One
Fletcher Graham leaned back, elbows propped behind him on the polished slab of mahogany, his heels hooked on the bottom rung of the barstool as he stared across the smoky room. The woman on the small stage was the center of attention, and she had his like a pit boss watches for cheats in his casino.
She sang a bluesy tune; her long, straight chestnut hair shielded her features every time she looked down and stroked the keys of the baby grand, one of the things the proprietor had slapped down big bucks for when he converted the old honky-tonk into a piano bar.
Her song was one that Fletcher played when no one was around to hear. He was a
dyed-in-the-wool Southerner, but liking contemporary music—blues, jazz, and
soulful ballads—made him an odd duck in the heart of
Fletcher was glad he'd stopped by The Last Call before heading home to tons of paperwork, and infomercials to break the silence. He couldn't take his eyes off the woman. Fantasies filled his mind of that hair, dripping wet, sticking to her skin as her hands stroked him and urged his body to a shuddering crescendo.
His cock responded immediately to the erotic image, but he tamped down the thought as best he could. If anyone looked around from one of the tables scattered throughout the room, they'd stop the presses at the Daily Justice so the morning exclusive would tell how their illustrious mayor had been seen sporting a woody while downing a few at the local watering hole the night before. Slow news days in these parts meant politicians were coveted Big Game. Any transgression that made the front page would have the same effect: his head mounted on a reporter's wall, a quick death to his political career.
"Coop." He motioned the bartender over, nodding his head at the stage when his friend leaned over the bar from the other side. "Who's the new talent? She's somethin'."
Somethin' didn't begin to define what Fletcher considered the most incredible voice he'd ever heard. She captivated her audience with her rendition of "Shameless" now, and though he'd heard both the mainstream version and the country hit, the way she sang it, he felt it like a seduction. He watched her pouty lips move, her tongue dart out and lick over them as the words registered in his lust-filled brain.
"'I go down on my knees. I'm shameless.'"
The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end and his arousal grew to what felt like such mammoth proportions that he had to cross an ankle over the opposite knee. He couldn't hide his growing erection after that line. When two men had performed the song, he'd heard it for what it was: a committed lover, willing to grovel if need be for the woman he loved. But this time it was a woman crooning it. That woman, and the words took on a whole different implication.
Suppressing a growl of need, he turned his head when Coop chuckled next to him.
"Well, who is she?" he asked, obviously more than just idly curious now. The way he was sitting couldn't hide the effects that voice had on him, either.
"That, my friend"—Cooper Jones pointed a beefy finger at the woman, then back at Fletcher, his tone low with warning—"is more trouble than you want at the moment."
Fletcher shot him an annoyed glare. He and Coop had gotten into more scrapes together in their youth than most siblings did. Coop was a big, burly guy, even taller than Fletcher's six-feet-two, but most everyone in Justice knew he was a fair, honorable man, and despite their reputation as bad boys when they were young, both he and Coop were now two of the most respected men in town. For him to warn him off one of his own employees was odd, but it just fired Fletcher's blood to find out why.
Turning his attention back to the stage just as she looked up, her gaze connected with his. His lip curled slightly as she stumbled over the words, and he winked at her before she got it back on track; she flashed him the same look he'd just given her boss, and dropped her eyes down to the keys. "Damn," he growled low. "It's got nothing to do with want, buddy. More like … need."
"It's your funeral, Fletch," Coop said in amusement, shaking his head and setting a cold beer on the bar by Fletcher's elbow.
"No, really. What's so bad about my interest in her? Unless—?" Fletcher tipped his head, his brow rising in question.
"No. You wouldn't be trespassing, so don't worry about that," Coop assured him. He grabbed a clean, wet glass, absently swirling the cloth around and in it, then stacking it with the others lined up, ready for the next drink order. "But after the disaster you called a marriage, I swore I'd never interfere in your love life again. I'll be apologizing for my part in that one for a long time to come."
Fletcher winced, recalling his ancient history. Coop had been the one to introduce him to his now ex-wife, Jane, when he'd moved home after graduating college, and saw her one night at the bar. They were so wrong for each other, and their marriage shocked everyone. Himself included. Fletcher knew almost from "I do" that it was the worst mistake he'd ever made.
At first, the signs weren't in-your-face obvious. She didn't come right out and say she wasn't cut out to be a small-town wife, that she craved a more elaborate, jet-setting lifestyle. But as he settled back into the life he'd missed while he was away at school, and he made it clear that he had no interest in using his degree in business to become a player on Wall Street, had no intention of ever leaving Justice again, in fact, she'd become distant, emotionally and physically. Things just went downhill from there. Jane went so far as to accept a consulting job that took her out of town on too many occasions. And never once did she ask her husband to join her, though he'd cleared his own schedule at the fledgling building company that employed him to be able to accompany her.
He'd had his suspicions, but she confirmed them when she came home one morning after a trip to the coast, and announced she was pregnant with some other poor sucker's child, and she was filing for divorce to be with the man. The fact that the guy had more money than Donald Trump was all Fletcher needed to know. He just thanked his lucky stars that a child had never resulted from their union before she pulled her entrapment stunt on the guy. He took his responsibilities seriously; he'd have demanded custody in a divorce. He wanted kids one day, but with a wife who shared the same values, and the same love of the town where he was born and raised.
Being reminded of that nightmare gave him pause; the woman up on that stage was in a profession that could take her all over the countryside to different clubs and bars, but somehow, he dismissed the similarities. His ex-wife was a money-grubbing gold digger, while this woman was working class, earning a living to feed that petite frame he could barely see behind the piano.
And just like that, his mind was off the troubles of the past and back on the delights of the present. But he wasn't totally enraptured. His memories of that black period suddenly made him more cautious than even being the mayor did.
"She's a thorn in your side," Coop said as he leaned over the bar again, speaking quietly in his ear but keeping his gaze on his employee.
Fletcher tore his eyes from the stage and her sensual take on "You Don't Know Me" to look at his friend. "What's the word, buddy?" he asked, a certain warning inflection to his tone.
Coop also met his gaze and said, "Anonymity."
"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"
"It means, don't tell her what your day job is until you get to know her."
Fletcher knew that the way he looked at the moment, no one would mistake him for
the head of Justice,
His T-shirt wasn't anywhere near the white it had been when he'd gone over to Toby's after work. They were restoring a classic car to its original condition, and tonight they'd been working on the engine, a filthy, hot job since there were only fans in Toby's garage to cool them off on one of the notoriously hot nights of summer in the South. The only thing the fans had managed to do was circulate the heat, and Fletcher knew he probably smelled even worse than he looked at the moment.
But he was well known in the community, and he found it amusing that most called him "Mayor" only during working hours, and even then it seemed to come as an afterthought. He'd been elected over a year ago to an overwhelming margin, but it seemed to stun some people that he, the boy who'd trespassed on every piece of property in Justice, had played every prank that could be thought of by a precocious youth, had automatically been given a title with their vote. He didn't take offense. He was glad they demanded that he earn their respect, but had enough faith in him to give him a chance. If they never called him "Mayor," he wouldn't care. They knew that no matter how disheveled he looked, or how unruly, he had their best interests, and that of the community, in mind whenever he made a decision or signed an ordinance.
He couldn't suppress a sinking feeling as he turned his eyes back to the woman. He didn't even know her name and already, thoughts of betrayal were like a knife twisting in his gut. "Tell me she's not like Jane, Coop," he said, knowing no matter how cryptic his friend was being about her identity, he wouldn't steer Fletcher wrong again.
"Nope. She's nothing like that social-climbing bi—" he said, cutting off his diatribe as Fletcher turned his head to give him a pointed look. He cleared his throat. "Sorry. But no, that woman and your ex couldn't be more different if they'd been born on opposite poles. Pride and self-respect alone sets the two of them apart." Coop nodded his head, motioning out at the stage as the crowd's applause died down and she took Fletcher on another sensual ride, singing "Sweet Dreams." He imagined her song was just for him.
Coop's voice interrupted his thoughts once again. "She's got more damned pride in her little finger than Jane had in her whole body."
"So what's wrong with her?" They'd come full circle, back to his original question, and Fletcher felt his annoyance level kick up a notch.
"Let's just say that, for you, she's trouble with a capital T."
"Oh, right here in
"I'm serious, buddy. Be careful. She's a good woman, but you won't know it if you let other things interfere."
He craned his neck farther around. "Who are you, The Riddler?" he asked.
