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She snorted. “And there I was thinking you were simply being manipulative and high-handed. Regardless, I’m fully capable of making my own decisions. And just for the record, Tilson’s not my cup of tea.”
He knew a moment of smug satisfaction. He nodded. “What is your type?”
“Suit and tie. Professional.”
That was no real surprise. “Ah, a sissy boy with soft hands. Someone who doesn’t break a sweat to do his job.”
“I prefer to think of it as brains rather than brawn.”
Maybe. And she could go on about brains and a suit and tie all day long, but he’d bet his racecar her panties had been wet earlier. “I’d say someone easily managed, who asks how high when you say jump. I think you have control issues.”
She sputtered, actually, honest to God sputtered. “I…you…you…” And then she laughed, more with incredulity than amusement. “You think I have control issues? Okay.”
He could tell there was so much more she wanted to say, except she was working for his sister. He bit back a chuckle. He’d like to hear what she wasn’t saying.
“So, do you have one of those sissy boys on a string back in Nashville? I’m just asking because I’m not so sure he’d approve of the way you kissed me earlier.”
“Wait a minute! You’re seriously confused if you think I kissed you. You kissed me.”
He hazarded a glance her way in the dashboard glow. Was that a flash of devilment in her brown eyes?
“No confusion here. And I can tell you now, sugar, if you were mine, I wouldn’t want you kissing someone else that way.”
He sensed—no, felt—the shift in her before she ever took action or opened her mouth. He’d pushed her to her limit. “Really? And if I were yours, be still my beating heart, how would you want me to kiss someone else?”
She released her seat belt. and before he could draw a breath she had twisted and curled one leg beneath her, levering herself up and bracing one hand on his shoulder, her warm breath teasing against his neck. “Like this?” She nuzzled beneath his ear and then nipped the tip of his lobe.
Holy hell. The sensation shot straight to his dick. She caught the recently nipped spot between her lips and sucked. His balls tightened as surely as if she’d cupped them in her hot little hands and gently squeezed.
He acknowledged the contest of wills. “No, baby, definitely not like that.”
“Then what about this? Would this be acceptable?” She trailed hot, open mouthed kisses down the column of his neck and he was damn glad to see the drag strip entrance to his left because at this point he was DUI—driving under the influence of her distracting mouth.
He pulled into the spot next to her minivan in the nearly deserted lot and threw his truck into Park. “Definitely not acceptable.”
He released his seat belt, turned and reached for her. She intercepted him, pushing him until his back was against the door, and leaned up on her knees. “Then maybe this?” Her mouth skated over his and she delivered light, flirty kisses that had his heart thumping out of control. Her hair tickled against his neck and he spanned her waist with his hands.
“Or this,” she murmured against his mouth and then moved on to deep, soulful kisses. She captured his tongue and sucked and stroked it with hers. Stroke, suck, stroke, suck. It was a mind-numbing, cock-hardening, ball-tightening rhythm. If she could do that to his tongue he’d love to have her work that magic on his cock. He groaned into her mouth.
She pulled back and started to slide across the seat. “Did you find that acceptable?”
FIRE. She was playing with fire. She was on fire. While it was true that Beau had provoked her, she’d wanted to kiss him again. She needed to get out of here while she could still think about something other than how good he felt and tasted and the achy, hot need coiling tighter and tighter inside her.
Before she could move any further, he reached out, wrapped his big hands around her arms and hauled her back to the solid hardness of his body. “I’m still trying to decide if that’s acceptable. I think I need a replay.”
Her heart hammered against her ribs and a rush of wet heat surged between her thighs. If she had an ounce of sense, she’d skedaddle. He’d sort of manhandled her into his lap but she didn’t feel threatened. If she insisted, he’d let her go. Deep inside, she knew he was one of the good guys. But apparently her last ounce of sense had abandoned her because she didn’t want to leave. Instead, she wanted to flirt and tease and kiss him some more.
“You should pay closer attention the first time around,” she said. She ended on a tiny gasp as he bent his head and nuzzled at her neck, and then she felt the faint scrape of his teeth followed by the velvet stroke of his tongue. That felt so good. She moaned and closed her eyes.
“Maybe I just wanted seconds…” he said in a husky murmur as he worked his way up her neck, “…or thirds.”
