Then He Kissed Me: A Cottonbloom Novel (8 page)

Her hands squeaked over the faux-leather steering wheel as she clenched and unclenched them. Their roles were in a constant state of flux. Now, he played the role of disciplining parent warning a child to play nice. The cords of her neck were taut, a prominent blue vein in her temple highlighting the delicacy of her skin.

“Will she be sleeping over often?”

Damn, he hoped so. He squashed the thought. Last night had been about protection not seduction, no matter his physical evidence to the contrary. “I have no idea.”

“The neighbors…” She fluffed her bottle-red hair.

“It’s not the eighteen hundreds. I’m nearly thirty and although I study monks, I’ve no desire to live like one.” Residual anger over Tally’s story about being turned away by his aunt had him turning in the seat. “Did Tally come to the house looking for me when we were about twelve?”

“Heavens, I don’t remember.” Instead of looking him in the eye, she was focused on his seatbelt buckle.

“You told her I didn’t want to be friends with her any longer.”

“Nash, that was years ago. I’m sure whatever I said was done with your well-being in mind.” There was no use in arguing. His aunt believed that’s exactly what she’d done. Protected him from the bad influence of the Fournettes.”Your father trusted me to raise you right.”

“Speaking of dear old dad, I got another email. That makes the second one in two weeks. Any clue what’s going on?” He pulled at his bottom lip. Months would typically pass between the brief emails confirming Nash was still alive and vice versa.

“Does he know you’re back in Cottonbloom?”

“He does now.”

“Maybe he’s planning to come up here on leave to see you.”

“Didn’t say anything about it. If fact, he didn’t say much of anything beyond giving me a weather forecast.” Even when his mother was alive, his father had flitted in and out of their lives. When he was at the house, he’d seemed almost a guest. The oilrig was his home, and the men who worked on it were his family. Nash had long ago given up hope of connecting with his father in any meaningful way.

“Time will tell, I suppose.” His aunt’s voice was distant.

He got out, unlocked the Defender doors, and tossed his duffle in the backseat. His aunt’s car hadn’t moved. He rapped on her window, and she rolled it down.

“You okay?”

“I’m fine. Fine.” Yet still she sat with her hands tight on the wheel. “The Fournettes…”

“What about them?”

“I used to think they couldn’t be trusted.” The furrows along her forehead deepened.

“Used to think?” He curled his hands over the window frame and ducked his head low to see her better.

“Maybe I was wrong to judge them all just because—” She cut herself by looking away and clearing her throat. “I need to be getting on to the Quilting Bee. The ladies will be waiting.”

She rolled up the window, forcing him to let go and step back, and executed a wide turn in the deserted lot. He coughed in the resulting plume of dust and climbed behind the wheel before he had to pull out his inhaler. The AC blew cool air into the already hot cab. He tapped his fingers on the steering wheel.

The odd conversation had teetered on an almost-apology. While her shake had gotten worse and she occasionally forgot things, she was still sharp. He had no doubts that she remembered with perfect clarity Tally’s visit and her subsequent brush-off. He also had no doubts that she had done it not out of spite, but to protect him. But protect him from what? The Fournettes were good people.

He pulled up to Tally’s gym still chewing on the past. With his hand on the door, he hesitated. Was he pushing things? Considering she’d almost killed herself on the way out of his cottage, the look on her face somewhere between embarrassment and horror, she might go out of her way to avoid him.

Maybe he should leave it be, but he couldn’t forget the feeling of being curled around her, breathing her in, her soft body pressed into his. Even with the evidence of his mortifying exhibition, the draw to her was more than physical.

Her fingers toying with his imparted a sense of comfort and closeness he hadn’t felt in years. While their shared history was years ago, it had been an important part of his life, and he wanted to recapture it for a myriad of reasons.

He took a breath, the humidity making his lungs work for the oxygen, and stepped inside. An overhead bell tinkled. It should have been easier to breath in the cool air, but nerves kicked his breathing rate up a notch.

A tall, muscular man with tattoos along both biceps occupied a stool at the front desk, staring at the computer and clicking the mouse. He closed the window, but not before Nash saw an online chessboard. A couple of beefy men lifted with the free weights in one corner. No sign of Tally.