Coop shrugged. "Just remember what I said, Fletch."
He'd had enough. "And on that note, I'll be headin' out." Sliding off the barstool, Fletcher threw some bills on the bar.
Coop just as carelessly threw it back at him. "This is your place, too, pal. Silent partner or not, your money's no good comin' from that side of the bar."
"Then take it for the advice, though you didn't tell me a damn thing," he replied, grinning, but it slid off his face as Coop's jaw clenched, and Fletcher realized it was the first time his friend had ever kept something from him.
Fletcher glanced at the stage one more time, and the woman whose eyes conveyed her disappointment that he was obviously leaving. He liked that. He grinned, and dipped his head, pulling his fingers down on the brim of an imaginary cowboy hat. He turned back to Coop. "You're keeping a secret for her."
"Not for her. For you, Mayor," he said quietly, his emphasis on the last word unmistakable.
"I'll see ya, Coop," Fletcher said, too tired to decipher his friend's encoded messages and needing a little distance from the very distraction they'd been discussing. Even when she didn't have his undivided attention, her voice still managed to skitter along his spine, traveling around to keep him hard and aching. He needed air. Even if it was the hot, humid kind that he knew he'd encounter the second he walked outside.
"Take it easy, buddy," his friend called over his shoulder as he took a drink order from one of the patrons that stepped up to the bar.
Before Fletcher stepped out, Coop cast a meaningful look in his direction. Why couldn't Coop just tell him? Coop wondered, but left the noise and smoke behind, the quiet, black night hitting him like a wall of heat as he pondered what his best friend was trying to hint at. They'd never kept anything from each other in all the years he'd know him. Why the hell would Coop clam up now when it was obvious that Fletcher had an interest in the lovely singer? It was mind-boggling, and more than his taxed brain cared to figure out tonight.
Fletcher spotted the car with
From there, he went to the office he shared with Coop and occupied himself by looking over the accounts that he'd neglected in the past month or so, watching the clock until the bar closed. When "Last Call" was shouted above the din, signaling that the bar was clearing out, Fletcher waited another twenty minutes or so, then straightened up the desk and left the building the same way he'd come, quietly and unnoticed. The odd thing was that there was nothing in the office that mentioned that woman's name. Not a W-2, not a pay stub, nothing.
While he made a mental note to discuss that with Coop—the labor board wasn't to be messed with—he decided that he'd just wait and find out for himself a little more about this woman. If his friend wasn't willing to reveal her secrets, then Fletcher was just going to have to go to the source to get the information he was looking for.
* * *
Tess capped her water bottle and tossed it into her backpack as she left the bar through the back door, shutting off lights as she went. She was still thinking about the man who'd watched her so intently while she sang, and how disappointed she was that he'd left before she could meet him. After her last set, she'd gone up to the bar as she always did and asked Cooper the man's name. He told her, and said he was his best friend, but he was sketchy about any more details except that he was single, and not involved at the moment. She'd been here a month and she'd never seen him. But Tess knew her work hours were strange to most people, so she didn't give it much thought.
Coop's endorsement was good enough for her. She just wished she'd been able to get closer than twenty feet from the man. A whole room away, he'd made her skin tingle; his eyes skating over her had felt like an actual caress. She sighed, wondering what he'd be able to do to her with only a breath separating them. She made a cooing sound deep in her throat as she considered the possibilities. She definitely wanted to find out.
She rounded the corner of the building and stopped short. The mystery man himself was leaning on her car, looking way too delicious in his messy T-shirt and jeans.
He must've washed some of the grunge from himself in the men's room. His dark blond hair still had streaks of grease through it, but it wasn't as mussed as it was when he'd been in the bar. His face was clean, but oh, his jaw was rough with stubble. Those powerful forearms were crossed over his chest, scrubbed free of grime as well, as he leaned casually against the driver's door, effectively blocking her from her car. Her mouth quirked up in a half smile; he was trying to look presentable and less threatening when nothing but a hot shower and a change of clothes would do that. But Tess was charmed anyway. And she was well aware that even if he were in black tie and tails, he'd still look a little bit dangerous and devilishly sexy.
When she reached the car, she flipped her long hair out of her eyes and tipped her head up at him. "Stranded, are you, Fletcher?" she asked, struggling to keep her composure. She couldn't let him know just how hot she was at the moment. And it wasn't the sweltering humidity that hung so heavy in the air. He waited for her! She'd never felt the instant attraction she did with this man and she didn't want to blow it. The urge to lower her voice seductively and entice him, as he'd so easily done just by looking at her during her set, was a temptation.
But a spark ignited in his eyes and almost sucked a whimper from her throat. Those looks were going to be lethal to any resistance she might harbor.
"You know my name," he said quietly, almost a whisper, but she heard, and damn if she didn't feel that voice dance down her spine.
Not only that, but Tess heard the arrogance that brought out her own challenging nature. She rose to the bait. "Not many men can make me lose my way through a song. It seemed prudent to ask about you. But Coop didn't tell me much—just that you work for the town."
His brow rose in question.
Oh, this was a bad boy if she'd ever seen one! "Uh-huh. When he said that, I'd already figured you work with your hands, so I know that you're the mechanic for the town vehicles."
His mouth curved. "Is that right?"
Was that a glimmer of amusement in his eyes?
She shrugged, hoping she appeared nonchalant. "I asked for details, but he said it would be more interesting to ask you if I wanted to know more." She stepped closer, gazing up at him, and his breath fanned her lips as he stared down at them. Oh yeah, she had his undivided attention, all right.
He didn't budge as she leaned a little closer—only his eyes moved; they lifted to hers and she almost gasped at the passion that lurked in those dark green eyes. His blond-tipped lashes were long, and Tess imagined them brushing her cheeks as he whispered naughty things into her ear.
Whoa, there! She slammed on the brakes, knowing she was getting a little ahead of herself. She wished she felt those alarm signals that always went off in her head when she was ready to do something foolish. But although she was practically undressing the man with her eyes, those warning bells remained silent. He made her pulse race, and she worried that her inner radar might be out of whack, but only a stupid woman would ignore his sexual energy. The day she'd found out about that snake Jacob's infidelity was the day she stopped being stupid. "Tell me more, Fletcher."
He opened his mouth to say something, but his eyes clouded a little, like something had just occurred to him. Instead, he lowered his head—that stubble she'd imagined the feel of was softly abrasive—sending shivers up her spine as his lips kissed the shell of her ear. "You first," he breathed.
"Huh?" Tess couldn't think when he was this close. He still looked grubby and rugged, but he smelled of soap, a hint of sweat and hard work, and some lingering cologne that she suspected, when it wasn't masked by the other harsher scents, would be too powerful for her to resist.
He grinned against her cheek. "Tell me your name, darlin'."
"Oooh," she sighed, leaning ever closer, but not quite touching. His jaw grazed her skin, his hot breath turning her knees to jelly. "It … it's … Tess."
He pulled away so abruptly that she almost stumbled, and she looked up at him in surprise. The shock on his face didn't diminish his rugged good looks, but it sure snapped her out of the haze of lust he'd immersed them in. Like a bucket of cold water!
Two
"What's the matter?" Here she'd been worried that the heat this man generated would make her do foolish things, and now all she wanted was to see that lazy smile again, the casual stance. Without even touching him, she sensed that he was coiled tighter than a spring. Why?
"Tess Braeden? Roy Braeden's granddaughter? The woman who—"
"Keeps phoning city hall, putting in repeated requests for an appointment with your mayor? The one who, by his secretary's definition, borders on harassment? Yeah, that's me. My reputation precedes me, I see," she said dryly, the cloud of lust completely cleared now.
Man, she thought. Word really did get around in a small town. Even the mechanic knew her name. Despite acceptance from her own boss, she wasn't scoring many points with the other people who mattered in the community. Not the board of the historical society, which refused to give her some time; not the mayor, who was like a ghost—never available, always in one meeting or another; and now, not with a man who made her want to pull his mouth down to hers and taste that bead of sweat on his upper lip. She'd never taken so many wrong turns in her life!
"I was going to say the woman who inherited that broken-down old house on the
corner of
"Let's not," she sneered, and stepped back, giving him room. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I'll be on my way home to that broken-down old house."
"I'm sorry, honey, but it is a wreck." His chuckle and teasing grin mocked her.
Tess shrugged and looked away, but her belly fluttered at the endearment. She liked the way everyone down here was "darlin'" or "honey." In the city, she'd probably clock some guy if he called her that, but with this man, in this place, it felt good, even when it didn't mean a thing.