She laughed softly and wound her arms around him. She’d only thought she was on fire before. His mouth found hers and she was drowning in the magic of his kiss. She molded the ridges of his muscular shoulders. He slid his hands beneath the edge of her T-shirt and spanned her waist. He stroked upward until his big hands cupped her breasts. She pushed harder against his fingers and he dipped them into her bra, finding the hardened tip. His fingers…his mouth…she pulled away and drew a ragged, gasping breath.
Severe tactical error on her part. She was about one kiss away from being in way over her head.
She tugged her shirt back down and slid across the seat to the passenger side. He let her go, but there was no mistaking the glint in his eyes.
“If you were mine,” he said, “I’d have to vote for you not kissing anyone else at all, in any way at all.”
She snatched up her purse and opened the passenger door. “Then I guess it’s a good thing I’m not yours.”
She slammed the door behind her.
MONDAY MORNING, Natalie looked up from her day planner on her Queen Anne desk in the back corner of the bridal shop as the bell jangled over the front door.
“It’s just me,” Cynthia called out.
Natalie was doubly glad to see her assistant. Not only did she genuinely like Cynthia, she was more than ready for a distraction. She desperately needed to think about something, someone other than Beau Stillwell. Living above her shop was convenient on several fronts. She didn’t have a commute. She saved on rent.
The downside was she’d never really had a space all her own. Growing up, from as early as she could remember, she’d shared her room, and clothes and toys with foster siblings. And now she shared her home space with her business. One day, she wanted a house of her own. But, for now, she’d take advantage of no commute and always being in the office, ready for the day, by seven-thirty. This morning, however, Natalie had hit the office at six-thirty, ready to lose herself in work, details, planning—anything but thinking about Beau.
Although she was tired last night, nothing had satisfied her. She’d run a bubble bath when she got home, dumping a generous portion of lavender bath salts in. Between the warm water and aromatherapy she should’ve been out like a light. Nope. She’d tried reading a book. Not interested. Nothing on television. She’d popped in Pride and Prejudice—A&E’s Colin Firth as Mr. Darcy, thank you very much—but not even P&P struck a chord for her.
She’d finally admitted to herself that she was sexually keyed up and taken matters into her own hands. It was a rather sad fact, but the truth of the matter was that not all orgasms were created equal. She’d had her orgasm but she’d still felt all empty and achy and needy inside.
Masturbation simply didn’t mimic the nuzzle of Beau’s mouth on her neck or the delicious pressure of his hand and mouth on her breast. And the very thought of his mouth between her wet thighs…Yeah, that had been the fantasy that sent her right on over the edge to hollow satisfaction. Kissing him had been analogous to playing with fire. She hadn’t gotten burned, but she was definitely singed. How could a man so wrong, so different from what she wanted in a man, turn her on so thoroughly, so completely?
And it didn’t matter. This, too, would pass. She’d finally gotten him out to Belle Terre. Now all she needed was the schedule from him, which she could most likely go through his secretary for, and she was done with Beau Stillwell until she had to see him again at the rehearsal dinner. Months. Woohoo.
“How was your Sunday?” Natalie asked as Cynthia put away her purse and beelined for the hot water in the back. Natalie wandered into the stockroom behind her and leaned against the doorjamb.
“I spent most of the day parked on the sofa reading a romance novel, just to remind myself there are decent men out there, and eating popcorn. But I didn’t cry. Not even once.” Cynthia measured out loose English breakfast tea leaves into the stainless steel ball.
Natalie would’ve hugged her, except Cynthia wasn’t the hugging type. The last couple of months had been tough for her assistant. Cynthia had been expecting a proposal from her live-in boyfriend, Josh, after two years together. Instead, she’d gotten the news that Josh was going to be a daddy—the sticking point being that Cynthia wasn’t the mommy. And he’d even robbed her of the pleasure of kicking him to the curb. He’d moved out and sent her a text message breaking both pieces of news while Natalie and Cynthia had been in the middle of directing a rehearsal. Bastard.
“Good,” Natalie said. “That’s real progress. Double good because he’s so not worth it.”
Tears shimmered in Cynthia’s eyes but she squared her shoulders and raised her chin. “But enough about me. Did you get the remodel schedule down? What was the race like?” She cocked her head to one side and assessed Natalie, her lips pursed. “And what’s different about you this morning? You definitely look different.”
