Trouble When You Walked In (Contemporary Romance) Read online

But it was. He could have had Janelle—Janelle had made that plain—but he was with her. “I don’t care if I win anymore.” Her voice was thin. She was gasping now. “Even if I lose, I win.”

  He laughed again. “I’m a lucky man.” Fingers in, fingers out. Mouth sucking, nuzzling.

  Water beating. Droplets sliding down the walls, his back, his hair. Steam everywhere, hiding him, revealing him.

  “Do you trust me?” he said softly.

  “Yes.” She did, too.

  “Then I want you to let go. Let it all go. I’ve got you.”

  “Okay.” It was more than okay. It was her dream … to be able to let go. To know she could let go and still be safe.

  He reached up and kissed her mouth.

  It was their pact. She was his. He would take her where he wanted her to go. He’d be there with her.

  And then in another blossom of steam, he disappeared. His mouth possessed her core with a new urgency. It was right. So right. The freedom that came from trusting another with her most primal self—it was a high unlike anything she’d ever experienced.

  He put two fingers inside her again—such a welcome intrusion. She craved three. But she was small. He was being careful.

  Someday, she dreamed. Someday they’d do it again, and she’d want that sweet stretch—she’d want him inside her.

  She rode those fingers, claimed them, and then that thumb—the same wayward one—flirted like a feather with the pucker behind her core—such an unexpected, pleasurable shock!—and in an instant she came hard with his mouth still on her, her teeth biting the heel of her palm. She rode the crest over and over while he held tight to her.

  Her head circled slowly as she returned to earth, and from her throat soft sounds of astonishment mingled with gratitude and an awareness that she was powerless before the roiling sweetness cradling them both in a cocoon of sexual energy.

  He picked her up, pushed open the glass door. Set her gently down on her feet and lifted a towel off a hook on the wall. He patted her dry, then wrapped her tight. Still wet himself, he kissed her once, long and hard, then stepped back, grabbed his own towel, and slung it around his hips, where it didn’t sit smoothly for obvious reasons.

  “No,” she said. “You’re not getting away this time.”

  He didn’t object when she unwrapped his towel and let it fall to the ground.

  “Oh, my.”

  “Yours has to come off, too,” he said.

  She smiled. “But you just put it on.”

  “Mistake.” He tugged it off, pulled her close. “You naked is something I can’t get enough of.”

  He kissed her, and she kissed him back, pulling away to kiss his chest, his flat, taut belly, and then sinking to her knees on the fleecy bathroom rug to take him in her mouth.

  “Damn,” he whispered huskily.

  In answer, she played with him with her tongue. Cradled the weight of him in the palms of her hands. He was glorious perfection, and it was such intense pleasure to feel his fingers curl in her hair, to hear him moan deep in his throat.

  His butt flexed, hard as rock, and the length of him jutted, demanding release. She kept up with him, surprising him, she sensed, with her tenacity.

  “Cissie,” he uttered low.

  She heard his desperate call for release and pulled away a few inches to look up at him. “This is a hot view.”

  His gaze was half-lidded. With water trickling down his temples and a faint shadow of stubble on his chin, he looked wild. Untamed.

  “Is this some sort of payback?” he rasped.

  “Uh-huh. For all the torture you put me through.” She grinned.

  But before he could say anything, she got back to business.

  He was a force of nature. When he came, she was the sole witness to the mighty cataclysm.

  She was speechless. And she had to admit—proud of herself, too.

  He pulled her up beneath her arms.

  Her knees trembled. “How was it?”

  “Let’s just say you’ve got skills.” He lowered his chin, eyeing her in a way he never had, a way that made her toes curl deep into the rug. “I’m going to be thinking about that all night,” he said. “I’m going to be thinking about you.”

  Her heart melted at that. “Good.”

  He sent her a crooked smile. “I’ve got to go.” He took a step toward the door, then looked back. “You hungry?”

  “Famished.” She was so caught in his spell.

  “We’ve got some campaigning to do.” He paused. “Not just tonight, but for a couple more weeks.”