And she couldn't really argue the point about the condition of her house. The damn thing was an eyesore, but it wasn't her fault. It had fallen into disrepair when her grandfather passed away. She didn't even know she had a grandfather until two months ago. But after the two years it took them to locate her, the place was barely livable. Not just structural repair, but so much wiring and pipe replacement were needed to bring it up to code that she almost shuddered, thinking of it.
Back taxes and outstanding loans were owed on the Victorian, which must have brought glorious charm to Justice in its day. She couldn't touch a thing until she coughed up the dough to claim it legally. She felt like a squatter in her own house.
It hurt that it wasn't really hers yet. It was in a type of foreclosure limbo. She needed to pay off the debts, and she only had two months left to do it. Because it was old enough to be marked for historical status, the house and property would revert to the town instead of the bank if she couldn't come up with the money. While she was grateful for that loophole that kept the place protected, the looming deadline was creeping up on her faster than she could formulate a plan to keep it. But this was her chance to have a normal life, to be settled, and she wanted it more than anything.
"As for moving so you can get in your car and drive away, forget it."
Her eyes shot to his. Who did he think he was?
He bent his head to her again, so close she could almost taste his breath mint as his mouth hovered near hers. She wouldn't be the one to back off, though she knew she should. Something about him made her want to be daring, a little bit brazen. And in a town like Justice, where gossip was dished out with the best apple pie at Loretta's Diner, she couldn't afford any more rumors or speculation being bandied around about her. She was aware that most of the patrons started coming to the bar not to hear her sing, but to see who that city girl was who'd staked a claim in their quiet little corner of the world.
Oh, if they only knew!
Fletcher made it increasingly hard to concentrate as his thumb skimmed along her jaw line and his gaze pinned her in his sights. Distraction was good. And he was a pro.
"We made a connection the second we looked at each other, Tess, and that hasn't happened to me in a long time."
She swallowed a moan that built in the back of her throat and willed her eyes to remain open. God, she wanted him, and she'd only just met him! But he was right about their connection. She remembered seeing him at the bar. She'd even sadistically drawn his attention back from Coop when they were talking by putting a little more sensuality into the words than she normally did. But if he hadn't winked at her when she screwed up, she wouldn't have felt the need for payback. Well, probably not, she mused. The warm liquid pooling between her thighs when his eyes settled on her might have had something to do with her teasing behavior. She liked being watched and desired by him. While she was singing, she'd imagined his lips sliding against hers, exciting her, making love to her. And somehow he knew what she'd been thinking.
Oh, she hoped he was just as astute now. Tess tore her eyes from his and focused on his lips.
He tipped up her chin. "I like a woman with determination. But I don't see how the mayor can do anything for you."
Damn! Not as quick as she'd hoped. In her mind, they were already naked and needy, but he was back to the subject of the mayor. "What are you talking about?" Tess shook her head, putting a cap on her desire to concentrate, but it made her testy, impatient. And she didn't like standing in the empty parking lot, late at night, letting this man turn her stupid with his looks and teasing strokes along her cheek when he clearly wasn't on the same page.
The only reason Cooper knew about her situation was because she listed her address at the Old Vic, as she'd dubbed her house, on her application for employment at The Last Call. He knew about the money owed on the place. But for that one exception, she never discussed her personal business with anyone, so she wondered how Fletcher seemed to think he could pull it out of her effortlessly. "You have no idea what the mayor can do for me, Fletcher," she said bitterly, stepping back from the temptation she'd lost herself in for a short while. "If he'd see me, he'd learn that I could do something for him, too."
* * *
Fletcher knew his whole body had gone rigid, and his teeth clenched in a rage he fought to suppress. Did she think she could bribe a city official? Him? Feelings he hadn't had since his ex-wife screwed his life over began to rise like bile to the back of his throat.
She'd thrown him for a loop when she told him her name, but he'd recovered quickly, knowing there was more to Coop's warning that he not tell Tess that he was the man she was so desperate to see. For a guy who said he wouldn't mess with Fletcher's love life again, he'd done a damn good job of it without even saying a word. He trusted his friend, but he couldn't ignore Tess's last statement.
His eyes bore accusingly into hers, his voice rough, almost menacing, as he tested the waters. "I hope you're not implying what it sounds like you are, Tess. Not only is it illegal, it's immoral. And I would hope that you'd have more respect for yourself than that."
She squared off with him, and he was able to see her eyes. They were hazel, he determined. But flecks around the outer rim turned them the color of honey. Sweet, golden honey that made him ache, wondering if she'd taste like honey, too. He'd never let himself find out if Coop was wrong and she'd do anything, even degrade herself, for a piece of property.
"First, I'm going to let that remark go, since we've only just met. Second," she said, ticking off her list on her fingers, "I've bent the law a time or two—speeding up at a yellow light, knowing it'll turn red before I get completely through the intersection—but I've never actually broken one in my life. And the places I've been, there have been plenty of opportunities. Take my word on that."
Fletcher's muscles began to relax. Her indignation almost matched his disgust for what he assumed she was saying without actually saying it. He was relieved she wouldn't use her wiles to get what she wanted from the mayor. From him.
Her finger poked his chest. "And lastly"—her eyes lost some of their luster—"I like you, Fletcher. And you're right—we did make a connection—"
She flattened her hand on his chest, using the other to slide up his neck, into his hair. He wasn't prepared for her to pull his head down, or for her scorching kiss, for the way her tongue felt sliding deliciously along his. Gawd, she tasted sweet! Like honey, just as he'd suspected.
With a groan, he deepened the kiss, his hands moving around to cup her heart-shaped behind, pulling her closer against his growing erection. He wanted her with a passion he hadn't felt in so damn long! But when he turned them, pressing her against the car, she surprised the hell out of him again.
She broke the kiss, saying throatily, "As I was saying. We did make a connection, Fletcher." Her tongue licked over her lips. Reaching behind her, she opened the door. He took a step back when she pushed against him insistently, maneuvering around and slipping into the driver's seat. She gazed up at him through the open window, turned the ignition, and looked at his confused expression. "But now you're gonna have to work for it."
It took him a minute to gather his wits to understand what had just happened. She'd turned him on, then just as quickly, shut him down. A smile spread across his face, and he laughed harshly, ignoring his painful erection. I've been put in my place, good and proper, he thought. Oh yeah, this one was worth the chase.
Taking a deep breath, he tipped his head, granting her the point in their little teasing game. "I'll see you tomorrow, Tess."
"Tomorrow's my day off. Saturdays are still traditionally wild country nights at Last Call."
He just grinned at her. "I know." His eyes full of meaning, he repeated, "I'll see you tomorrow, Tess."
He tapped on the roof of the car, and his groin tightened again as she let out a mewing sound as he walked away. He didn't have to look to know she was watching him; he could feel her eyes burning into him as he turned the corner of the building to where his own car was parked.
Yup, he thought. He'd see her tomorrow, and every day after that, until he knew what she wanted with him as the mayor, and what she might need from him as a man. That last part he anticipated like a kid on Christmas Eve.
But damn! She was Tess Braeden! Why did it have to be this complicated? He shook his head, her words coming back to him as he pulled his keys from his pocket, Now you're gonna have to work for it.
Well, that was true, he figured. The best things in life came from hard work and planning. And he'd work for it, all right. That kiss had singed his nerve endings, but it was way too brief for his liking. A mere prelude to what they'd experience together, if he played his cards right.
He needed more of that connection, but Cooper was wise to tell him to be careful. Finding out what her angle was had to take precedence over his lust. He didn't know what she had in store for the mayor, but for the good of the citizens of Justice, and for his own peace of mind, he planned to find out, before he took her to bed. He had no doubt that that was where they were headed.
Three
Tess
stumbled from the bed, shaky and groggy from what little sleep she'd gotten and
being abruptly pulled from it. One eye open, she raked her tangled, mussed hair
out of her face, spying the clock on the table as she headed down the hall to
put an end to that incessant pounding. Who the hell would have the nerve to
darken her doorway at
She hit the bottom landing of the stairs, and her curiosity grew along with her agitation. Whoever the potential homicide victim was, he was at her back door, and by the time she got to it, she almost wasn't kidding.
Opening the door, and squinting against the bright, early morning sun she made a point never to see, she shouted, "What?"