Damn. Not only disappointment but worry quickened his blood flow. What if her ex had been waiting in her parking lot or in her apartment? “Is Tallulah around?”

The man raised his eyebrows, and although he didn’t smile, Nash sensed his amusement. “Yo, Tally!”

Tally came around a corner holding a rag and cleaning spray. She stopped short, shifted on her feet, and glanced over her shoulder as if she were thinking about making another run for it. Her braid swung to hang to the side of a breast. Her pants were tight spandex to right below her knees, her tank equally as snug, highlighting the lean curves of her body. Everything about her was beautifully unharmed.

His shoulders relaxed, and he found a smile. “Thought I’d take you up on your offer last night. I need to expend some energy.”

She set the spray bottle and rag down on the front desk. “If the weather’s nice, Saturdays can be slow, but if you’re looking to spar, Reed can accommodate you.”

This time a smile did cross Reed’s face. Nash was in good shape, and he was an experienced boxer, but the big, muscled man behind the desk would pulverize him. Nash fiddled with the strap of his gym bag over his shoulder. “Another time maybe.”

She chucked her head toward the ring in the back and walked away, obviously expecting him to follow. “I don’t blame you. Reed’s a former professional fighter. If you want to spar me, I’d be game.”

He couldn’t think of anything worse than hitting Tally. “I’m more of a boxer than a martial arts guy. I’d prefer to punch a bag and jump rope if it’s all the same with you.”

The hint of a smile crossed her face. “Worried you might get beat up by a girl?”

“That’s a given.”

“Fine.” She took a step away, but he caught her arm.

“Any trouble this morning?”

“Only if you count my brothers as trouble.” She patted his hand, and he let her go. “I’m fine. Heath was probably drunk last night. It was a one-time thing.”

He wanted to believe her, but the sideways dart of her gaze transmitted her worry and her reticence to volunteer anything else. He’d hoped after last night, she would trust him with at least this problem.

“Is Cade back for good?”

She led the way to the nearest body bag. “Looks that way. He and Monroe are practically living together, and he’s moving the R&D part of his business down from Seattle. He’s even talked Sawyer into joining his venture—renamed Fournette Brothers Designs. They’ve both been working long hours getting things set up.”

“Something with engines, right?” He tucked his glasses away, pulled out a pair of protective gloves, and slipped them on.

“He designs new engine technology, patents it, and then licenses the patents to the highest bidder. He doesn’t throw his money around, but he’s done well.”

“Does he know what’s going on with Heath?”

“No. Sawyer doesn’t know either, and neither one of them are going to find out.” Her mouth tightened and her tone could freeze water. “I can handle Heath on my own. Don’t turn into an old gossip like your aunt now that you’re back in Cottonbloom.”

Her braid made a dark arc in the air on her turn. He cursed under his breath as she stalked away. The way she’d answered confirmed his fears. The woman was too independent and proud for her own good. He hit the bag until his arms burned, expending a portion of his aggression. Next was the rope, and he stripped his T-shirt off.

Jumping rope was a challenge with his asthma, but he’d learned how to regulate his breathing until he found a rhythm that was almost meditative. He wasn’t sure how long he jumped, but by the time he stopped, sweat was trailing down his torso.

His chest heaved but he forced his lungs to fill and empty completely as slowly as he could. In the mirror, he could see her somewhere behind him wiping over the same weight bench a dozen times. Was she looking in his direction? Without his glasses, he couldn’t be sure.

Perhaps her swift exit that morning hadn’t been
entirely
in horror. Perhaps he hadn’t been the only one who’d been fighting an inconvenient attraction. He grabbed a towel and approached her, rubbing it over his chest.

The closer he got, the more in focus she became. Her gaze was definitely on his body, not his face. He could translate the ornate script of Norman monks and decipher the spindly, small letters in ancient books, but reading women, especially this one, seemed like it would take a lifetime of study.

Spending his formative years as a comic-book nerd and with musty books as his most recent companions, he would never qualify as “suave.” He discarded any cheesy opening line, and went with the truth. “I’ve been thinking about what you said last night. About re-creating my youth.”

“Yeah?” She continued to wipe and not meet his eyes.

