Trouble When You Walked In (Contemporary Romance) Page 9

  “Incredible, isn’t it?” His tone was husky. Reverent.

  She felt the crush consume her. It was like coming over the top of a Ferris wheel, the dip in your stomach, the rush—but she couldn’t do that. She couldn’t fall for this guy.

  Why not? an inner voice taunted her.

  He was too popular with the ladies. She could never take him seriously. And then there was the library—her territory—which was in danger. As was her family’s legacy. Her friends’ happiness. And the deliverance of her soul mate.

  No, scratch that last thing. No soul mate was going to show up like a UPS package at the library.

  “Do you have electronic hidden shades or something?” She needed to get back to ordinary topics.

  “I do, but I never use them,” he said. “I love nighttime on the mountain. And I’m a natural early bird. I’m up before sunrise most days. But when I’m here for it, I take it in. Nature’s Prozac. I got these windows put in a couple years ago.”

  Her room at home had a beautiful view, too, but the windows were small. She’d always loved it, but this place brought nature’s magnificence inside.

  Boone was definitely one of nature’s finer examples of man.

  He set her down on a fluffy sheepskin rug. “Any time you want to stop what we’re doing, just say Pluto. Or Daffy. Okay?”

  “Are you kidding? I’m not going to want to stop. Although if I did, I’d say Ariel.”

  “Okay.” He grinned, but then his face grew serious. “Do you want to talk about it? Your big dry spell?”

  He tugged her onto the bed like they’d been lovers for years, kissed her once—a deep, erotic kiss that made her nearly moan out loud—then pulled back to give her space. Leaning on his elbow like that, he looked like a mythological god.

  She could barely breathe from the nearness of all that sexy. “I had a fiancé in grad school.” God, she hadn’t thought about him in years. “He kept saying he wanted to wait. I thought that was his way of respecting me. So the one time we got together—well, it wasn’t like Disney World or heaven. Okay?”

  Boone fell back on his spine, a beautiful sight, and looked up at the beams on the ceiling. “There’s always an exception to every rule. Too bad you discovered that the hard way.”

  She noticed his zipper again. “Well, since it wasn’t anything to write home about, it worried me. I pressed a little harder and found out that he was actually in love with another girl and didn’t know how to tell me.”

  “That sucks.”

  She sighed. “Pretty much. Although I’ve seen him on Facebook.” He looked over at her, his eyebrows raised. “I’m not stalking him, I promise! He and his wife—yes, they got married—show up on pages of mutual friends—and I’m really glad, obviously, that it didn’t work out between us. We weren’t … soul mates.”

  “You believe in soul mates?”

  “That’s like asking someone if they believe in Santa Claus. You might say he’s not real. But I won’t say that. Ever.”

  He leaned close. “There’s no fat man in a red suit and a white beard flying around the sky on Christmas Eve.”

  “I didn’t hear that,” she said with a grin. “I was singing ‘Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer’ in my head.”

  He smiled back, and she felt that connection again, as if he really got her. She couldn’t help a small shiver.

  “You cold?” he asked.

  His tone undid her. He actually sounded like he cared. “Nah.” She shrugged. “Just a little freaked out by this whole night.”

  “That’s understandable.” He scooted up a little closer, his warmth a bank of coals against her body. “What happened after the breakup? Were you scared off from other guys?”

  “For a little while. I came back here, licking my wounds. Mother and Daddy and Nana seemed to appreciate having me around. I got the job at the library. Hung out with Laurie. But no guy that I wanted to be with ever showed up. And time just went on. Life happened. Next thing I know, I’m thirty-two and asking a near stranger to sleep with me.”

  “Funny that I was here the whole time.” He wrapped a tendril of her hair around his finger. “And we’re not near strangers. We go back to grade school.”

  “Yes, but—”

  “But what?”

  “I was invisible to you until yesterday.”

  His expression was grim. “I’m not going to deny it and make you more mad.”

  “I’m not mad.” She closed her eyes, then opened them. “Yes, I am.”