  “I know. I haven’t forgotten.”

  He looked like he was thinking. “We’re having fun.”

  “Yes. Fun.”

  He nodded. They stood silent another few seconds. What did it mean, this fun? At the moment, she didn’t care. Because it was fun. Fun wasn’t supposed to be dissected.

  “I’ll see you in the kitchen.” He opened the door, winked at her, and left.

  Slowly, she crouched on her haunches. Aw, shoot, she’d just sit her bum on the rug. Her knees still felt a little weak.

  “Wow,” she said out loud, and laid her head on her propped legs. She wrapped her arms around her shins and wondered about nothing, for the first time in a long time. Her chest, her head, all empty of nudges and angles and frissons of fear.

  In that moment, she knew everything she needed to know: Guy gets girl. Girl gets guy. Girl is happy.

  Period.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Twenty minutes later, Boone was sitting at his desk and showing his dad his new laptop in his study—his mom and Janelle sat on the nearby couch—when Cissie came in, fresh as a daisy, prettier, actually, than he’d ever seen her.

  He immediately hardened thinking of what had just transpired between them. How had he missed this woman right under his own nose all these years?

  While his dad looked over his shoulder at the bells and whistles on the keyboard, Boone couldn’t help thinking back to that fourth grade boy who’d thought he’d only wanted a shy girl’s glasses. He could see now that he’d also wanted to be around the refreshing presence and steady comfort that was Cissie. When he got older and his hormones kicked in, he’d entirely lost track of noticing and admiring a girl simply for being who she was.

  He’d forgotten about Cissie and been caught up in hookups instead … hookups that never went any deeper than casual friendships with a string of so-called girlfriends.

  It was a bit revelatory for him to figure it out now: he’d always liked her. He’d simply never bothered to get to know her better, and now it felt like they were becoming friends, not just lovers, and it was weird.

  Really weird.

  It added a new dimension to the whole sex thing, that was for sure.

  “Just in time for supper.” Becky Lee addressed Cissie in a neutral tone. She knew better than to be rude in front of him, but she certainly wasn’t going out of her way to be warm. “The casserole needs a minute or two to set, and then we can eat.”

  “I’m starved,” said Janelle, as if it were Cissie’s fault they hadn’t sat down at the table yet.

  “Me, too.” Cissie smiled at all of them as if she hadn’t a care in the world, and when her gaze swept over his, she didn’t gift him with a secret special look.

  Not that he expected her to.

  Hell, he might as well admit it—he expected her to. He assumed he’d be able to tell that she was feeling the way he did, that there was something different from the usual going on between them.

  Instead, she turned in a full circle to gaze at his books, oblivious to the fact that he was getting a surreptitious 360 of her sweet little figure. He felt a strong stab of lust.

  She turned to look at him. “You are a reader. No wonder you never come into the library.” She threw out her arms. “You have all this.”

  “Yep.” He really wanted to move on.

  Janelle crossed her legs so that her hem rode up to the top of her thighs.
“He’s a secret bookworm.”

  As if she were privy to any private information about him. Hah.

  “Obviously.” A big dimple appeared in Cissie’s right cheek.

  “These are all Grandpa Faber’s,” Boone said.

  “I’m heading to the kitchen.” Becky Lee stood up. She didn’t make eye contact with him as she walked by the desk and out of the room.

  “I’m following,” said Frank.

  Boone felt the old awkwardness. “Okay, then.” He stood and walked to the door.

  “I’ll be along in thirty seconds.” Cissie browsed with her hands folded behind her back, her neck straining to see titles on the top shelves. She was in her element. And she had no idea what effect she had on him.

  Janelle stood and flipped her hair behind her shoulders in a pointedly sexy move. “Wait for me, Boone.”

  He paused long enough to let her catch up.

  It amused him—and probably galled Janelle—that Cissie didn’t even seem to notice how obviously possessive of him Janelle was.

  “I do think I’m going tonight,” Janelle said as they walked down the hall. “I want to see what Anne Silver is up to.”

  “Fine,” he replied coolly.

