She believed him. He might not mean it tomorrow or in an hour but, right now, he meant it. She should make him go. It would be better for all concerned, but she couldn’t stop herself or the tenderness that was welling up inside her.
“Go turn on the game,” she said quietly. “I’ll fix you a plate.”
Later, after they had eaten, somewhere during the second quarter, he put an arm around her and pulled her to him, and she wasn’t able to stop herself from letting him. She had worked so hard to bury all those old feelings, just like she’d worked to lose those extra pounds. She’d always known fat was right around the corner and, evidently, so was being in love with Brantley again.
Weak. She was so weak. And she knew all about weakness. She felt it again when the game was over.
He gave her a lazy smile. “Roll Tide.” They’d won the game.
“Roll Tide,” she responded.
“Thank you for not throwing me in the street,” he said.
“It would have been a big mess. You and Eller there in the street with all that barbecue, coleslaw, and lemon pie all over you. I try not to make a mess if I can help it.” But wasn’t that exactly what she was doing now? Sitting here in the crook of his arm, feeling his body heat, and smelling his scent?
“There are worse things than rolling around in barbecue.” He lifted his injured hand and slid his thumb along her jaw line. “Though I’d rather have you for my rolling partner than Eller.”
“I don’t know.” Now, her chin was resting in the V between his thumb and index finger. He barely moved his hand against her cheeks as if he was enjoying the feel of her skin and had no desire to bring her face to his own, no desire to kiss her. No, that wasn’t quite right. The desire was there; she could see it in his eyes. He had just chosen to enjoy the moment rather than rush it. “I don’t see the charm of rolling around in barbecue, especially if there is potato salad involved.”
“No?” He bit his lower lip. “I see the charm in Lucy Mead. Does she see the charm in me? Even a little? Ever?”
“Sometimes,” she answered. “Though I shouldn’t. You cost too much.”
He laughed that low sweet laugh and shifted. It might have been an accident that his thigh pressed more firmly against hers.
“I am free for the taking,” he said.
She needed to stop this and get him out of here. She captured his wrist in her hand, pulled it away from her face, and looked at his palm “How is your hand? Does it hurt?”
“No,” he said. He was lying.
She rose. “Didn’t you say you had to catch a plane before God gets up? Hadn’t you better get some sleep?”
“I can sleep on the plane. I’m a good plane sleeper. Wheels up, I’m out.”
“But you have to get to the airport. And it’s an hour away.”
He sighed. “Okay.” He held out his uninjured hand. “Help me up. I’m injured, in pain.”
“You said your hand didn’t hurt.” But she took his hand.
“Sometimes I lie,” he said as she pulled him to his feet. He placed his hands on her shoulders. “And sometimes I don’t.”
And in that moment, he took charge of her world. When he took her in his arms, they snapped together like a magnetic fastener on a purse and his mouth on hers was like the temptation of the last bit of ice cream in the freezer. She’d never had any self-control where that was concerned either. Best not to allow ice cream in the house.
I’ll just have this last bit of chocolate mint chip tonight and then it will be gone. I can start fresh tomorrow, without the temptation. Might as well have it. After all, I’ve already ruined my diet today with the pizza.
But his mouth was not ice cream—it was so much better. This was not the kiss of a fraternity boy who thought he knew everything. This was a man’s kiss, with a warm tongue and lips that knew how to take their time around a mouth. And—dear Lord—he slid his hand up her side and cupped her cheek. Finally, he urged her to her toes until their pelvises met. There was nothing coy about the way he pressed his erection against her. He was in charge and bent on making her remember this moment. Light spread through her—not just the hot searing heat of the sun, but the silvery soft glow of moonlight.
And that was a dangerous combination, one that could claim a heart, a body, and a life.
She did not need Brantley Kincaid warming her with his light, could not tolerate it. Yet, it was he who broke the kiss.
“Lucy Mead, that was sweet,” he said. “I’m going to pine for you while I’m gone.” And he left, leaving her one big bundle of confusion.
That confusion lasted until the next morning when she opened her door to go to church. On the porch sat a bag of dog food and a cardboard box with a dog bed, three leashes, and a plethora of dog toys—and Eller in a dog carrier.
The note on top said, “Lucy, I asked Eller who she wanted to stay with while I was gone and she picked you! Seriously, my dad’s allergic and there is the matter of the demon cat at Big Mama’s. It would eat her in one bite. I’ll call you. You might even answer.”
Every bit of confusion and softness she had felt mutated into anger. As she hauled Eller and all the Eller paraphernalia into the house, even the sympathy she’d had for him over his injury evaporated.
The dog carrier caught the front of her new blouse and the sound of ripping silk gave way to the ringing of her phone.
She turned off the phone without checking the caller ID. Then she ripped her already ruined blouse off her body, wadded it into a ball, and threw it at as hard as she could. She wanted it to break something or at least land with a thud. But it unfurled four inches from her hand and floated softly to the floor like a soap bubble.
Having found no satisfaction in blouse throwing, she screamed like a cave woman who had been denied her gathering rights. It felt pretty good, so she did it again.
Chapter Seven
Even after staying in seclusion with her phone off all day Sunday, Lucy’s anger was still with her Monday morning.
She stormed into Annelle Mead Design and Interiors at 8:25 A.M.—fifty-five minutes later than she liked to be and twenty-five minutes later than she was supposed to be. She had an armload of dog supplies and Eller’s leash wound around her legs.
Aunt Annelle looked up with amused surprise. “I don’t know whether to be more shocked that you’re late or that you’ve got a dog in tow.”
Lucy dropped the dog food at her feet and removed the leash from Eller’s collar; the dog began to zip around the shop like a hummingbird at ground level.
“One surprise is all that’s necessary,” she said grimly. “One led to the other.”
“I can’t wait to hear this,” Annelle said.
Lucy carried the bag that contained Eller’s food and water dishes, toys, and bed to her office. “I can sum it up in two words: Brantley Kincaid. But I will tell you this. I have a new appreciation for Lanie and Missy, having to haul all that kid stuff around all the time. Is this okay?” She gestured to Eller, who seemed to know Annelle was in charge and was sucking up to her. “I can lock her in my office.”
“No!” Annelle bent over and scratched behind Eller’s ears. “Lock this perfect baby up? Never! She might bring us some business.”
“Let us hope she doesn’t do her business on the floor.” Lucy reached for her messages.
A client canceling an appointment. The fabric for Angie Callahan’s drapes was on backorder. Nothing but good news. Oh, and the last one put the icing on the cake.
“Do you know why Caroline Brantley wants me to come over as soon as possible?” Lucy asked Annelle.
“Not specifically. I know her bridge club is coming today at eleven and she wants to talk to you before then—the earlier the better.”