Despite her cranky attitude, the answering chuckle sent shivers up her spine. Then Fletcher's voice penetrated the door-banging still reverberating in her head. "Well now, that's a good tip. You're not a morning person. I'll keep that in mind, darlin'."
She still squinted, but seeing him standing there, in a clean T-shirt and jeans, a tool belt hanging low on his hips, even to her addled brain he looked mouthwatering.
She wasn't awake yet, or she'd have attempted to be more pleasant. But that knocking put him on her shit list. "Not until I've had at least four hours sleep—which you missed by sixty minutes, by the way—and about two pots of coffee," she groused. "Besides, who the hell comes calling this early?"
She couldn't focus with the morning sun pouring in around his big body. She was thankful he at least blocked the blinding light a bit. She got migraines, getting up this early and trying to think.
"Calling?" He chuckled. Then to add to her ire, he made fun of her, exaggerating his southern drawl to sound like a true good ol'boy. "Why, ma'am. The man who's gonna patch up your leaky roof. Now, I know it's sunny, but they're predictin' rain come late day, so I reckon I better get started early, to beat the storm, don'tcha know? In these parts, you only have to wait a little while, and the weather will change faster than a chameleon tryin' to avoid bein' dinner for some predator."
Tess didn't mean to sound condescending, but he wouldn't let her get away with it, regardless. "Okay, I got it!" She laughed. "Stop talking like that. But I swear, if your nickname is Bubba, this conversation is over."
He didn't dignify that with a response. Instead he said, "You look incredibly sexy this early, honey."
That got her eyes open. Wide. She looked down, horrified that she stood there in nothing but a cropped tank top and high-cut white panties. "Shit!" she shrieked.
"Wait—" Fletcher said, holding up a hand, but the door swung shut, and she raced back down the hall. Turning the corner at mach speed, she scrambled up the stairs to grab her robe from the back of the bedroom door.
No one had visited her since she'd moved in, and she couldn't afford anything more than fans in the house, so it was too hot to sleep in anything more than what she had on, she justified to herself. She'd considered sleeping in the nude, but this was an old, rickety house, and it needed an electrical overhaul. She wasn't psychic, but she was smart enough to know that if the damn place caught fire, it would go up like tinder, and she had to have something on, just in case she had to get out quickly.
But answering the door like that was just asking for trouble. And Fletcher was trouble, all right, she thought. Trouble to her libido, dangerous to her heart.
If he'd had the decency to wait a few hours, her head wouldn't have been so fuzzy, and she'd have remembered to throw on her robe. It was his fault. She hardly knew the man, but she knew he wasn't a bit contrite. Just like last night, when she'd looked right into his eyes and forgotten the words to her song. No, Tess concluded, he liked her to be a little off-kilter.
She brushed her teeth quickly, but didn't bother to do anything with her hair. He'd already seen that she looked like the bride of Frankenstein when she'd answered the door. She was too anxious to care that she had bedhead and looked a mess. She wanted to know the real reason why Fletcher was there at such an ungodly hour.
With her heavy terry robe on, the belt securely fastened around her waist, she started down the stairs again.
She could hear him puttering around down there, and oddly, she didn't feel a bit of angst that he'd come on in, making himself at home in her kitchen. She hadn't paid any mind to the bag in his hand when she'd opened the door; his body was too distracting to notice anything else, except that tool belt. She loved a man who worked with his hands, and she'd just bet that hard, sweaty work came naturally to him. He had broad shoulders, hard pecs that she imagined tapered to washboard abs and into his slim hips. His biceps stretched the sleeves of his T-shirts. Not like a bodybuilder, but more like a toned athlete. His hair was a dark blond, like fresh wheat, and she itched to run her fingers through it. Maybe when he came down off her roof, she thought, grinning to herself. Staring at his butt when he'd walked away from her car last night had been a veritable feast for her eyes. She knew wondering what he looked like naked would pale to actually seeing him. She had a pretty vivid imagination, but Tess equated it to viewing the sculpture of David, fully clothed. It just wouldn't be the same.
Her attraction was building like an unstoppable force, and she didn't even try. That should make those alarm bells go off again, but just like last night, they remained silent.
Her last boyfriend had cheated on her, and she'd had an inkling beforehand; her instincts were more attuned to trouble than she was. She wished she hadn't had to go through all that drama, but it gave her confidence that this time, she was interested in a man who could be trusted.
The delicious aroma of coffee and biscuits wafted up as she paused on the stairs, listening as he hummed a song she'd sung last night. Tess covered her mouth to hide the giggle that she very nearly couldn't suppress. She was pleased that she'd made an impression on him, just as he had on her. Too bad he couldn't carry a tune in a bucket, she mused.
Then the smile faded and her breath caught, recalling the exact impression he'd made on her the night before. She'd kissed him in the parking lot, and she'd carried those incredibly erotic feelings he evoked with her into slumber.
She'd had truly decadent fantasies in the night; he was the man who'd brought her ecstasy in her sleep. No wonder she'd awakened time and again, hot and breathless, despite her scant attire. In her dreams, Fletcher's lovemaking was hungry, primal, and voracious. Tess hoped that in the near future, he'd take her to those heights of pleasure for real.
She looked down at herself and hunched her shoulders; there was no mistaking
that her nipples were hard, visibly aroused even through the layers of clothing.
She rounded the corner and glanced at the mirror as she passed it. There was no
help for her flushed skin, either. She'd chalk up her appearance to her mad dash
to cover herself. No use scaring
him off, looking like a complete tramp, she thought.
But she'd have no excuse for the moan that threatened to escape her lips as she
came up short at the entrance to the kitchen. Fletcher was there, one hip cocked
as he leaned over the table, one palm flat on the surface as he sipped his
coffee, staring down at the lyrics she'd tried unsuccessfully to concentrate on
last night. His image had kept fogging her mind and she couldn't put two words
together, let alone put them into verse, and she'd finally given up at
She bit down hard on her lip, keeping silent as she leaned against the doorway, watching him pick up the paper, his expression perplexed as if he were trying to figure out a deeper meaning than the one she'd written.
His head jerked up when he spotted her out of the corner of his eye, and the lust was there, but so was the disappointment. "Aw, honey. I liked your first outfit better," he said, casting her a sad, pathetic look.
"I'm sure you did." Pushing away from the door, she reached for the cup he offered before settling back against the frame. "But I usually save that for the mailman. I like to give him a little thrill a couple times a week, ya know?"
"Cute," he said, but tipped his head, his voice filled with warning. "Do be careful, though, Tess. Justice is a small town, but occasionally we have our share of drifters pass through."
Her mouth tipped up in a grin, and her belly warmed with his concern, but she was a big girl—a city girl at that. She could take care of herself. "Most drifters don't beat down your door if they want something, Fletch. And if I hadn't unlocked the door, you wouldn't have gotten in. I made sure both of them and all the windows were secure when I took up residence." She shrugged. "A condition of my life in the city."
"Right. Sorry. I know you're an adult, but if any other man had seen what I just did, he wouldn't have been able to control his lust."
"You controlled yours," she pointed out.
His deep growl and the way his eyes raked over her made her shiver in delight. "Barely. If you hadn't slammed that door in my face, I might not have. And you didn't relock it before you made your escape," he countered.
"Maybe subconsciously, I didn't want to lock you out."
He groaned, taking a deep breath. "It's a good thing I'm an honorable man, Tess. Words like that could get you into trouble." His brow raised in warning.
"If I didn't trust you, I'd be locked in my bedroom, on my cell, waiting for the sheriff to get here and haul you off to your own cell—in jail. Trespassing is against the law. And though you wouldn't be breaking in, I'm pretty sure entering without permission would be considered illegal."
"Good girl," he said, his face conveying his admiration for her confidence and common sense.
His smile nearly knocked her to her knees, though. She was no shrinking violet, despite her mortification at being caught nearly naked answering her door. She was glad he wasn't the type that saw women as weak, needing a man for protection. She appreciated his warning, but she didn't need it. Now … other needs, she thought wryly. That was a whole different story.
Tess was enjoying their banter. The kitchen was cozy, heating up as they went back and forth, bringing the conversation around to the passion they both felt, but only subtly spoke of. Sidestepping their desire would get old quick, but she was glad he could contain his lust until she was comfortable with him. She only hoped she could control her own!
She gave him her full attention as he put her papers and his coffee cup on the table, and in that slow, sexy gait, strolled across the room to take her own cup from her, setting it on the counter beside her.