  “I’m sorry.” He sounded sincere enough. “But it’s a two-way street. You made no effort to talk to me, either, all these years.”

  “That’s because you’re on this huge pedestal. I’d have to cup my hands around my mouth and shout up to you. Clash some cymbals together.”

  “I don’t buy into that kind of excuse making. You could have propositioned me ten years ago, and you decided for some reason not to. That’s your style. So own it.”

  “I don’t have a style.”

  “Oh, yes, you do.”

  “Me? A style?”

  “Uh-huh.” His eyes gleamed.

  “I’m not some easily predictable person. Okay, I am, somewhat. But I’m fighting against that. As I’ve told you.”

  “Let’s talk about now.” He pulled her up off the bed. “We’re going to sit in the hot tub on the back deck under a canopy of stars. Get you warmed up a little. Help you forget that last guy.”

  “You must take all the girls back there.”

  “Actually, no. Never have.”

  “Why not?”

  “That’s too long a story to tell to a near stranger.” He turned her around to face a door, presumably to a bathroom. “Now go get naked. There’s a bathrobe in there if you’re so inclined.”

  He was a real smart aleck.

  She wished she could dwell on that, but now she had to get ready. The whole crazy scenario began to seem real when she saw her very boring undergarments (sigh!) hung over the bathroom towel rack. And when she wrapped her naked body in a heavy white cotton robe—man-sized—she felt very girly. It helped that when she looked in the mirror, her cheeks were bright red, and so were her lips.

  Kissing a hot guy was a better beauty trick than any makeup or lotion.

  “Keep this going,” she whispered to herself. “You can do it, you vixen, you.”

  She could be an Elvis girl.

  But deep in her heart, she was still afraid. Perhaps there was a reason it had been so long since the last time she’d been intimate with a man. She looked over her always-too-curious eyes, her broad, brainy forehead, her nose—which was her finest asset, princess-like, elegant—and her chin, which even she could see was distinctly stubborn.

  When she came out, Boone was already in boxer briefs. She wondered if he’d done any Calvin Klein ads in New York when he was there. He should have, and his image should have gone in Times Square on one of those massive billboards.

  “Ready?” he said, as if their arrangement was no big deal.

  “Sure.” She gave a little laugh and wished she didn’t feel like she was going to the guillotine when he escorted her outside to the back deck. Thank goodness the big wind was gone, but the cold, crisp air hit her hard. She was glad to breathe fresh oxygen, but she could never get naked in this. Ever.

  “Don’t worry,” he said. “You’ll sit on the edge, warm your feet and calves while we sip some champagne, then slip off the robe when you’re ready and get in.”

  “But it’s so cold, steam is rising from the water.” She tried to sound equally casual. “I don’t want to compromise my immune system. I-I can’t afford to get sick. Not when I have to fight you on the library and deal with the insurance company over the house.”

  “You won’t get sick. Hot tubs and sex are good for you.”

  “I thought that was Guinness’s slogan.”

  He laughed. “I’m borrowing it tonight.”

  Only the lamps from his bedroom illuminated the deck when he
helped her up on the side of the hot tub. She wiggled onto a sturdy portion of the edge, glad the water was dark.

  Suddenly, the water lit up at the same time the house lights disappeared. The stars became clear bits of crystal in the inky night sky.

  “Oh, my gosh,” she said.

  He handed her a glass of champagne, and she didn’t even say thank you. She was too wrapped up in the spectacle above their heads.

  “Ah,” he said. “This feels good.”

  Her heart jumped. She looked down, and he was in the tub. Naked. The boxer briefs were flung over the side. But she couldn’t see anything. There were too many bubbles. And he had a glass of champagne in his hand.

  She wished she could see. But it was good that she couldn’t. She was already trembling from nerves. She swallowed down the rest of her champagne to assuage them.

  “Wanna join me yet?” he asked above the soothing whir of the hot tub.

  But she drew her legs up. “I’m still getting used to it.”

