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Gil banged an elbow onto the island, shoved his fingers through his hair and rested his forehead on the heel of his hand. “I’m not singing this refrain with you, Ferrell. Not anymore.”
“You’re a hard man, bro. What’s the matter, no luck with your Millenium Falcon prize problems?”
Gil let loose a bitter chuckle. His brother had mashed together a Star Wars reference with the Millenium Prize, which offered one million dollars for the correct solution to any of seven unresolved math problems.
He wished he had time to concentrate on something like that. For years, he’d been fascinated by the mass gap. But he barely had time to do the books for the hardware store at night while honoring his online tutoring commitments. What he earned from tutoring kept him in groceries. And the occasional poker game.
“No,” Gil said. “No luck.” But it was Bartender Kerry’s face that floated across his brain.
He wondered where she was living now. Had her friends made room for her?
“I’m not giving up on this,” Ferrell said. “You don’t want to be there at the store any more than I like being poor.”
“So everyone says.”
“You’ll never make a go of it.”
Gil sat up and swigged his beer. “I hear that a lot, too.”
When his brother progressed to threats, Gil disconnected the call and set his phone aside.
Ferrell hadn’t sounded high, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t still on drugs. Asking wouldn’t have accomplished anything.
Finally, tiredness gave way to exhaustion. Gil banged his empty bottle on the island and turned toward his bed. His sheetless bed. He’d dumped the linens in the washer before opening the store that morning and forgot all about them.
Hell. He wanted to sleep, not make the damn bed. But no way he’d catch any Zs without a sheet over his bare feet.
He yanked off his jacket, let it drop to the floor and went over to the bed. Grabbed a fresh set of sheets from underneath and tossed them onto the mattress.
With one hand, he snagged a pillowcase. With the other, he picked up a pillow with a little too much force and it ended up sailing over his shoulder. It caught the blinds beside the bed and with a rattling protest, the vertical slats popped out of alignment.
Gil bit out an oath and swung around to fix it. Through the opening he caught a glimpse of the opposite side of the street and froze.
What the—?
He pulled at the blinds, widening the gap, and pressed his nose to the glass.
In the dress shop parking lot across the street, Kerry paced behind the bumper of an older Honda. Her arms were folded across her chest as her hands rubbed fiercely at her bare arms.
What was she doing over there? And where the hell was her sweater?
She sagged against the bumper. Pushed one hand into her hair.
The blinds clattered back into place as Gil lunged for his jacket.
* * *
WITH A FRUSTRATED MOAN, Kerry dug in the side pocket of her purse for her cell phone. Way to go, chickie. Not even twenty-four hours in the apartment and already she was calling Eugenia for help. At eleven thirty at night.
Her brand-spanking-new landlady would not be impressed.
She dropped her purse on the trunk, sagged down onto the bumper and reluctantly thumbed through her contacts. It could have been worse. She could have been making this call at two in the morning. Though the reason Snoozy had sent her home early was hardly something to celebrate.
She had to do better.
A scuffing sound had her jerking to her feet. With liquid knees, she squinted through the late-night gloom.
Gil Cooper loped toward her, blond hair flopping, glasses glinting as he passed under a street lamp. The lean, muscled ease of his movements was a clear contrast to the gracelessness he’d shown at the bar. The disparity intrigued her, while his undemanding smile provided an instant balm to her frustration.
Despite the heavy pull of a plaintiveness she was damned tired of feeling, she straightened her spine.
“Hey,” she said.
He stopped a few paces away and gave his head a shake when he had to catch his breath. “Now you know I’m out of shape.”
An exaggeration if she’d ever heard one. Still, she rested her free hand on one well-padded hip. “Who am I to judge?”
His gaze dropped, and even in the anemic glow of the dress shop’s outdoor lights she could see the smolder. She couldn’t help a rush of gratification, even as she acknowledged he wouldn’t look at her that way if he knew what she’d done.
He held out the jacket he carried. “I’m wondering if I should call the sheriff. You look like you’re casing the joint.”
Her lungs seized and she fell back a step. God. Maybe he did know. And he was still talking to her?
“What?” she croaked.
The amusement leaked from his expression. “Bad joke.”
She pulled in a breath. “I’m staying in Eugenia Blue’s apartment.”
“I figured that.” He pushed the jacket into her hands. “Either she didn’t warn you about the cool spring nights in Castle Creek or you forgot your sweater at the bar.”
She took her time tucking her phone into her back pocket, then accepted his jacket with a lofty air. “Or maybe I’m conducting an experiment.”
His eyes lit up. “What kind of experiment?”
“The kind that involves postdusk lake proximal air and...and the exposed skin of a—” she floundered “—Southern urban-type female.”
His lips twitched. “Your conclusion?”
“Goose bumps are a natural phenomenon that cannot be considered region-dependent.”
“You speak geek.”
“I used to work for a software development firm.” Why did you go there?
“I don’t have my keys,” she added quickly. “I was about to break the news to Eugenia.”
“No need.” He dangled a braided plastic key ring. “Eugenia and I exchanged keys when she first opened her store. I’m sure she wouldn’t mind if you hung on to this until you find yours.”
