Sweet Talk Me (19 page)

“I’ve been there six months.” He gave a short laugh. “Dubose knew. He’s been there with his family.”

“Are you kidding me?”

“No.”

She sighed. “Coming in tonight with him and those other couples, seeing you there taking away our plates while I was dressed for a big night out with a guy I didn’t care about—it was torture.”

“For me, too. I finally came to my senses. Dubose doesn’t deserve you. Why do you think I crashed the prom?”

They kissed again, and this time he ran a hand over her right breast, and the wonder of it—so different from when she was with Dubose—made her knees weak.

“So are we swimming?” He kissed her behind her ear. “If so, I don’t advise you going in like that.”

“Yes, we’re swimming.” She laughed because his mouth tickled. “Don’t you have to bring that uniform back to work?”

“I do.” His palms made slow circles on her belly. “They dry clean ’em for us. They’ll be upset if I bring it back stiff and dry from being soaked in salt water.”

“We’re taking an awfully long time to explain that we have to go in naked,” she said with a grin.

“You can wear your panties and bra. And I can wear my boxers.”

“Not briefs?” She stepped away a few feet. She was feeling playful. Not scared about this part.

“Nope.” He lunged for her and caught her. “I’m a boxers kind of guy. The tackier the better. I’ve got shamrocks and beer mugs all over this pair.”

“Aha,” she said. “I don’t know about you, but I don’t want to have to explain to my mother why my bra and underwear are wet. So I’m going in naked. And I don’t want to be naked alone.”

“I’m in.” He began work on his bow tie, then his shirt.

Mercy. She had a hard time not standing there and ogling him. So she busied herself shimmying out of her gown. “I’ve never skinny-dipped,” she admitted.

“It’s the best way to swim.” He stepped out of his pants. In the moonglow she saw his flesh and the shadowy area of his groin, but not for long. Next thing she knew, he was down at the water, whooping. She laughed and ran after him, naked as a jaybird.

’
S wonderful! ’S marvelous
! Honey’s favorite song came to her.

She was free.

When she caught up with him, she was out of breath. They stayed apart except for clasping hands. Then together, without speaking, they half walked, half ran into the water, which wasn’t cold enough to shock True but cold enough to get her heart pumping and her skin tingling.

“Look,” Harrison said, striding through the briny water.

True lost her breath. It was heaven. All around them, jewels of light sparkled, glowed.

“I don’t feel like I’m on earth anymore,” she said. “We’re on another planet, someplace new.”

“And we’re the first explorers,” he said.

They lowered themselves into the surf and basked in the miracle of being together.

He pulled her close, their naked chests pressed together, and clasped her bottom. She wrapped her legs around his. His erection butted against her thigh.

“I love you,” he murmured.

“I love you, too.” And she knew then it was true. “I always have.”

They kissed while the waves foamed around them, knocked them sideways, sluiced between the small gaps where they were separate. And then he picked her up in his arms, bent low to suckle her breast while she kneaded his hair, and walked seamlessly through the surf back to shore.

“Here,” she said, and he stopped.

He let her down—she was loose, like a rag doll—and they continued their declaration of love without words. Side by side on the gritty sand—slippery knees, bellies, chests touching.

“Tonight,” she murmured between kisses. “For both of us.”

“I didn’t bring anything. I didn’t know.” He ran his hand to the V between her thighs, and she shuddered when his fingers probed her with no reticence.

She was his. He was hers.

She thought quickly of her calendar and of Mr. Grover the science teacher, who’d been so disapproving when he saw Harrison—and not the golden god Dubose—leaving the prom with her. He’d be upset to know that he was helping them tonight, but he’d inadvertently taught her how not to get pregnant when he’d explained ovulation.

“It’s okay,” she assured Harrison. “It’s not the right time.”

They kissed again, their hands everywhere, exploring. She reveled in the hard, strong length of him. He was Poseidon, washed up on the shore.

“Someday,” he murmured on her belly, “I want to make a baby with you.”

“You do?”

“Of course.” This was the solitary boy on the parking lot at school speaking. The one who looked like he cared only about his guitar.