“We got the remodel list made. We didn’t get as far as the schedule. The race was, believe it or not, kind of exciting. And I suppose this is what I look like when I’m losing my mind.”
Cynthia dropped the tea ball into the hot water. “Why do I get the feeling we’re not talking about your standard garden-variety lose-your-mind?”
Natalie brought her up to speed on most of the day while Cynthia opened a Pop-Tart and dropped it into the toaster. “His pieces aren’t quite fitting together. His crew member tells me the guy can remember stats from two races ago but I have to schlep along behind him like a hired hand, taking notes. That doesn’t add up.”
“So what are you saying?”
“I don’t know. See, that’s the problem. I can’t think straight.” There. She’d admitted it. He was messing with her head.
“So, call Shelby up and grill her about this guy. That girl loves to talk.”
It was true. Her younger foster sister was a motormouth, which was great considering the quiet, withdrawn kid she’d been when she’d shown up as a thirteen-year old. Natalie was adaptable and she got along well with almost all the kids her parents took in, but she and Shelby had really bonded. “She’s never met him.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Cynthia said, stirring a spoonful of sugar into her tea. “There’s no way Caitlyn didn’t talk about her home life, about him. Find out what Shelby knows.”
Shelby had had plenty to say about how overprotective Caitlyn’s big brother could be, but that was simply from overhearing conversations and Caitlyn’s complaints.
“I don’t want her to think I’m…” Natalie hesitated.
“You’re what?”
Natalie crossed her arms over her chest. “You know…interested.” She gave a one-shoulder shrug. “Personally or anything.”
Cynthia’s spoon clanged against the side of the cup and her mouth dropped open. “Oh my God, you are, aren’t you?”
“Definitely not. So not my type. And he’s obnoxious. And he wastes my time. And I made out with him.” She buried her face in her hand.
“Sheep shit on a stick. You made out with him? Define ‘made out.’”
“You know, he kissed me. Then later I kissed him.” She left out the part about masturbating to the thought of him going down on her. Some things were just better left unsaid.
“I’m totally confused. I thought you said he’s obnoxious.”
“He is.”
They left the stockroom.
“And you were kissing him, why?”
“To prove a point…and he is obnoxious…in a hot way. I mean, not hot according to my standards but hot according to a lot of other standards.” Natalie dropped back into the chair at her desk and Cynthia perched on one of the two chairs on the other side.
“Right. That just clears everything up…not. Exactly what point were you proving by making out with him?”
It had made sense at the time. “It’s complicated.”
“Apparently. I can’t wait to meet him. He’s the first man I’ve ever seen get you all discombobulated.”
“I am not discombobulated. Okay, well, maybe a little.” And she didn’t want to think about him anymore. She’d already thought about him half the night. Make that three-quarters of the night. She was now desperately trying to adhere to out of sight, out of mind before she got to just plain old out of her mind. “Sara Gastoneau is coming in this morning—”
Natalie’s cell phone interrupted with the instantly recognizable Mendelssohn’s “Wedding March” from A Midsummer Night’s Dream. Her clients loved that ring tone and so did she. The traditional recessional signaled yet another wedding completed and the start of a new life together as husband and wife. Caller ID flashed Caitlyn Stillwell’s name.
“Natalie! You are such a doll.”
“Hi, Caitlyn,” Natalie said with a smile. Caitlyn Stillwell possessed an infectious enthusiasm. “How’s life on the road and why am I a doll?”
Caitlyn offered a dreamy sigh at the other end. “Life on the road is wonderful…mostly because I’m with Cash. But we’re getting some great video footage.” That had been a biggie among many challenges in planning their wedding. Not only was it on short notice, but the bride-to-be was touring the country by bus with her fiancé and shooting video footage for what they hoped would be a reality show or documentary. Natalie had never planned a wedding before with the bride out of town. “And you’re a doll because I just got off of the phone with Beau. You are the best.”
Why did that have an ominous ring? “I’m glad you think so but I’m not sure I’m following you here.”
“He told me about you helping him out at Belle Terre.”
“No problem.” Sometimes her business called for a little white lie. “I was more than happy to help.” He’d wasted several hours of her time. And sometimes it was a whopping white lie.