How he was able to get her under his spell so easily, she didn't know. Maybe she did need his warnings, because when he stepped close, looking down at her, his chest brushing hers, she knew she'd do anything he wanted.
"Kiss me again, Tess," he said in that low, gravelly voice. She felt the rumble in his chest, sending tingling sensations to her taut, aching nipples, and as she looked up into those deep green eyes, she did exactly as he asked, one hand sliding up into his hair, the other gripping that tool belt as she rose on her tiptoes to reach his lips, desperate to feel them touch hers again.
He dipped his head and met her halfway, his mouth crashing down on hers and swallowing her sigh, avidly coaxing her to open wider for him. He took complete possession of the kiss, and she let him, delighting in the taste of the coffee on his tongue as it darted into her mouth and tangled with hers. What a delicious way to get her caffeine fix!
He changed the angle of the kiss, but she was able to take a quick, excited breath before his lips fused with hers again. He pushed her hand away from his tool belt, unbuckled it, and dropped it to the floor with a thud.
Pulling her flush against the hard angles of his body, his hands went to her rib cage and he lifted her, pressing his arousal tightly to her cleft. She heard him shudder through his own breathing as she squirmed between the door's frame and his. Her robe opened and her fingers dug into his shoulders, getting as close as she could, one leg sliding along the rough denim of his jeans, the friction so sensual she moaned into his mouth.
Every inch of her flesh was stimulated, and as his lips left hers to lick and suckle at the column of her throat, she couldn't stand the feelings anymore. She cried out, and her entire body tensed. His answering groan and the insistent rocking of his hips brought her orgasm on like a freight train barreling into her, and she shuddered, her head gnashing against the wood as she ground herself down on his powerful erection.
"Be still, darlin'," he said, his voice strained and harsh. "Tess, honey, you're gonna make me—"
But she didn't listen. Her passion had a grip on her and she wrapped her feet around his calves, the pulsing throb of his arousal prolonging her pleasure.
A joyful laugh of sweet satisfaction resounded through the room, but his groan was louder and longer as he buried his face in her neck. Sliding his hands down to her buttocks, he pulled her hard against him, and she felt the unmistakable signal of his approaching climax.
Her hips rolled, her thighs flexed, and she deliberately dragged him over the edge with her. Fletcher shuddered in her arms, his breath rushing fast, then stopped altogether as he let himself go.
The slim doorframe dug into the length of her spine; she knew their early morning coupling might leave a bruise along her back, but he sighed her name, his hot, wet lips gliding over her throat to the upper curve of her breast as he savored his release, and Tess had never felt more alive than she did in that moment. What a rush! Closing her eyes, he held her weight as she slumped between him and the doorframe, spent and sated. For the moment. Where the hell were those alarms bells in her head?
"Wowza. Good morning to you, too, Fletcher," she whispered. Wrapping her arms around his head, she kissed the top of it, combing her fingers through his thick hair as he caught his breath.
Four
Fletcher trailed his kisses back up to Tess's lips. He couldn't get enough of the taste of her! Maybe the idea of warm honey filled his head when he thought of her, or looked at her, but he'd swear that even with the hint of minty toothpaste on her tongue, he could taste the sweet essence of the natural confection.
He lowered her, her belly riding along the now-wet spot on his jeans, and aftershocks of pleasure still flowed through him. Her plump breasts were sensitive as they grazed down his chest, and her own body wracked with the same sensations.
Damn, but he didn't mean for this to happen!
She looked up at him expectantly, but he was too stunned to offer an explanation, or even an apology.
"Oh no, you regret it already, don't you?" she said, disappointment etched all over her face.
As much as he hated himself at the moment—he'd let himself down as well as the people of this town who counted on him to make sound, rational decisions—Fletcher hated the look on her face even more. He shook his head, turning away from the temptation.
Raking his fingers through his hair only reminded him of how her fingers felt when she did it. He covered his face, then propped his hands on his hips, dropping his chin to his chest. Get a grip! he warned himself. There wasn't any divine intervention to get him out of this down there on the floor. Better face the music.
He brought his gaze up to meet hers. She stood there, her robe still hanging open, just as he'd left her, teeth sunk into her lip. The glint of a belly piercing drew his focus south; he hadn't paid any attention to it, but it was a damn sight better than looking at her face, her hopes sinking deeper with every second he avoided the issue.
"The only regret I have is that it was too fast." She sighed in relief, and he wanted to take her in his arms, assure her that he wanted her again, and again, but he didn't dare. She was flushed and he'd left marks on her pale skin.
She glanced down at his jeans, and the mess he'd made with his stupid lust. She caught his eye again, and put up a finger, going to the door off the kitchen.
She came back with a pair of dark sweatpants in her hand. "These are huge on me, but they're clean. I usually wear them on cold nights, but it's been too hot. I only just unpacked them yesterday to put them in storage until winter, but you can borrow them while I wash your clothes."
"Tess, you really don't have to do that—I'll be fine." Fletcher picked up on what she said. She was staying? Until winter? That was months away. The puzzle was more complicated than he first assumed.
"You'll be uncomfortable, and it'll give us a chance to talk while they wash. I need to explain some things to you."
It was the opening he'd been hoping for. He'd come to help her with the roof—Coop said she had buckets all over the place when it rained—but he really wanted to know what she planned to do. It was an opportunity he couldn't refuse. He still wouldn't tell her who he was. Not yet. But at least he'd know where she stood, and where he fit in, as the mayor, and as a lover.
Taking the clothes from her, he went into the same room to change, and Fletcher shook his head, his mouth turning up in a grin as he saw her close her robe again and tie a double knot in the sash this time. "That's kind of like closing the barn door after the horses have already left, darlin'."
"Well, I didn't expect that to happen, and I'm not sorry for it, either, but I won't flaunt myself in front of you. I'm no tease."
Fletcher changed into the sweats that fit him perfectly, wondering if they'd belonged to a previous lover. The thought made his gut tighten. He didn't want to know about other men in her life. But he didn't delude himself into thinking she hadn't had any. She was the hottest thing to hit Justice in years.
Jane was the last one. Okay, Fletcher thought. The memory of his ex-wife put his lust in an icy-cold lake. Problem solved.
She came up behind him and took his clothes, throwing them in the washer as he crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the dryer, watching her. Coop was right. Jane and Tess were two very different women. His ex wouldn't have cared if Fletcher was uncomfortable or not. But Tess didn't even give a thought to saving him the embarrassment of walking out of here with a stain on his jeans. And she didn't even know why the prospect might bother him. He felt like a horny teenager, but the outcome didn't bother him at all. And no way would Jane have engaged in a quickie before her hair was brushed, and she was dressed, and had had her breakfast. He tamped down the bitterness he felt for the woman who'd wronged him and focused on the one who'd pleasured him. He liked a woman who was spontaneous, and Fletcher liked Tess more and more by the minute. He tucked her long hair behind her ear, "Any other time, I'd say feel free to be comfortable in your own home, but you're right. Walking around without the robe on wouldn't be wise, given our lack of control. And we should talk. Me first."
"Let's sit down, then. I want some more coffee, and I think I smell biscuits."
He grinned. Yup, this was the woman for him, he thought, as he watched her sit down and dig into the food he'd picked up at the diner on his way over. She was a tiny thing, five-foot-five maybe, and willowy thin, but not from lack of appetite. She ate two biscuits before leaning back, one hand over her belly and the ring in her navel, now obstructed by the robe. Gawd, he wanted another look at it!
She drank the rest of her coffee, setting the cup on the heavy oak table in front of her, and licked her lips. "Okay, you've fed me, and I've had at least a minimum of caffeine. What do you want to talk about?"
"All right, I believe in straight shooting. What do you want from me, Tess?"
She tipped her head. "From you? I thought I made myself clear last night when I told you I liked you. I couldn't have been more obvious. Not to mention what just happened against that wall," she replied, pointing across the room.
Fletcher's jaw clenched. Damn, he'd almost blown it! He meant to ask what she wanted from the mayor, but he'd been distracted, watching her settle back in the chair, shadows darkening the kitchen as the storm clouds he'd warned of began to block out the sun.
"Point taken. And I like you, too, darlin'." His eyes slid to the washer, now on the spin cycle. "Obviously."
She very nearly purred as she sat up, folding her hands on the surface of the table. "What you really want to know is, does wanting you have anything to do with your mayor, since you work for him, right?"
Damn, he hated being put on the spot. And he didn't like knowing that his assumptions last night had stuck with her. "Tess—"
"No, it's okay. I understand. But I'll explain what I meant last night, and then you'll know that the only interest I have in you is on a personal level."