  “Take your time. How about I top off your champagne?”

  “Yes, please.”

  He’d never get there without standing up and really stretching, which might involve a show of some kind.

  “No!” she said too loud. “No, thanks. I’m fine. I, uh, think it’s too late for drinking. You know, more than one glass. We have work in the morning. I forgot.”

  He shot her a skeptical look. “All right.”

  They sat in silence for at least three seconds, but she couldn’t bear it. What if he was thinking about her? He probably was. She was the only other person there. What kind of thoughts was he thinking? Sexy ones? Scornful ones? Pitying ones?

  “Are you thinking … anything right now?” she asked him.

  He took a healthy sip of champagne. “Yep.”

  “Like what? What’s on your mind?”

  “You dropping your robe and getting in the water while I close my eyes. You telling me when I can open them again.”

  “Oh.” She could do that. She set her glass down. The champagne fizz was going to her head already. She pushed back her robe, felt the icy air on her breasts, tummy, and back, and slid down into the welcoming heat of the water.

  Utter bliss. Cold versus hot. Square of light in bowl of dark. Bubbles dancing beneath her arms, between her legs, her fingers …

  And then her toe touched his, and she pulled her leg back. Scary, naked man. Sexy and strong. The words filled her head. She was dying to touch him. She stole a glance back at his room. Remembered To Kill a Mockingbird.

  “Have you ever read Dick Francis?” she asked him, which was her form of foreplay.

  “No,” said Boone.

  “You’re in for a treat.” And then she remembered that she was sharing her deeply personal book love with her enemy. Her stack of library cards loomed before her, and her neatly catalogued books.

  Boone was the mayor. Boone was why those books and cards were going to be moved to a strip mall.

  “You’re thinking about something,” he said.

  She was a librarian first, the instigator of a secret sexual liaison second. She couldn’t forget it. “Why do you suppose that?”

  “When you got in the water”—his voice took on a husky quality—“you forgot to tell me to close my eyes.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  When Boone wrapped his foot around her calf in the hot tub and used it as leverage to float himself over next to her, Cissie was no longer thinking about her love of Dick Francis and To Kill a Mockingbird. She wasn’t thinking about books at all. Or the library.

  All her good intentions flew right out of her head.

  “So,” Boone said when they were practically hip-to-hip.

  Bubbles popped and churned between them.

  “So,” she replied, feeling wary but also hypnotized by the timbre of his voice. It was a crackling fire, merry and bright and warm, with an undercurrent of white-hot embers that sparked off and landed right where her naughtiest thoughts were, illuminating them, searing her through from top to bottom.

  She was a shameless hussy to sit in a hot tub naked with Boone Braddock. Why, she barely knew him!

  And here he was putting his arm around her. His fingers were this close to her breast. He pulled gently on her and drew her close enough that their hips actually did touch. The whole side of her naked body touched his. The shock of it—the thrill of it—made her ask for more champagne.

  “Please,” she said, as if she was going to die.

  “No prob,” he responded like a man used to having sex all the time. She wondered if he and Janelle were still hot and heavy.

  “We’re going a little fast here.” She gulped down her second glass and put it on the side of the tub. “Usually, people have first dates in clothes.”

  “They do.”

  “I know I’m the one who suggested this, but—”

  He didn’t say a word. Not a damned word. She was hoping he’d help her out of this situation. A gentleman would, but he just kept looking at the sky. And then he poured himself another glass of champagne.

  “Boone?”

  “Yes?”

  She shrugged. Tears stung at her eyes, but he couldn’t see them, she was sure, with all the steam whirling around them.

  He put his glass down and turned her right shoulder so she was facing him. “If you want out, I’ll pass you a towel. But if you stay, I’m not going to ignore you next time I see you. I’m not going to talk to anyone at all about what transpires here tonight. But I’ll remember it. Because it’s going to be good. Trust me on that.”