“I bet no other wedding planner would do what you’re doing. Even Cash is impressed.”
Yay! This was exactly the response she wanted, exactly what she wanted Caitlyn to put out to the public. Once Caitlyn and Cash were married, Caitlyn would be Nashville royalty.
“That’s why I’m here. I don’t want you stressing about the wedding. I just want you to have fun and look forward to it.”
Caitlyn laughed on the other end. “I’ll admit I was stressing a little over the renovations, but now that you’re personally assisting Beau with the remodel and building…”
What the hell? She wasn’t personally assisting him with anything now that they’d made that list. “He swears he’d never be able to get the project done in time for the wedding if you weren’t willing to come out and help him with the project,” Caitlyn steamed on. “Cash and I think you’re the best.”
She’d already said that once. Natalie forced a smile into her voice, “Well, I’m not sure how much—”
Caitlyn interrupted. “Don’t be modest. Beau said not many professionals would be willing to go that extra mile of meeting him at Belle Terre at six-thirty in the morning and then again in the evenings to work around your other projects. He was impressed with your flexibility.”
“Coming from him that means a lot.” She couldn’t help her dark sarcasm. And it was better than screaming. What was he up to? Because he was definitely up to something. They’d no more discussed her squeezing renovation help into her already packed schedule than she had monkeys flying out her tush. Hel-lo. It was high wedding season. She was busy. But she couldn’t say that to Caitlyn. He’d pretty much manipulated Natalie into a tight spot.
“Hey, can you hold on a minute, Natalie?” On the other end, someone was talking to Caitlyn. “Yeah…Okay…Right…I’m just wrapping up here. Hey, I’m back but I’ve gotta go. Call me if anything else comes up. Otherwise, I’ll talk to you later.”
The phone clicked in Natalie’s ear. She turned to Cynthia, who’d eavesdropped unabashedly. Not that she blamed her for that.
“I guess it would be counterproductive,” Natalie said, “to kill him before the renovation is done and he’s walked her down the aisle, huh?”
It was sheer annoyance at his blatant manipulation that had Natalie’s heart pounding and not the thought of being in close proximity to his wickedly distracting mouth and hands and his big, hard body.
No, that particular thought was responsible for her now-damp panties.
Chapter 6
BEAU WHISTLED UNDER his breath as he made his way back to his truck, satisfied his roofing crew was set on the new subdivision job he’d contracted between Nashville and Dahlia. Urban sprawl was both a bane and a blessing, but right now it was a damn fine morning in Dahlia. The sun was shining, he had jobs lined up in a less-than-stellar economy and he had Natalie Bridges right where he wanted her.
He leaned against the cab of his truck and checked his wristwatch. He’d finished up the conversation with his sister about forty-five minutes ago. He figured he’d get a call anytime now. Actually, depending on how long Caitlyn kept Natalie on the phone, it could be another couple of minutes.
Natalie. Her sweet, hot mouth…her velvet tongue…Classy. Sexy. Fiery. True enough, he’d started out with the intent to shut this wedding down and that remained his primary goal, but he’d discovered two things in the last day. One, he realized he’d never had to chase a woman before. From the earliest time he could remember women just seemed to like him. But Natalie brought out the hunter in him. Two, he wanted her. She’d told him yesterday in no uncertain terms he wasn’t her type. Bullshit. She wouldn’t…couldn’t…kiss him that way if she didn’t want him.
He scrolled through his cell-phone options. Natalie deserved her own ringtone and he deserved to be forewarned when she called. He downloaded and waited.
He didn’t have to wait long. His phone trilled the opening chords of AC/DC’s “Highway to Hell.”
“I just spoke to Caitlyn,” she said without preamble.
A fly buzzed past him and the sounds of the guys hauling up shingle bundles and recounting weekend exploits filled the background. “Great. I’m sure it’s important to stay in close contact when you’re planning her wedding.”
He climbed in the cab of the truck, cutting off the background noise. He could’ve sworn on the drive from his office to the work site that he’d caught the occasional whiff of her scent from last night.
“You know, press-ganged servitude is out of vogue these days. Of course, I have only myself to blame.” She paused and sighed heavily on the other end. “I should’ve never kissed you.”
What angle was she working? Women never regretted kissing him. Quite the opposite, in fact.