When he kissed her between her legs, she was the wind. And the sea. Of the earth and sand. He was her moon. And when he loomed above her, their bodies joined, she was a starfish on the beach, set aglow by his light.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Harrison spent most of his free time the day after shopping in Charleston with True helping out with the tomato-picking operation. In his spare time, he played his travel guitar on the porch, surrounded by dogs either scratching fleas, laid flat out on their sides, or staring at him as if they were in love. Gage and Weezie were watching vintage
Star Trek
on his crappy old TV in the front parlor. They’d reached a new level of amicability since the rotten tomato fight they’d had with Carmela yesterday when True and Harrison were gone.

Carmela came by on the way to True’s party—it was in honor of her and Dubose—and brought them a peach pie, for which Harrison thanked her profusely. Gage barely said a word.

“You’re just mad I beat you in the tomato fight,” Carmela teased him.

“I’m not mad.” Gage’s ears turned red.

Carmela laughed. “Are you sure? I smashed three tomatoes onto your naked torso yesterday. Good thing you took your shirt off because you never would have gotten the stains out.”

“Yes, I’m sure,” Gage replied. “Did you know that an old term for ‘tomato’ is
love apple
? I’ve used it as a crossword clue. The tomato’s also a heckler’s weapon.”

Harrison wanted to slap him. His brother had no idea how to flirt. He had washboard abs, and from the look in Carmela’s eyes, she’d noticed.

“I learn a lot from talking to you, Gage,” she said sweetly. “Don’t you want to go to the party with us?”

“No.”

Carmela put the pie on the kitchen counter. “Okay, then. Enjoy the pie.”

“We will.” Harrison glared at Gage. Was he blind? The girl
liked
him!

“Thanks,” Gage finally said.

“You’re welcome,” Carmela answered him brightly then left with True.

Harrison hated to see them go. True had made all kinds of noise in the morning about him and Gage going to the party, too. Gage had obviously meant it when he said he wouldn’t. The guy didn’t lie. Ever. But she’d persisted in asking Harrison. He could tell she was putting on to be polite, so he’d just as politely declined. She was the consummate hostess, but beneath that act, he was positive she wasn’t interested in hanging out with him too much after their awkward moment at the beach house.

He knew damned well what she’d been thinking about in that second-floor bedroom: hot, raw sex. With him. He’d thought about the same—with her. But it was incumbent upon him as a gentleman not to take advantage of a lady on the verge of marriage to someone else when he had no intention of following through with any commitment to her on his part.

He’d had to pretend to be oblivious. It was difficult, as he’d been seriously aroused by seeing her cling to that bedpost, but he made a quick 180 and beat feet out of the house. Good thing she never caught on that he’d guessed the sexy, forbidden, and entirely flattering direction of her thoughts. It meant he could continue on at Maybank Hall as a nerdy guy just visiting an old friend—and not someone who knew that she’d been tempted to cheat on Dubose with him … and had gotten subtly turned down in the process.

Maybe she felt guilty about what happened, maybe not. But that wasn’t Harrison’s worry. If his presence was testing her allegiance to Dubose, then so be it. If she was meant to be Mrs. Dubose Waring, then it would happen. She had a few more days to make sure she really wanted it to.

Harrison himself didn’t mind being constantly tempted by her. It was good for him to get all shook up. He wrote better songs that way. Or so he thought. After she left for the party, he had no luck sitting on the front porch. All he did was wish like hell he could jump her bones.

A couple of hours later, her car drove up, and his heart skipped a beat.

“Hey,” he said when she walked slowly up on the front porch. She was a knockout in a classy red dress with a plunging V-neck and straight skirt. There must have been a lot of Spandex in the fabric. It clung to her curves.

“Hey,” she said back, and sat down on the swinging bench.

He was on the rocker opposite it. He tried not to look at her thighs when her skirt rode up, but it was difficult. He focused on her face, on her smoky, glamorous eyes. He was on stage all the time, and he recognized false eyelashes. They turned him on. “Wasn’t it any fun?” he asked her, and wished more than ever that Dubose Waring would never come back from New York.