  “I can tell you’re upset we showed up.” She laid a hand on his arm.

  If she wanted him to stop walking, he wasn’t going to. “It’s not easy coming home to unexpected guests when you’ve had a long day, but you brought dinner, and we’ll do just fine.” He refused to discuss his strong suspicion that she was trying to wrangle her way into the family. Best to let her think the idea had never occurred to him.

  She sighed. “I’m sorry. Your parents asked me to come over. They think Cissie is after you. And seeing as I’m an old friend of the family and love your parents to death, I said, sure, I’ll come and keep Boone safe.” She laughed.

  This time he did stop, right outside the kitchen. “Cissie doesn’t deserve that. And I don’t need a babysitter.”

  “Sorry.” Janelle had the grace to look down, her long lashes fanning her cheeks. “I know you don’t need a babysitter.” She sighed and looked up. “Maybe I’m a little jealous. She lives here, for God’s sake.”

  “That’s temporary, but it doesn’t matter. You and I are friends. We work well together. Let’s not mess that up.”

  She shot him a teasing grin. “I’ll have you know I could have been getting a pedicure now. Instead I’m having your mother’s beef stroganoff, and I don’t eat beef.”

  “You’re too kind.”

  She was smart, but he sensed she was too ambitious at that moment to pick up on his mild sarcasm, or if she did, to reprimand him for it.

  Sure enough, she grabbed his hand and squeezed it. “I’m here for you,” she said with a soulful expression he could tell she’d practiced in front of a mirror. “Always.”

  He was trying to extricate his hand when Cissie came around the corner and almost bumped into them. “Oh,” she said, and added politely, “excuse me.”

  Janelle held his hand tighter, but he exerted some upper arm muscle to reclaim his fingers without looking like he’d strained to get away, the better not to embarrass the girl. “Let’s eat,” he said, like an idiot, and ignoring them both, strode into the kitchen, pulled out a chair, and sat at the table.

  “Boone,” his mother chastised him.

  The tabletop was clear.

  “We’re eating in the dining room,” Frank said.

  Boone clenched his jaw, stood, and turned to face everyone. “I’m eating in my study.” And before his mother could say a word, he went to the casserole on the counter and dug in. “I have a lot of work to do”—which wasn’t a lie—“and this Morning Coffee business is getting in the way of it.” He bent and kissed his mom’s cheek. Her hands were still in oven mitts. “Looks delicious. Thanks.”

  And then he disappeared, but not before seeing the looks of shock and disappointment on his parents’ and Janelle’s faces, and maybe something like confusion on Cissie’s.

  Let them think he was an ass.

  He really didn’t care. He knew he would later, but right now, more than ever, he felt like an outsider in his own life.

  * * *

  Dinner was a misery. Cissie wished she could disappear the way Boone had, but she had something called manners. And she would never leave a friend in the lurch the way he had her, with grumpy parents who didn’t like her and a woman who scorned her for no reason at all except that she wasn’t as fashionable or cool when they were both thirty-two and should be past that sort of thing.

  But even worse, she’d never get naked and cozy with a guy, then half an hour later be caught holding hands with another guy and talking in low voices.

  She thanked Becky Lee for the delicious beef stroganoff, which she noticed Janelle pushed around her plate, and said her good-nights. “I haven’t been to The Log Cabin in years,” she added from the door of the dining room.

  “You two be sure to make Kettle Knob look good,” Frank said. “Boone’s an excellent mayor, you know.”

  “I never said he wasn’t.” She felt a little sick to her stomach. These people weren’t easy.

  “But you’re running against him,” Janelle said. “That means you think you can do better.”

  “Heavens to Betsy,” said Frank.

  “I do declare,” Becky Lee tacked on.

  “I’ll see you at The Log Cabin,” said Janelle.

  From the flatness of her tone, Cissie guessed it was meant to be some sort of challenge, but she’d ignore it.

  “Okay, well. Bye.” She waved her hand at them in a little arc, then backed out of the room. If only she had tossed her head, spun on her heel, and left without a word.

  But who cared about them? She reminded herself she was a grown woman. No one could make her feel small without her permission. And that included Boone.