"I don't think you'll use me, Tess. I won't let you. But I'm sorry that this is between us."
"Please, Fletcher?" she said, covering his hand.
There was that connection again, that gut-twisting feeling that he couldn't shake. He was pretty sure she wouldn't screw with him like Jane had. But if he wasn't careful, when she learned his secret, he could hurt her enough to drive her away. He'd gone to bed with her kiss on his lips, and erotic dreams of her made him awaken, hot and hard. No, he didn't want to scare her off.
Since he'd won the election, sex was merely a relief of the tension, a mutual session of give and take. It didn't mean anything but the physical satiation he and his partner derived from it. His job had become his mistress. But with Tess, it was more. She made his blood surge hot, and his cock hardened like a rock whenever he thought of her. Hell, they hadn't even undressed, and already, they'd both come. From a kiss, no less! He had a constant hard-on, even after that explosive climax. But that wasn't what kept his butt in the seat. It was his desire to discover her secrets and, eventually, come clean with his own.
He turned his hand up, lacing his fingers through hers. "Tell me, then."
She nodded, and squeezed before letting his hand go. Padding over to the sideboard, she pulled a stack of documents out of a drawer.
Fletcher couldn't take his eyes off her. God, she's beautiful, he thought. She walked with the grace of a dancer, and she didn't even realize how sexy she looked when she flipped her hair back, which she did all the time.
She turned the light switch on as she came back to the table, setting the papers in front of him, one hand resting on his shoulder and her breast just inches from his cheek. If he turned his head … no! He needed to get a grip!
He forced his eyes to the papers, and his own signature staring back at him. Jesus! Good thing he was sitting down!
Thank God he was known by his middle name—everything he signed was as G.F. Graham. He swallowed hard.
Tess didn't seem to notice. "Now, these are the letters I've gotten from Mayor
Graham when I wrote to him from
"Tess…" He was going to lose patience before long.
"Right. Sorry, I got off track. Anyway, when I told him that my grandfather was Roy Braeden, he gave me a little information when I asked him why there was the lien and a deadline on paying off my house. The lawyer tried to give me a song and dance, but he only handled the estate, and he's not from Justice, so none of the gossip had reached him."
Fletcher took a deep breath. Wouldn't interfere with his love life, my ass! Coop was neck-deep in the middle of this!
"I know he's a busy man, but I thought that once I got to Justice, the mayor would make time to see me. I don't know why he's avoiding me exactly, but if he'd hear me out, then he'd know that I can solve his problem with his father and the historical society and landmark committee all together."
"How do you figure that?" Fletcher asked. The heat of her body seeped into his back as she leaned over him to look at the documents, but it was the fact that she knew a lot more than he thought that had him sweating like a condemned man on death row whose number just came up.
"Well, Mayor Graham's father is the fire chief here, and he wants to tear down the house to build a new firehouse on the property. And while Justice needs one, according to Coop, what Chief Graham wants in design and structure is awful, and will ruin the charm that Justice prides itself on."
That was true. Fletcher and his father had been going round and round on the issue for months. And he was his father's son—he'd lost his temper a few times. But there was no way he'd allow that monstrosity to be built on this land. It was too modern, and it would be the first thing anyone entering the town would see. He wasn't willing to let his constituents down. They expected him to make decisions that were beneficial for them and their town. "If he changed the look of it, and the location, like behind the schoolyard, then maybe it would be approved, but you're right. This isn't the place for a fire station. He's just not willing to budge, and he's biding his time, hoping that the house won't be granted historical status."
"It won't be."
His head popped up, his cheek pillowed on her breast as his eyes met hers. "Come again?"
She snickered.
Fletcher rolled his eyes, wishing he'd chosen a different turn of phrase.
She ignored the comment and explained. "They can't have it if I pay off the monies owed on it," she said, her excitement growing as if she were telling a fascinating story, full of twists and turns.
Oh, if she only knew! Fletcher thought. He found her enthusiasm catching; he wanted to know exactly how she could get him out of the tug of war he'd found himself in. "Tell me," he said quietly, turning his head a fraction to rub his cheek softly against her breast, needing the contact like air.
Her breath caught, and her nipple, so close to his lips, tightened as his hot breath fanned over it through her robe. He knew it was lunacy, but he wanted her again, all naked and slow this time, a leisurely exploration of her body. His cock hardened painfully under the table.
Fletcher was just about to reach for her again, thoughts of foreclosures, back taxes, liens, and disputes fading fast from his mind, but Tess pulled out the chair next to him, wisely sitting down and putting a bit of distance between them.
Her knowing grin was too much. He laughed out loud. "Sorry, honey. I lost my train of thought." Trying to look sheepish didn't work. She knew he wasn't a bit sorry.
"So I noticed."
Fletcher shifted in his chair, and cleared his throat. "Okay, I'm back with ya. I promise. So, if you have the money, then why haven't you paid off the debts already and put it on the market to make the profit?"
"Because I don't have the money yet."
Fletcher cast her a sideways glance. If she didn't have the money, then… "You've lost me again."
"The only thing I can afford to buy right now is time."
"So where are you planning to get the money? Everyone in this town knows
"Yeah, and I only found that out when the lawyer came to settle the estate. I've tried to get a loan the regular way, but since I don't think I've ever had more than a hundred dollars in my checking account at one time, and no savings to speak of, they won't give me a penny. The highest limit on my credit card was five hundred dollars, and since I was going out of town so much, I was late on the damn payments more often than not." She sighed, then shook it off, saying, "But I got a job offer to open for a well-known artist in Vegas. And if I sign the contract, I can arrange an advance on what they'll pay me."
"
Tess sneered at him. "Yes, Sin City. I've worked there before, at one of the casinos on the strip. Believe me, I don't want to go back, and it's a one-year gig. But if I can get my foot in the door, then I stand a better chance of doing what I really want."
"And what might that be?" Fletcher's throat closed, and his voice sounded gravelly to his own ears. His skin chilled, despite the heat of the small kitchen. She was going to tell him that she wanted to be a singer, making money hand over fist, and giving her status, prestige, recognition. Of course, the reason he'd avoided her all this time was because forfeiting the house would leave her free of legal obligations. And she'd be able to use that fantastic voice to be the star he knew it would make her. He could remind her of that, but he wasn't going to help her screw up his life when it was becoming obvious that she didn't want a role in it.
It wasn't the fact that his life was about to get more complicated by having to make some decisions he'd put off these months. He knew the time would come for that, sooner or later. No, he thought. It was the fact that it was Jane all over again; he wanted to stay, and she wanted to go. And that made his chest squeeze. From the minute he'd seen Tess, he'd actually imagined this woman as part of his future.
How could he have been so wrong? He'd awakened Coop at the crack of dawn to force him to spill his guts about their newest resident. And after the few details that Coop was willing to divulge, he'd confided in his friend that he would be careful, that he didn't want to blow his chances with Tess. He'd even admitted that he could see himself falling in love with this woman. Coop maintained that he wasn't getting involved, but damn! They were best buddies. Coop was supposed to warn him when he was about to be blindsided!
There was no way he was going to be fooled again, he determined.
"Earth to Fletcher?" Tess snapped her fingers in front of him, and he was pulled back to the reality he didn't want to face.
"I have to go," he said angrily, getting up and putting on his boots. Looking ridiculous in the sweatpants, he picked his tool belt up off the floor. "I'll stop by The Last Call on Monday night to get my clothes."
She appeared crestfallen at first, but her face turned hard, and she sneered at him. "Oh, I see. I'm okay to nail against the wall, but the minute you find out that my ultimate plan is to settle in Justice, you're as skittish as a snake."
Fletcher was pissed, but he barely hid a grin. He wanted to tell her that if she were going to lambaste him, she should get her euphemisms straight. Then the last part sank in … settle in Justice—? "Wait. Say that again?"
"Never mind, Fletcher. You can go. I can see that outsiders aren't as welcome as I thought. No wonder the mayor won't see me. He probably thinks the city girl might bring lawlessness to Justice. I—"
Fletcher wished he'd paid attention instead of letting his bitterness drown her out a minute ago. Then he'd know where the hell that nonsense she spouted was coming from. But he knew his ears weren't playing tricks on him; she wanted to stay, and that was all he needed to hear.