“Thank you,” Kerry breathed, and offered an apologetic nod as she took the key ring. “That’s twice you’ve rescued me tonight.”
“I don’t think you were in any danger of freezing to death.”
“I meant back at the bar, when you saved me from demolishing Snoozy’s entire supply of hurricane glasses.” She grimaced. “Three martini glasses and a brandy snifter weren’t quite so lucky. That’s why he sent me home early. I think he was afraid if I stayed, I’d start working my way through the liquor bottles.”
“He didn’t fire you, did he?”
The alarm in his voice touched her. “No,” she said. “But he probably should have.”
When she shuddered, he mistook it for cold. “You should go in.”
Yes. She should. She didn’t want to, but she should. She forced herself to take a step away from the car, then another, until finally she turned and started toward the metal staircase that led up to the second-story apartment.
He followed. “Sorry you had such a rough day.” Something about the way he said it...
She paused at the bottom of the stairs. “You, too?”
“Let’s just say that ten minutes ago, I was seriously considering heading back to the bar. For another beer, I mean,” he added hastily.
She snorted. “You’d have probably had to drink it out of a to-go cup.”
When she made to shrug out of his jacket, he stopped her with a quick squeeze of her forearm. “Why don’t you wait till we get to the top? Sometimes the key sticks.”
Kerry managed a nod and led the way up, her palms going slick as she grew overly aware of the brush of his jacket’s sleeves across the bare skin of her arms, the chill of the night air soothing her blush, his solidness at her back.
Would he kiss her?
When they reached the top of the stairs, she unlocked the door and turned to face him. “Thank you for looking out for me,” she said huskily.
“Don’t even. It was my pleasure.” He lifted an arm, but by the time she realized he was only gesturing her over the threshold, she was already stepping in for a hug.
She slid her arms around his waist and pressed her forehead to his chest. A telltale cylindrical bump revealed the presence of a pen in his shirt pocket and she almost laughed out loud. Or maybe that was from the pleasure of touching him.
Not that she should be touching him. But God, it felt good. His back was warm and hard beneath her palms, his chest a tantalizing sanctuary of firm muscle over bone. He smelled like sunshine and maple syrup, and it kicked off a hunger that had nothing to do with pancakes.
For long seconds his arms hung awkwardly. Then he raised his hands to her shoulder blades. She fought the need to free one of her own hands and press it to her heart, where an actual ache had set in. Instead she lifted her head and nestled against his throat. His skin was cool from the night air, and the almost irresistible urge to taste him left her trembling. The ache had spread, traveling east and west to her nipples, which were smashed enticingly against his chest, and south to her belly. The ache was seriously considering venturing even lower, where a dangerous heat had already started to build. The attraction was one part physical, one part remedial and two parts situational.
Free. She was free.
Free to find herself unable to let go of him.
“Thank you,” she murmured. “This feels good.”
Good? This was pure bliss.
“You can say that again,” he rumbled, and this time the cylindrical shape pressing against her was not an inanimate object.
A thrill shot through her. At the same time she shoved back a step and ran a self-conscious hand through her hair. “Pathetic, I know, but I don’t remember the last time someone hugged me.”
“So what you’re saying is, nothing personal?”
“How can it be?” she said lightly. She hunched her shoulders under his jacket, suddenly wishing she could keep it. A flash of brass gleamed as the zipper caught the light. “We just met.”
“I’m glad we did.”
The conviction in his voice pushed her back another step. “I won’t be in Castle Creek for long.” She reached behind her and swept a hand up the wall. Light from inside the apartment illumined the stark need on his face and she went still. An answering need surged into her chest, like the foam of a poorly poured Guinness, and she pushed the words out before she could second-guess them. “But I’ll be here long enough to share a drink with you before you go back across the street. You know, to toast the end of what has been a sucky day for us both.”
“That’s not much of a trade.” His words were all grumble, but the low-pressure kind.
“It could be,” she said archly. “I mean, it depends on what’s in the fridge.”
He laughed out loud, then shot her a curious glance. “Wait, you don’t know what’s in your own fridge?”
“I just moved in today. I never had the chance to look.”
“Knowing Eugenia, there’s probably enough provisions in there to last a month. She likes to be prepared.”
“We could check it out together,” she said, not quite managing a casual tone. “Or if you need to go now, I’ll make sure the next time you’re here I can tell you exactly what’s on offer.”
He lifted an eyebrow.
“To drink,” she added. She was too distracted to be embarrassed because, of course, there wouldn’t be a next time. Living in an everyone-knows-your-name location like Castle Creek guaranteed it wouldn’t be long before he’d heard every last detail of her sordid story. Was she so wrong to want to savor each moment before he did?
“I could definitely use something wet,” he said.
It was Kerry’s turn to laugh out loud. “Then follow me.” She winked. “To the kitchen.”
“That’s as good a place as any.”
With a shake of her head, Kerry led him through the living room and dining room to the kitchen, which overlooked both the side parking lot and the street. Their teasing had diffused the tension. She would offer the man a drink, share a few more laughs with him and send him on his way. Yes, being in his arms had helped ease the relentless ache of her father’s rejection, but using him to temporarily forget her problems was not the way to go about rehabilitating herself.
