said louder, shaking him harder.

He stirred and lifted his head, moaning.

Her shoulders sagged in relief. “Len, it’s Piper. Are you okay?”

The expression on his grass-stained face was one of confusion. “Where am I?”

Piper rol ed her eyes heavenward. As if he could be anywhere but at his mother’s house, doing nothing. Even amnesia couldn’t stamp out a lifetime habit. “You fel out of your hammock, Len. Can you move?”

He spit out a few blades of grass. “I think so.” He slowly raised himself on his elbows, and with her help pushed himself to his bare feet. Moving gingerly, he tested his limbs and turned his head from side to side. “I guess I’m okay,” he said, sounding relieved.

Piper smiled. “I’m glad, Len—
aarggghh!
” Before she knew it, he’d yanked her to him in an awkward embrace and kissed her ful on the lips. He tasted like grass and sweat, and she wrenched away from him angrily, wiping her mouth. Lenny took a half step backward, fright evident on his face.

Furious, she went after him, pummeling him with her purse, first right, then left, to punctuate her words. “What—do—you—think—you—are—
doing?
”

He held up his hands in meek defense. “I’m sorry, Piper, I’m sorry!”

She stopped and jammed her hands on her hips. “Just make sure it doesn’t happen again.”

He pul ed a sad face, crossing his arms and staring at the ground. “I saw you kissing that city fel a last night in your kitchen, so I figured I’d better step in and stake my claim.”

Her eyebrows shot up. “You were spying on me?”

Lenny looked indignant. “No, I wasn’t!”

She nodded. “You were spying on me!”

Flustered, he sputtered, “Wel , you opened your window, so I figured you meant for me to see—that you were trying to make me jealous.”

“Jealous?”
Piper pressed her lips together to keep herself from saying something that would hurt the man’s feelings. After a deep, calming breath, she said, “Lenny, I wasn’t trying to make you jealous. You and I are just…friends. I don’t think of you in a…romantic way.”

A wounded expression settled on his green face. “You don’t?”

She shook her head kindly. “No, I don’t. But I’m sure there are lots of women around Mudvil e who would like to go out with you.”

He grinned, revealing a blade of grass between his front teeth. “You think?”

Piper stared, hesitating. “Wel …sure, Len. Of course, it might help if you, say, got a job?”

His forehead creased and he chewed on his lip, deep in concentration.

“Or maybe got a place of your own?”

Lenny’s eyes widened and he pursed his mouth, as if he’d never considered the possibility until now.

“And maybe—” she gestured vaguely toward his ragged black denim shorts “—put on some clothes?”

He scratched his bel y and nodded, warming up to the idea. “Don Langley told me he could use someone to work the pumps at the Gas Giddyup.”

She smiled and lifted her hand in the air. “There you go.”

A slow smile lifted his face. “Yeah, maybe you’re right, Piper.”

Glancing at her watch, she said, “I’l bet you’ve got time to shower and get down there today.”

“Yeah,” he said, grinning. “I’l give it a try.”

“Good luck. I’l see you later.” She patted him on the shoulder and walked back to her house, expel ing a long breath. Once inside, she immediately sorted through a box of

linens her grandmother had given her until she found a white opaque curtain panel, which she threaded through a spring-loaded café rod and hung in the kitchen window next to the table.

She stood on the chair Ian had occupied and tried not to remember the hungry way he had looked at her, the sexy way he had pul ed her to him and the earth-shattering way he had kissed her. Her hands trembled just thinking about him.

Piper climbed down on shaky knees and leaned forward on the table, taking comfort in the smooth, worn wood beneath her fingers. Somehow, she was going to have to get the

image of Ian out of her head. She’d barely slept last night, and she didn’t want her distraction to ruin what could be the beginning of a perfectly satisfying relationship with Henry Walden.

To keep her hands busy, she fixed a BLT sandwich and opened the two boxes of kitchen supplies her grandmother had given her. Slowly she unpacked a drawerful of obscure