  She just kept leaning and leaning toward him, her eyes on his, and her mouth parted, and then she had her arm wrapped around his slippery neck and she had to cling harder because she was kissing him, a champagne-flavored kiss for the ages that went on and on, even as he pulled her onto his lap, on top of some very hard evidence that he found her an agreeable sex partner.

  Finally, she broke off for air. “Mmm,” she managed before he grabbed her bottom with both hands and they started up again.

  It got very, very sexy because she was straddling him now, and there was no place for him to go but inside her.

  She pulled her rear up to give him some space, even though she didn’t want to—she wanted to sit on him while he thrust inside her, but he was acting as if he didn’t even notice they could do that.

  “Do people do it in hot tubs?” She was trying to give him a hint. Hopefully, it was subtle. But she was feeling really desperate, so maybe it didn’t come across that way.

  “All the time.” His hand cupped her right breast, his thumb making swirling motions around her nipple. His other hand was on her waist, but then it was between her legs stroking her, steam and bubbles and water be damned.

  She went rigid at the sensation. It felt good—so good.

  “You’re gorgeous,” he said.

  She relaxed into him, and he put two fingers inside her. His mouth flirted with her breast, then took full possession of her nipple.

  No more thinking. Instead, she clenched hard, arched her back. Her hair dangled so low, it touched her butt. His thumb pulsed provocatively over the hard nubbin which had seen no action with a man in over a decade.

  She came so swiftly, she almost got whiplash.

  “Whoa,” Boone said when her hair flew forward again, her back curving toward him.

  The hot tub was oblivious. It just kept churning away. The stars didn’t seem to notice anything was different, either.

  Cissie rested her forehead on his. “I don’t know what to say. Except … I loved it.”

  He grinned. “That’s only the beginning.”

  The pulsing radiance continued to flow through her. She shivered, and not from the cold air on her shoulders. She felt powerful. Ready—

  Ready for more sex.

  Ready for other things, too.

  It was like the world had only just now blossomed inside her.

  “Let’s take it inside,” Boone sugg
ested.

  The night air grew chillier. A hoot owl called from the trees below. Far away, a train whistled past. It was lonely out here. But inside was warm. That was where Cissie wanted to be. In Boone’s bed.

  Oh, how she wanted to be!

  But it wasn’t going to happen. It couldn’t. Not now.

  She sucked in a breath, feeling extremely wistful, her forehead still resting on his. Reluctantly, she pulled back. “I said there was something else I needed to tell you, but I didn’t know what it was. Now I know.”

  “I thought it was about your sexual experience. Or lack thereof.”

  “I thought so, too. But that’s not all.”

  “Spill.”

  She looked straight into his eyes. She could barely believe what she was about to say. “I’m going to run for mayor.”

  He chuckled. “Very funny. I can just see it, you and me in the middle of a debate, and I have a sudden recollection of your beautiful naked breasts right as I try to talk about the town budget.” He pulled her close, his mouth headed straight for one of her nipples, which were standing at full attention, aching for his touch. The V between her legs wasn’t done with him, either.

  But they had to stop. It wouldn’t be right.

  She pushed off him, stood up, and waded to the opposite side. “I really mean it.” She grabbed a towel and put it over her breasts. “If I can get the signatures, I still have time to get my name on the ballot. I didn’t think I could do it. But I don’t have anything to lose.”

  “Cissie, this is crazy.”

  “It’s not crazy. But you’re probably wondering how this came to me.”

  “I kinda sorta am.”

  “Fooling around with you. Taking that chance, and having fun, and right after I—after you—after I, um—”

  “Experienced extreme satisfaction?” he supplied for her.

  “Yes.” She nodded brightly. “It just unfolded in my head like a big banner: ‘Cissie Rogers for Mayor.’”

  “That’s a great story,” he said. What did it say about his sexual prowess? She wanted to stop fooling around. She wanted to run for mayor. “Maybe someday it’ll go in your autobiography, the one that sells like hotcakes after you win the governor’s office. Or heck, the presidency.”