“This is great,” he said behind her. “My space seems bigger, but maybe that’s because—” He stopped.
Kerry turned and leaned back against the refrigerator, the immaculate white enamel cold and unyielding against her spine. She tipped her head as he hesitated in the kitchen doorway. “Because you’re lonely?”
They stared at each other across the small space. Gil’s jaw had gone tight, his narrowed gaze focused on Kerry’s face. Her breathing got desperate and his gaze dropped to her chest. Color invaded his cheeks and a shimmering warmth flooded her belly.
Something shifted in the sink—the spoon she’d used for coffee, maybe—and the sudden metallic clatter had the effect of a starter pistol on Gil. He was across the room in two strides and shoving his own jacket off Kerry’s shoulders. His hands followed the sleeves down her arms until he reached her hips.
Meanwhile his mouth... Holy Hannah, his mouth. He used it to get acquainted with her neck, then her jaw, alternately kissing and rubbing, using the occasional scrape of teeth and touch of tongue to build a frenzy of anticipation. She wanted that mouth on hers. Now.
She moaned with impatience and he chuckled against her skin. But he didn’t move on to her lips. His fingers, on the other hand—on both hands—never hesitated to get up close and personal. They roved and squeezed, roved and squeezed, from her butt to her hips to her ribs. He had her shoulder blades pinned to the refrigerator and her pelvis pressed to his.
She couldn’t help swiveling against him. He hissed in a breath, yanked his glasses from his face and set them on top of the fridge.
“I need your hands on me,” he gritted. He bent his knees and whipped the jacket from her wrists, then straightened and dropped his mouth to hers.
Finally.
He kissed her deeply, earnestly, stealing her breath along with coherent thought as hot ripples of pleasure hijacked every muscle. He tasted like malt and smelled like early morning on the lake and every last one of her nerve endings writhed with need.
And warning.
The warning part she chose to ignore. The need part she embraced wholeheartedly. She dug her fingers into his back and dragged them all the way up to his neck. He gave his blessing with a groan, tightening his hold on her hips. She gripped his shoulders, reveling in the feel of solid muscle as he plundered her mouth.
When his hands slid over her ribs and cupped the sides of her breasts, she bucked against him. His grip faltered momentarily, and a sliver of common sense wormed its way between them.
She ripped her mouth away from his and took deep, gulping inhalations. She clutched his wrists. “Are we really doing this?”
He shuddered as he fought to catch his own breath. He swallowed then rested his chin on the crown of her head.
“Yes?” he answered hopefully.
Her nerves jangled with anticipation.
“But if you’re having second thoughts, we should have that drink you offered and talk about it.”
She laughed unsteadily. “Because alcohol will clear our heads?”
Slowly Gil pulled his arms away and moved back. “Juice, then.”
She shivered and wrapped her arms around her waist. Why had she opened her mouth?
“I don’t make a habit of this,” she said.
“Neither do I. Which explains why we’re feeling awkward.”
“Let’s revisit the drinks idea, then.” She pushed away from the fridge and opened the door. A jug of tea, a half gallon of milk and five bottles of beer.
Her father’s brand.
Bottles rattled as she swung the door shut again. “I don’t think this is a good idea.”
He ran a hand through his hair and it gave her pause. He looked younger without his glasses. Or maybe she was feeling older. Having a sense of adventure used to be so much more appealing.
A year ago she’d learned how terrifying the consequences of that could be.
Gil continued to back to the far side of the kitchen until he leaned against the counter. He curled his fingers over the edge. “Adding milk to my coffee without checking the expiration date this morning was not a good idea. Climbing a ladder with a stack of weed whacker spools in one hand and a hot cup of coffee in the other was nowhere near a good idea. This right here, with you and me...this is the best damned idea I’ve had in months.”
“It’s been a while for me, too,” she said softly.
“The hug pretty much gave that away.” He gave a graceless sort of one-shoulder shrug. “I’m happy to help you brush up. You know, so next time you don’t embarrass yourself.”
“Yes, please,” she said.
He blinked and pushed upright.
This time she met him halfway. He folded her against him, swung her around and laid her carefully on the kitchen table. She begged him not to be gentle with her again, and he wasn’t. Not on the table, or against the dining room wall, or even when he had her bent over the back of the living room sofa.
If she’d been looking for punishment, she hadn’t found it. Never had she climaxed so hard, or so loudly. Never had she laughed so often, or given so much pleasure.
The punishment came when he finally left the bed, and she knew he wouldn’t be back.
* * *
WITH A GROAN, Gil sat up and scrubbed his hands over his face. He recognized that ringtone and was tempted to ignore it. Especially since he’d managed maybe two hours of sleep the night before.
Images of why he hadn’t managed much sleep flickered through his mind, like someone thumbing through a deck of X-rated playing cards. Damn, he’d had fun. Kerry had been sweet and giving, and once they’d gotten that first furious coupling behind them, she’d relaxed, and revealed a ready, husky laugh that had charmed him, and a relentless hunger that had flattered him.
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