Slow and Steady Rush (33 page)

“No. Me first. I’ve been an idiot. Don’t move back to Atlanta. Please stay in Falcon. I …” He swallowed. He needed to say the words, and she needed to hear them. “I love you, Darcy. More than anything. I was a complete asshole, but I was scared. Scared you’d find out what I did and … hate me. I don’t deserve someone like you, but if you still care about me, would you consider giving me another shot?”

Her hip popped out, and she crossed her arms over her chest. “Now you’ve upset me.” Before his heart had a chance to explode, she said, “If your foster father was standing right here, I would kick his butt for what he’s made you believe about yourself. Look at the positive impact you’ve had on your kids, the town, me. If I ever hear you say you don’t deserve me, I’ll—” She looked to the sky, maybe searching for the proper punishment.

The most brutal one popped out of his mouth. “Leave me?”

The stadium lights powered off. Meager light from the parking lot turned her expression into a mystery. He dropped his duffle and rubbed damp palms over his pants. His numb lips were incapable of producing intelligible speech.

“Robbie Dalton, I would never. I love you. I’ll love you forever. I took the job at the Falcon library. I’m coming home.”

Her words echoed through his head.
Love. Forever. Home.
He closed the distance between them and caught her close, banding his arms so tightly around her a crowbar couldn’t pry him away. His lips searched and discovered cold skin and warm, salty tears.

With his mouth against the pulse of her temple, he asked, “You got a place to stay?”

“Are you offering your house?”

“Damn straight.” He pulled back, and her face tilted to his, their lips inches apart. “The truth is I’m never going to be the kind of man who writes sonnets to your beauty or brings you flowers. But I can be the man in your bed every night. The man always there when you reach for him, always there when you call. The man who shares all his secrets and can take care of your needs. Even the ones you try to deny. This isn’t the proposal you deserve”—he gestured around the parking lot—“but I want to marry you, Darcy Wilde.”

#

Shock and happiness coursed through Darcy. She hugged him tighter and buried her face in his neck. “I would be honored to marry you, Robbie Dalton.”

“You sure you’ll be happy back in Falcon?” Old insecurities screamed through his words.

“I was coming back with or without you. But with you is a helluva lot better.” She found his lips with hers, nipping his bottom one. “It took me awhile to see Falcon through adult eyes, to realize how much I missed the connections. Atlanta was a really long vacation. Falcon is home. Wherever
you
are is home.”

Like the sun banishing the dark of night, he smiled.

The drive back to Falcon took nearly two hours. Darcy followed his black truck. Her car was packed to the soft top with her things. They pulled onto the narrow lane between the trees. Bumping past Ada’s house was bittersweet, but excitement trumped the nostalgia. She pulled in next to his truck, but before she could take a step, he lifted her into a cradle hold.

“What are you doing?” she asked through laughter.

“Carrying you over the threshold of our home.” His seriousness stifled her suddenly inappropriate-feeling giggles.

“We’re not married yet.”

Love burned in his blue eyes, his walls demolished. “I committed myself to you tonight—forever. A ring and certificate only mean it’s legal.”

And he didn’t think he was romantic? All she could do was press her lips against his and wind her arms around his neck. Somehow, with her scattering kisses over his face and neck, he unlocked the door. Avery shot out to enjoy freedom after his evening of captivity.

Robbie didn’t put her down until he reached his bed—their bed. Reverentially, he undressed her, and she did the same for him. Naked they came together. Passion flavored his kisses, and his muscles shook with restraint, but he was serious, too serious.

“Are you fixing to close the deal, Coach?” she whispered, unable to stop a smile.

He lifted away. She tilted her hips up until the head of his erection brushed her entrance. He accepted the invitation and slid inside, swallowing her moan with a kiss.

“Consider the deal closed.”

Epilogue

Six months later …

Darcy lounged on their front porch and soaked in the warmth of the pre-summer sun. Soon it would be too hot to do anything but sit under a ceiling fan and read—which wouldn’t be so bad either.

It was Robbie’s last day of the school year. He wouldn’t have all summer off like most teachers. Practices would resume in July, and the frenzy of another season would overtake their lives. Darcy didn’t mind. She loved the ebb and flow of the town around football—the lazy spring, the ratcheting speculation over the summer, the peaking tension in the minutes before kickoff of the first game.