“I guess it was sort of fun.” She put her folded hands between her knees and splayed her ankles out, like a little girl. Skeeter came over and nuzzled one of her spiky black heels. “But it’s pretty lame when your fiancé isn’t there. I know we couldn’t avoid this, and I should probably get used to it…”

Harrison played a riff on his guitar. “Dubose work a lot?”

She nodded. “I can’t fault him for that. He’s good at what he does.”

“I’m sure he is.”

“
You
work all the time.”

“Pretty much.” He fiddled with a chord or two, and thought about a sad girl in pearls coming home from a party. That would make a depressing song—the true country artist in him responded to that. But he also knew that when he was calculated in his approach to songwriting, he produced dreck. Dan didn’t get that. He’d texted him that morning and asked him how it was going.

It’s not
, Harrison had written back.

She inclined her head and watched him strum a few light chords. “Will you come to the next party? Everyone’s dying for you to show up.”

Not her, though. Her tone was light, but he could read her like a book, too.

“I don’t know,” he said. “If it’s not all Biscuit Creek people, I could run into some trouble. I’m surprised someone hasn’t spilled the beans already. I was sure the paps would show up by now.”

“Goes to show you how much the people here want that library rebooted. And maybe how much they like you, too.”

“Aw, they don’t like me.”

“Sure they do.” She got her swing going gently. “You weren’t part of the gang, but you never caused any trouble around town. You worked hard. And you were nice to anyone at school who spoke to you nicely.”

“I’ll agree with that assessment.” His palm rested flat on the guitar’s surface. “But I don’t belong here. Never did, never will. I know how the rich folk talked about my parents. We were trailer trash. Money and fame don’t change that perception. The only difference now is that I’m an object of fascination. I can entertain your friends, but I’ll never win their respect.”

He played a complicated riff to blow off steam—and maybe to impress her a little bit.

She grinned. “Show-off.”

He grinned back. “You caught me.”

The crickets chirped, and the wind off the marsh blew True’s hair back from her face.

“What you said does hold true for some people,” she said. “But you’d find their type anywhere you go in this world. They’re mean because they’re scared of anything different. That shouldn’t hold you back from socializing here. Heck. Your name’s on the water tower. Of course, you belong.”

“You have a point. But I’m still not interested, thanks. If anyone asks, chalk it up to my need for time away.”

“All right.” She sounded genuinely disappointed. He was a little confused. He’d thought she didn’t want him to go anywhere with her. Too much temptation and all that.

Maybe she’d gotten her lust for him under control already.

Too bad
.

He went back to making love to his guitar. It was a poor substitute for what he really wanted to do with the woman in the red dress, but it was something.

“Well, if you won’t go with me to the next party,” she said, “will you come with me to Weezie’s open house at Trident Tech tomorrow night? Dubose really wanted to be there. She’s still talking about wanting to get an apartment. I know it’ll come up a lot. It would be nice to have some moral support, but there’s the matter of your disguise. I don’t know how you can get away with wearing an Indiana Jones hat and those weird sunglasses all night.”

“I’ve got it covered.” He smiled at her the way a brother would, kind of sickly and forced.

But she didn’t notice. “Good.” She jumped up from the swing, all happy. “And boy, am I glad tonight’s over. A couple people asked me about the wedding plans. I couldn’t tell anyone that I don’t have a venue yet or a caterer.”

“Time’s a wastin’,” he said. “I can get someone here tomorrow to take over. I guarantee you my friend in LA will find you a place that’ll rock. And the food will be incredible.”

“No, thank you.” She was at the door now, and the light did amazing things to highlight her figure.

“You’re stubborn,” he said.

“No more than you.”

“Interesting that Carmela brought by a peach pie.”

“She baked it for you and Gage. She never brings us pie. I guess that
is
interesting.” She grinned.

“Not as interesting as this: You and I are gonna paddleboard soon.”

“No, we’re not. I don’t have time.”

“Sure you do. You got nothing to do without a caterer and a place for the party.”

She made a face at him and let the screen door swing shut behind her.

“Don’t take the last piece of that pie!” he called after her. “I need it for inspiration!”

And solace—since he couldn’t throw her down and have his way with her. And he had mush for brains when it came to writing new songs. And
Star Trek
was probably over.