  When she passed his study to go upstairs to freshen up, she knew what to do. His door was open a crack. She poked her head in without knocking and saw his forehead resting on his palm. He was staring at a stack of papers on his desk, his dinner untouched.

  “I’m driving my own car.” She tried her best to sound cool, but she couldn’t help thinking of him in the shower.

  He stood. “That’s not—”

  She shut the door in his face, quietly but firmly.

  In her room, she picked Dexter up and hugged him close. He purred against her neck while she indulged the secret hope that Boone would show up in her bedroom to finish his sentence, the one she’d rudely cut off. But of course he didn’t. Aside from the fact that his parents would probably see him, he wouldn’t want to come up. Hadn’t Janelle held his hand outside the kitchen? He hadn’t seemed to enjoy it, but he’d let her do it all the same. Whether he was happy about it or not, something was going on between those two.

  Frazier Lake, perhaps?

  Cissie put Dexter down and grabbed her purse. She stood still, debated entering the bathroom to freshen her lipstick in the mirror, then decided against it. Seeing the shower would only remind her that their erotic encounter there had been a fluke, like the episode in the hot tub and that scorching kissing session in Boone’s truck.

  Things like that happened when young, healthy men and women lived in close proximity. She couldn’t build a fantasy world around something that was merely a biological imperative.

  She called Laurie and asked her to meet her at The Log Cabin. But Laurie was already going, and so was Sally. Hank Davis would stay at Laurie’s with little Sam and Stephen. Perry wasn’t home again, but Mrs. Donovan had volunteered to babysit. The boys would watch football with her while Mrs. Donovan graded papers.

  So Cissie’s plans were set, and they didn’t include Boone.

  When she tried to sneak out of the house, it was perfectly quiet, which meant his uninvited guests had left. But where was he?

  A very girly part of her was disappointed. She’d always thought of him as a gentleman until tonight. A gentleman would hav
e eaten dinner with everyone. He would also have said good-bye before leaving the house.

  But you’re leaving without saying good-bye, her conscience reminded her. So does that mean you’re not a lady?

  Yes. Yes, it did, and she’d fully enjoyed not being a lady with Boone in the shower. But she was a fool to expect anything more from him, especially when he was her opponent in the mayor’s race, and she’d shut the door in his face, and Janelle was hanging on to him like a bad cloud.

  “Get real, girlfriend,” she said out loud to herself as she went down the front steps of Boone’s beautiful home.

  And there he was, over by the shed, standing next to the cobalt blue truck with shiny chrome, his arms crossed over his substantial chest.

  “Were you really going to leave without me?” he asked her when she walked up.

  Her face felt like a hot brick. “Yes, but I was hoping—”

  “That I’d be a knight in shining armor and forgive your little rudeness in my study and be waiting here to sweep you off your feet”—he picked her up in his arms—“and kiss you and apologize for being such an ass in the kitchen and abandoning you to my parents and Janelle?”

  She wrapped her hands around his neck. “Well, are you?”

  “What? Going to apologize? Or kiss you? You can only have one.”

  She girded herself. “Apology.”

  God, she was stupid. But she couldn’t kiss him—not now, not even after the election. This man was from a different universe—one filled with bulldozers, golf courses, and rich politicians—plus, he was involved, for goodness’ sake, with Janelle.

  He dropped her to her feet. “I’m sorry I abandoned you. And you chose the wrong thing. I could have kissed your socks off.”

  “Did you and Janelle have sex by Frazier Lake?”

  “What do you think?” He held open the passenger’s side door of the truck.

  When she slid past him to get in, she was mad at herself for wishing she could reach up and kiss that stubble. “I think you like women. And I’m all for that. I’ve benefited from your expertise in that department. But I’m not into sharing. Not that I plan to do anything else with you.”

  “No,” he said with a straight face, “that would be terrible.” He shut the door, walked around to the driver’s side, and got in. “Having fun is a no-no when you’re mayor or even running for mayor. Don’t do it.” There was a tick of amusement in his jaw.