Dust framed the big, black truck as it made the turn around the field. Robbie had scheduled to have the long lane paved. The sound of scrunching gravel would be missed, but not the potholes.

The noise woke Avery, and both of them moved toward the truck to greet their man. Avery got a good rub behind the ears, Darcy got a kiss and a squeeze of her bottom.

“How did things go?” he asked.

“Great. We finished scanning the records, and I heard from Jackson County. They have an entire basement full of boxes. No one has touched them in years. They’re giving them to us. Can you believe it?”

“They’re probably jumping for joy someone’s willing to take the rampant mold problem off their hands,” he said dryly.

Just because one set of records they opened looked like a penicillin experiment—she still scanned them—Robbie incessantly teased her.

“You need to go change.” She checked her watch. “Logan’s expecting us soon. He wants to show Adaline’s off before all the customers rush in.”

She followed him inside and watched him pull off his customary T-shirt. His bare torso never failed to make her catch her breath. The pull was too strong to ignore, and she circled a hand to his chest while brushing her lips over his scarred shoulder.

He took her hand and kissed the simple band circling her finger. “We don’t have time for your funny business, Mrs. Dalton.”

“It won’t take long,” she predicted.

“I’m not sure how insulted I should be,” he said with a chuckle.

“No insult intended. I like quickies.” Her hands went to his belt buckle.

“Anxious much?” His hand circled her nape and pulled her close for a panty-dissolving kiss. His breath whispered across her ear, and he pulled at her lobe with his teeth. Shivers cascaded through her body and centered between her legs. She fumbled again with his pants, but he pulled her hands away.

“Not happening, darlin’. But you’d best prepare yourself, because tonight you’re not going to sleep.”

“You don’t play fair.” She flopped back on their bed, aroused and frustrated.

“Nope.” He pulled on a button-down and tucked it in his pants. “Let’s go.”

Walking into Adaline’s filled Darcy with pride. Logan had transformed the local watering hole into an eclectic mix of southern comfort and high-end décor. He’d gutted the inside. New plank-wood floors complemented the dark-stained oak tables he’d commissioned from Jon Wolfenbarger. A dance floor abutted an area with leather couches and chairs for those that wanted to mingle and drink. He’d banned smoking.

The football coaches, minus Perkins, helped upgrade the kitchen. He revamped the menu with a selection of nouveau Southern cuisine—comfort food with a twist. Pictures and quotes from great Southern writers filled the walls. Ada would have loved it.

Several members of the football team worked behind the scenes as busboys or in the kitchen. She and Robbie passed Whitey wiping down tables. He smiled and nodded as Robbie patted his shoulder. The boy had managed to stay out of trouble and pay back a chunk of Avery’s vet bill.

Logan was in the kitchens giving last-minute instructions to his staff. Once he was done, Darcy hugged him hard and whispered in his ear, “Ada would be so proud. She would love it. I love it.”

“I can’t believe I pulled it off.”

“You didn’t just pull it off, you threw the winning touchdown. Do you need help?”

“I got this, cuz.” He let her go. His grin was lopsided with excitement and nerves. After drifting for so long, Logan had finally found what made him happy.

She and Robbie enjoyed an outstanding dinner of basil-bacon macaroni and cheese and baked green tomatoes with a spicy remoulade sauce. People poured in, and they gave up their table to accommodate the crowd. It appeared Adaline’s was a success.

Soft music filtered through the room. It was the first song they had danced to so many months ago. Robbie grabbed her hands and walked her to the middle of the dance floor. Several other couples joined them.

She leaned into his body and nuzzled his neck. Her banked arousal flared with his body pressed so close, and her hands roamed. Nothing could stop them.

“I’m ready to get our own party started,” she whispered.

Logan hobnobbed with his customers. He didn’t need them and wouldn’t miss them. She pulled Robbie outside, not allowing him to be drawn into any football discussions.

The night retained the warmth from the day, and after Robbie helped her into his truck, she grabbed his shirtfront and pulled him in for a kiss. “You up for a little fun out in the woods?”

“I like the way you think, my lusty librarian.”

Read on for an excerpt from
Laura Trentham
’s next story

CAUGHT UP IN THE TOUCH

Coming soon from St. Martin’s Press!