His mouth covered hers before she could sputter any more absurd notions. He smiled against her lips. She was as glad as he was that he'd stopped her barrage; she melted into his arms, her whimper of need filling his mouth. He pulled away slowly when he'd had enough of her taste to sustain him for a few minutes. Or at least until he'd unraveled the mystery of this woman and her role in his life, personally and politically. He concentrated on catching his own breath, her kiss as potent as a shot of whiskey to his gut.
Sweeping a hand over the soft curve of her buttocks, he tapped a finger to her lips with the other, hushing her. "Cease fire, honey," he murmured quietly. "I was wrong. Okay?"
She nodded, her eyes glazed over, but still, a spark of distrust lurked in their depths. If the desire weren't eclipsing it, he'd be worried. By rights, she shouldn't trust him at all, but she didn't know that. He felt like a sneaky bastard.
Her nipples were hard pebbles of arousal, the pulse in her neck pounding a rapid beat. He kissed the tip of her nose and took her hand, walking back to the table, but instead of guiding her back to her own chair, he sat in his and pulled her into his lap. "And never insinuate that you're cheap again. I wouldn't ever think that. In fact, all I can think about is how you'll make me work for it."
Tess chuckled under her breath, relaxing in his arms. Good. He didn't ever want her to be uncomfortable around him. Especially since he was seriously contemplating ways to help her to stay here in Justice. Here with him. "Tell me again about you wanting to settle here?"
She wriggled, getting more settled on him, easily forgiving him, which he didn't deserve. And if she didn't start talking soon, her little lap dance was going to distract him again so that no matter what she said, it wasn't going to register past the rush of arousal. He growled warningly, "You were saying?"
A sultry, devious grin spread across her face. "Are you ready now?"
He clamped down on the urge to grind her down on his cock. "I'm getting there, honey."
Her soft, musical laugh washed over him. Even when she didn't try, she got to him. She kissed his neck, but slid from his lap, resuming her seat in her own chair before he had the sense to get a firm grip. He felt the loss immediately, wanting her back in his arms where she belonged.
He'd gone home last night, painfully aware of her sexual lure, gotten up this morning admitting to himself that Tess was like a warm, fresh breeze blowing through his life, one that he wanted to feel over and over again. Just now, he was picturing himself with her exactly like this thirty years from now, sitting in this very kitchen, teasing her and trying to coax her onto his lap for some early morning play. With Jane, he never saw beyond the end of the week. He focused on Tess, determined to find a way to make that vision a reality. She was the one. He knew it as sure as he knew his own name.
"I want to stay in Justice, but that's not possible unless I can cough up the cash. I sent demo tapes to some record companies, but I haven't heard anything yet. I've been a pain in the ass to some of them, and I think they'll have me arrested if I show up in person." She arched her brow and tipped her head.
He knew that would never come to pass. One look at Tess, and they'd be scrambling to sign her before the next guy. A friend of his from college was in the business, and they'd talked about work once. Though he knew Tom was a great agent, he'd told horror stories about colleagues who cared more about the money and less about the welfare of the people they represented. "So by going to Vegas, someone will hear you sing, you'll get exposure, and you'll get a record deal that way." This was where Fletcher left off a minute ago; he couldn't hide the acrimony in his voice this time, either.
"No, that's not it at all."
He pinned her with his stare, determined to get to the bottom of this before he got up again and left behind that absurd home-and-hearth visual of the two of them, once and for all. "Then what is it, Tess?"
Her eyes shone as she held his gaze. She placed her hand over his again, and her robe gaped just a little, but Fletcher was locked onto her face.
"I'm not being conceited when I say that I know I can sing. I've been doing it in clubs all over the country since I was a kid. My dad was a drifter, always moving to some new town or city, singing his songs. It's the only life I've ever known."
Fletcher watched her body language. It didn't take a genius to know that they weren't happy memories for her.
"When he passed away, I stuck to the familiar, and followed the same path. I'd gotten used to sleeping in motels, or the car, going from town to town, but I never liked it. In fact, I hated it."
He listened and began to see things clearly. And his admiration for her grew as she mapped out her game plan.
"I can get by on my voice. But what I really want to do is write songs. Exclusively. I only sing for my supper right now because it helps keep a roof over my head."
"Don't you want to be rich and famous? Singing would do that for you, because you're right, honey—you have an incredible set of pipes. You'd get a contract in a heartbeat."
"Rich, yes—famous … no. And the fact that I may be asked to 'hum a few bars' of my music and my voice will only hinder my chances."
One brow rose, and Fletcher wondered if he was really understanding her. "Hinder you how?"
"I auditioned once in
Fletcher could relate to the poor bastard. Every time he remembered what her voice had done to him last night, he felt his manhood grow heavy and insistent. Even now, as she sat there, animated and energized, her speaking voice was having an effect on him. He had to get up, do something, or he'd be in trouble. He wasn't concentrating on the things she said; instead he was drowning in the way her voice nearly sent him into a frenzy of need, and that was going to be his downfall.
The washer stopped and Fletcher used the opportunity to put some distance between them. He switched the clothes over to the dryer, and the task kept his back to her for a moment, enough for him to get his resurging appetite in check.
A hairbrush lay on the surface of the dryer, and the thought of touching her, even in that simple way, was a temptation he couldn't resist. "So you want to be a songwriter?" he asked, fighting down the flicker of hope he felt. He didn't want it to matter so much, but he wasn't going to start lying to himself, too; it mattered a whole hell of a lot.
When he knew he'd be able to trust his own restraint, he sauntered back across the room.
He was grateful when she took the brush from him and carelessly tugged it through the strands, pulling the snarls out until it shone, falling long and heavy over her shoulders. He didn't want to harm a hair on that head. And he would have—it was a mess—but if he envisioned her after a bout of lovemaking, the mussed look would be it. She hadn't combed it when she came back downstairs, but she'd taken the time to brush her teeth. She wasn't obsessed with her looks. Fletcher found her gorgeous no matter what she looked like. Man, he was easy!
She handed the brush back to him. His heart squeezed. Women never let men mess with their hair, but Tess trusted him, sat with her back to him, answering the question he almost forgotten he'd asked. "Oh, yes. I love to compose music, write lyrics. But I don't want to sing. I want other artists to sing my songs."
God! Fletcher thought. If there was anything that could send a jolt of sensation shooting up his spine, it was the sound of Tess sighing yes, while he was so close, breathing in her scent. He was concentrating on what she said, he had to, but he couldn't help just enjoying her company. Something he contemplated doing for a long time to come.
He ran the bristles gently through the dark reddish-brown tresses, and she lazily continued, her body responding to his ministrations. "Justice is my Last Call, Fletcher, the end of the road for me. It's where I want to stay. Forever."
His hands stilled on the silky crown of her head. "Why?" he asked, and realized he was actually holding his breath, waiting for her response.
"I told you. I've been traveling all my life. I want a place to call home. Thanks to my grandfather, Justice is the place. I've only been here a short time, and I already love it."
She spoke with such surety that Fletcher was convinced. But the other—
She must have taken his silence for uncertainty. "Don't you see, Fletcher? If I became a singer, they'd want promotions, tours, publicity, and it would never end if listeners like my voice and style. A year in Vegas to make the contacts I need is worth the reward of never having to uproot myself again, and never having to perform when my heart's not in it. I love singing at Last Call, but it's not my dream to be a star."
The wheels began to turn in his head at a rate faster than he could process them. He was in a position to make her dreams come true. And she could forget about leaving town for a year. He couldn't let her go away. He was foolishly falling in love, and she belonged here—not just in this town, a permanent part of his quiet community, but as a stable, constant fixture in his own life. She had feelings for him, and he'd do everything he could to cultivate them, make them bloom until every time she was away from him, she'd miss him and feel the urgency to return home, to his side.
Fletcher crouched by her chair, turning her face to look down at him. Her expression was drowsy, lethargic, as he set the brush on the table. "I want you to stay, too, darlin'."
"Good. Because I could get addicted to you, Fletcher." She laughed. "I don't even know your first name." Her eyes suddenly focused on him, bright and trusting.
Damn.
Was that the wind being knocked out of him? he wondered. She thought Fletcher was his last name, rather than his middle. "My first name is George," he said, unable to believe he could croak it out when breathing was at a minimum. He watched her face for a spark of recognition, the letters bearing his signature just a glance away. Thankfully, her expression didn't change, and he was able to suck precious oxygen into his starved lungs.
"I'll stick to calling you Fletcher."