“I’m game if you are.”

She straightened, her gaze finally rising to meet his. “Are you serious?”

“I’m serious about everything. What would you like to do first? Wade the river? Paint the water tower?” He lowered his voice, hoping he sounded flirty. “Maybe you’d prefer skinny-dipping?”

She chuffed, but a flush pinked her cheeks. “Wading the river isn’t risky. Didn’t they have rivers in Scotland? What’s so special about ours?”

“That’s like asking what’s special about the sunset over the pines. Or the smell after a storm rolls through. Our river belongs to us, right?”

Staring into his eyes, she took a step toward him. The bench caught her knees and her hand shot out for balance. It landed over one of his pecs. The muscle jumped.

“Sorry,” she whispered, but her hand stayed where it was. He stood as still as possible, not wanting to spook her. Her green eyes swallowed him, made his stomach churn. Or maybe the gut-wrenching reaction was because of her hand.

She spread her fingers, rasping over his nipple. He hadn’t considered that part of his body particularly sensitive—until now. Even the movement of his chest hair under her palm sent sparks through his body. He was dangerously close to embarrassing himself again. Obviously, he needed ironclad underwear or a codpiece like knights wore in the Middle Ages.

His breathing fractured. It could have been from the aftermath of his hard workout, but he had a feeling it had something to do with her light touch on his bare chest. He might require hospitalization if she touched him more intimately.

She sucked in a quick breath and jerked her hand away, tucking her fist under her chin as if she’d been burned. “You had a piece of dirt or lint or something.”

The bands around his chest eased now she wasn’t touching him and inciting lurid fantasies about her hand in his shorts and oxygen masks. A shot of something—satisfaction, happiness—coursed through him. If he wouldn’t look like an idiot, he’d go find the first person he could and ask for a high-five. The confusing currents weren’t one-sided.

She grabbed up the cleaner and the rag and moved to the next piece of equipment, presenting her back to him. He followed her even though it was obvious she was doing her best to ignore him. “When do you want to do this? Tonight?”

She wiped and sprayed and wiped again, not looking over at him. “You really are serious.”

“All college professors are serious.”

“Do all college professors have stacks of comic books in their bedrooms?” Her bland demeanor was in contrast to the tease in her voice.

“Good point.”

She faced him, popped a hip, and checked around them. Her expression grew animated as the air seemed to vibrate around them. “All right, here’s how it’s going to go down if we’re painting a water tower. I’ll get the supplies. Uncle Delmar and his crew are playing Saturday night by the river for the Fourth of July. We’ll make an appearance, but slip out early. Wayne and his boys should be mostly occupied with the crowd and teenagers being stupid with fireworks. Less chance of getting busted.”

For a second, he wondered what getting arrested would do to his chances of tenure. He was a rule-follower by nature. The smile on her face banished the worries. “You seem awfully excited about our walk on the wild side.”

A smile that held secrets flashed. “I’ll admit it’s been awhile since I’ve done something that’s gotten my blood racing.”

“Anything you want me to bring?”

“Something to toast the moon by?”

“I can do that.” He hesitated. “Are you working tomorrow?”

No,” she drew the word out. “Not at the gym at any rate. I have some bookkeeping to catch up on.”

“Come onto the river with me. I want to see our old stomping grounds.”

Something akin to fear crossed her face and drew her gaze away from his. She clutched the bottle of cleaner close to her chest. “I don’t know.”

He considered his play, the abrupt shift in her attitude surprising him. She seemed more afraid of a law-abiding wade up the river than an illegal defacement of public property. Why?

“We won’t be gone all day. I’ll pick you up early before the bugs and heat get too bad.” He dropped his voice and skimmed a finger down the back of her hand. “Come on, Tally, I don’t know if I remember the way without you.”

Still she didn’t look at him. “I’m not into catching frogs anymore.”

The harder she pushed back the more imperative the trip became to him. He couldn’t explain why, but the only way he could revisit the river was with her. He played his trump. “I dare you to come wade the river with me.”

Her green gaze eviscerated him. A wealth of emotions flickered in a split second before they shuttered once more. “I’m not fifteen anymore. You can’t goad me into doing something.”