Chapter 1

August, Richmond, Virginia

“I want Logan Wilde in the Atlanta restaurant as our lead chef as soon as humanly possible. I don’t care how, but make sure you bag him one way or another. Let’s face it, darling, you have a couple of weapons no one else at the table is in possession of.” Her father made vague hand motions before sliding a manila folder across the table.

Uncomfortable male laughter pinged around the conference table.

Jessica Montgomery wasn’t laughing. In fact, she had difficulty maintaining the cutting stare she’d perfected since moving into the executive tier of the family company. Her father leaned back in his plush leather office chair, while everyone else sat in straight-back wooden chairs like low-class serfs.

The challenge in his eyes bored a hole through her chest. To control the urge to throw the file in his face and storm out, she imagined an anvil falling through the ceiling and landing on her father in the manner of Wile E. Coyote and the Road Runner. Problem was she felt like the unlucky, slightly pathetic coyote.

Silence stretched. Chairs filled with Montgomery Industries executives squeaked. Her brain searched for a witty retort. Her mouth opened, but nothing emerged. No doubt, the perfect comeback would pop into her head ten minutes from now. The take-no-prisoners shark behind Reginald Montgomery’s good-old-boy façade bared his teeth and swept his gaze around the table.

“Of course, Jessica knows I’m joking. My girl learned how to manipulate and negotiate from me.” He pointed in her direction. “You have two weeks to get the contract signed. Now, Potter, give me the rundown on our DC restaurant.”

A bead of sweat trickled out of Potter’s thinning hairline, and he brushed it away with the back of his hand.

Montgomery’s lips twitched. He enjoyed making his employees squirm, his daughter included. She had a suspicion her father’s favorite hobby as a child was catching butterflies and pinning their wings to cardboard. He’d probably delighted in the insects’ struggles against his superiority. Come to think of it, wasn’t that the mark of a sociopath?

Normally any mention of Montgomery financials had her sitting up and taking notes. After all, she needed to know the bottom line down to the decimal point if she was to be promoted to CFO. Potter’s voice droned between her father’s questions.

Vaguely listening to her father putting Potter through his version of the Spanish Inquisition, she flipped open the portfolio on Logan Wilde. An article from a recent issue of
Southern Living
was on top. The grainy black-and-white picture showed a man in light pants and a dark button-down directing traffic in a spacious stainless steel kitchen. The frenetic energy of a typical restaurant kitchen came through in the picture, but she couldn’t tell much about the man except he had dark hair and a nice profile, and was trim.

Southern Living
had deemed Logan Wilde an emerging talent in nouveau Southern cuisine. No culinary school was listed. An oversight, or was he self-taught? His restaurant, Adaline’s, was located in Falcon, Alabama, with a population of 10,000. How did such a small town support high-end dining?

The article went on to gush about his intense eyes and dedication to his grandmother’s memory. Seeing that the writer bequeathed him the title of sexiest restaurateur in America, Jessica checked the byline and wasn’t shocked to see a woman’s name. She rolled her eyes and snorted. Totally unprofessional.

“Did you have something to add, Jessica?” her father asked.

She popped her head up to find everyone looking in her direction. Potter’s eyes begged her to put him out of his misery. She leaned over the table and stared at her father. “Actually, yes. Potter’s initial figures match up perfectly with the estimates we’ve received. You are the one who insisted he reduce by twenty percent to satisfy investors, so it’s no surprise we’re over budget. And, it’s not
Potter’s
fault.”

Someone to her right gasped. She didn’t turn her head to see who, but everyone between her and her father shrank back in their chairs, out of firing range.

“Meeting’s over,” he murmured.

Chairs scraped, papers rustled, conversation buzzed. Jessica gathered the folder and was half-standing when her father told her to stay.

Feeling a little like a dog, she plopped back into her seat. If only she could play dead.

Avoiding her father’s glare, Jessica opened the portfolio and flipped the thin magazine page over, but the back featured a restaurant in Charleston. The next sheet detailed the offers her father had already made. As expected, the first one had been ridiculously low. The next one had been higher, but it was rejected over the phone. Montgomery’s final offer was substantial enough to have her eyebrows up, but it too had been rejected, this time in person.