“I’ll have to say you’ve lost me there, sweet thing.” He picked up the take-out coffee cup from the dash cup holder. Empty.
“Obviously I drove you beyond the point of desperate when I kissed you,” she announced on a smug note. “It goes without saying I’d never go out with you, so you’ve resorted to manipulating me into indentured servitude.”
She’d never go out with him, as if he were some substandard species? The hell, she said. The hunt was definitely on. He chuckled.
“Indentured servitude?” Well, hell, that just brought a whole bunch of things to mind. Her on her knees in front of him, her mouth on his…a little light bondage with silken cords…“Does that mean you want me to tie you up?”
“You wouldn’t dare.” Well, well, well. She sounded far more breathless than outraged. Just what was going on in her pretty little head? “And can you say sexual harassment?”
No. And neither could she. “Am I writing your paycheck, baby? Do I have the authority to fire or promote you? Think again. If you find yourself all tied up, it’s strictly because that’s what you want.”
“I think you have a pretty accurate idea of what I want right now and it’s not that.” No man with a brain would trust that sweet note.
“I’m certain I know what you want, you just need to decide how you want it.”
“Since you seem to be calling all the shots at this point, you tell me. When do you want to start?”
“I’m sitting on ready. You’re the one with the rushed time schedule. Let’s start this evening.”
“What time?”
“Six.” That ought to have her sitting through Nashville rush hour. The idea, after all, was to push her to her limits.
“Perfect.”
Perfect? Ha. She was probably ready to gnaw on wood. And just to thoroughly piss her off…“And don’t be late. I’d hate for us to get behind schedule because you’re not punctual.”
He could all but feel her kiss-my-ass radiating over the phone line. Perversely, he was looking forward to 6:00 p.m.
AT PRECISELY four-thirty, Natalie pulled into a parking spot on Dahlia’s picturesque town square. There was no way she was going to sit through rush-hour traffic heading out of the city. Plus, she’d seen Beau’s face when Scooter told her to replace her outfit at Stillwell Motors Racing’s expense. Two could play his game, and she was more than willing to hit below the belt…at least, that’s where she assumed he kept his wallet.
She slung her purse over her shoulder and locked the minivan. Was it her imagination or did the air smell sweeter, fresher here? With its refurbished store fronts around a parklike square anchored by a Confederate soldier monument, Dahlia was a refreshing step back in time—especially after the urban sprawl that had become Nashville.
She’d driven through with Caitlyn once before on their way out to Belle Terre and Caitlyn had pointed out the green and white striped awning that marked Beverly’s Closet, but they hadn’t stopped. Now Natalie strolled along the sidewalk, enchanted.
Early on, she and Caitlyn had discussed whether to use local businesses in the wedding or Natalie’s tried-and-true Nashville contacts. Now that Caitlyn had made up her mind, Natalie needed to set up appointments to meet with the business owners. True, she could just drop in, but that seemed disrespectful of their time—and thank you, Beau Stillwell, she knew all about how it felt to have someone disregard your time.
Plus, she wouldn’t mind an opportunity to “window-shop” anonymously. One of her concerns was whether the small hometown businesses in Dahlia could deliver and pull off an event like Caitlyn and Cash’s wedding. Not that she didn’t want every wedding to be perfect, but the way this one would be covered by the media, Natalie’s already narrow margin of error had narrowed even further. This, the career catalyst that had been handed to her like a gift, had to be as close to perfect as possible.
She’d noted the bakery’s location on the outskirts of town, a pink cinder block building with white lace curtains gracing the display windows of Pammy’s Petals. She paused now in front of Christa’s Florals and breathed a small sigh of relief. Several elegant floral arrangements on a velvet runner filled the front window. Whew! It was always a bad sign when a florist presented funeral wreaths and cemetery flowers as their primary offering.
She passed a small gallery showing several stainedglass pieces, lace and beadwork and a lovely wedding-knot quilt in shades of lavender, yellow and pink that sent a wave of nostalgia washing over her. She could almost smell the signature scent of gardenia her grandmother had favored and feel her warmth as they’d shared a similar quilt on Memaw’s front porch swing when Natalie had been a young girl. She blinked. It would be beyond crazy to burst into tears on the Dahlia sidewalk because some exquisitely crafted artwork had pulled an emotional rug out from under her feet.