"Thanks. My father is George. No one calls me that." He needed to distract her or she'd wonder at the guilt that began to creep into his bones and was going to emanate from his pores any minute.
He did the only thing he could think of. He pulled her head down to his.
He diverted her attention in a most delicious, sensuous way, and her reaction was more than he'd hoped for: with a moan, she reciprocated his kiss with pure, carnal passion.
She gasped at his ferocious hunger, giving it back in equal measure. Her hand cupped his jaw, her nails scratched at the stubble he hadn't bothered to shave when he got up this morning. He'd left his mark on her earlier with his carelessness. "I'll shave next time," he whispered against her lips.
Tess moaned, tipping her head up, her fingers weaving through his hair as she urged his lips to her throat. "Don't you dare," she warned breathlessly. "I like it so much, Fletcher."
Lost in her excitement, her scent flooding his nostrils, he alternately suckled and nuzzled her soft, heated skin.
His knees dropped to the floor, and he swiveled her in the chair to face him, opening her robe below the belt, spreading her lush thighs, and pulling her to the edge of her seat. Her hands yanked his T-shirt up his chest, encumbered by his arms as his hands dug into her curvy hips.
Her fingers skimmed over his flesh, tangling in the hair she could reach under his shirt, and her touch sent waves of pleasure through him.
He purposely insinuated himself in the vee of her thighs, his hard stomach rubbing against her most intimate place. His head lowered, and he nudged open her robe, his tongue laving the exposed area above her tank top. She moaned, arching in the chair, offering her breast to his rapacious lips, and he took it, cloth and all, into his mouth. He sucked hard at the turgid nipple, and her shriek of pleasure sent a shudder of need through him, to his neglected erection. His hands slid along her bare thighs, and he ached to have his mouth all over her, his cock buried to the hilt inside her.
She ran her fingers through his hair, then tightened and pulled at it—not enough to cause even a stipple of pain, but with a savagery that he willingly obeyed. She wanted his mouth, demanded it greedily, and she lowered her head, sealing her lips to his.
He let her set the pace, but as she devoured his mouth and thrust her tongue past his teeth, tangling and sliding along his, Fletcher didn't think he'd be able to hold back for very long.
Their lips separated and they stared at each other as each drew ragged breaths, both shocked and amazed that they were right back where they started.
But her thighs rode high on his hips, and he could feel her pulsing heat against his stomach through the wet panel of her panties. He was going insane! "God, I want to taste you, Tess," he whispered, his voice rough in the quiet of the room.
"Oh, yes!" she gasped breathlessly, arching her back, just as caught up in the excitement as he was.
A crash of thunder broke the magic of the moment. She jumped like a scared cat, a startled shriek following the rumble of the storm that neither had even noticed was upon them. The one brewing between them had captured their attention. He watched her as she focused on the room, stunned that the lights were the only illumination now.
It was an interruption Fletcher silently cursed, but was grudgingly grateful for. They needed to slow things down. Every time they touched, things went a little further than before. Feeling her heated wetness pressed tantalizingly to his stomach, and staring at the damp spot of her tank top over her still-taut nipple was definitely too far. He wanted so badly to get even closer to her, but his conscience kept nagging at him. He was keeping information from her, things she needed to know and should have been told before they ever got this far. A tumble in the sack wasn't worth the price he'd pay if she found out after he bedded her. Not when his heart would suffer.
He tugged her close again, pressing her sweet, swollen breasts to his chest, and just held her to him. "Tess—"
"It's all right, Fletcher. We're going too fast, I know. Not to mention that the rain is coming down, and all over the house, it's coming in."
Thankfully, she'd veered off the subject of sex. "I never did get to the roof, did I?"
She smiled against his cheek, and leaned back to look at him. "Nope. And I'm not sorry. Although, the thought of you all hot and sweaty up there, working in the hot sun, did make me squirm a little."
Fletcher groaned. Damn, but she had a way of making him forget his common sense.
"Unfortunately, since we didn't shore up any leaks, I have to go put buckets down or I'll have even more water damage than I already do."
"I'll help—"
"No need. I know where to place them all. I think I moved in during the rainy season down here." She grinned. "Besides, your clothes are dry. I don't want to be a tease, Fletcher, and I do like you so much, but…" Her voice trailed off.
"Does this thing between us feel as right to you as it does to me?" he asked.
She worried her lip as she pushed her chair back and stood up, looking down at him, her soft palm caressing his cheek. "I rely on my instincts for everything. I've had to, or I'd have gotten hurt a time or two over the years. I know when something is wrong. So unless this southern heat has shorted out my inner radar, I'm right to trust you. Simple as that. And, hopeless romantic that I am, I'm gonna side with the latter. That's why I haven't put the brakes on until now."
Fletcher knew he was a lowdown snake to let her believe she could trust him. It didn't escape him that he was on his knees. He deserved it. He should be begging her to forgive him for the lies he'd told. Lies by omission were still lies, and he hated himself for deceiving her.
He was more selfish than he thought. He could make her dreams come true. But pride was a large part of her makeup. If she'd wanted money, she'd have asked Coop, or sold out her dreams and taken a recording contract. No, she wanted to do it on her own terms. He respected her for it, and his heart beat a little faster with pride for her convictions. When he told her that he was the man she'd been doggedly pursuing these past months, she was going to feel betrayed, duped even. It was a chance he had to take now that he was neck-deep. After he made sure she had the option to stay put if she wanted. He didn't want her going to Vegas any more than she did. Maybe she'd forgive him one day.
"Darlin', I think there's a way to get what you want without sacrificing yourself and moving away."
"Really? Fantastic." Tess's eyes lit with interest, but the glow on her face from their fervent coupling flushed her skin, giving her a radiant hue. "Let me go put these buckets down, and you can tell me about it."
She grabbed a stack of pails by the door, backing into the living room, and lining one up. A slow, steady drip began as the winds picked up and howled around the house. She smiled at him indulgently, "It's okay, I'm used to it. I'll just go center these upstairs, throw some clothes on, and I'll be down in a minute." With a swish of that glorious hair, she was gone.
Fletcher pulled his T-shirt down, scrubbed his fingers through his hair, and took a number of deep, cleansing breaths.
Going to the dryer, he fished his clothes from it and put them back on. The room had cooled significantly with the arrival of the summer storm, but the damn dryer had made the rivets on his jeans like a branding iron, burning his skin. He hissed at the contact, and carefully adjusted himself, the lingering effects of his erection making it difficult to zip up his jeans. As long as he was in nothing but those sweats, constantly reminded of how he got that way, his utmost attention wouldn't be on worming his way out of the hole he'd dug for himself. The same hole that he was going to throw Coop in when he got his hands on him. Fletcher wasn't the only one who was guilty of lying by omission.
He grabbed up the phone and dialed The Last Call, knowing Coop would be there. He lived in the apartment above the bar, but when he finally rolled out of bed, he was downstairs working. And Fletcher was going to get the information he needed, but his old friend was going to get a healthy dose of his annoyance, too.
When Coop picked up, Fletcher didn't give him a chance to say a word after the initial "Hello." He had him look up a phone number off the Rolodex in the office, and as soon as he'd jotted it down on one of the letters in front of him, Fletcher rained curses down on his interfering friend. And all the while, Coop chuckled in his ear.
"You're going to hell for this, Cooper Jones," Fletcher vowed. Coop's belly laugh and whoops into the phone brought a reluctant grin to his face. "You swore on a stack of Bibles you wouldn't screw with my love life again."
His friend calmed enough to say, "That was before I knew that the two of you
needed each other. She let something slip on the phone when she called me from
"What was that?"
"Never mind. You'll figure it out for yourselves. Sounds to me like you should be thanking me."
"Not yet, buddy. I'm sitting here staring at the same letters I sent to her in
"How much does she know?"
"Nothing yet. I don't want to see the look on her face when she finds out that the 'F' in G.F. Graham stands for Fletcher."
"How do you think she'll take it?"
"That's the twenty-thousand-dollar question, my friend. I don't know how she'll react to the news."
"I do," came a voice behind him.
Fletcher spun around. Tess stood on the bottom step of the back staircase, her honey-colored eyes wide in shock, but the fury that was gathering strength, as sure as that storm outside, told him all he needed to know. She'd heard everything. "Shit."
Five
Fletcher entered The Last Call forty minutes later, soaking wet, his disposition as black as the turbulent clouds covering the skies of Justice.
Coop looked up as he passed the bar. "Hey, buddy, what the hell happened? You said 'shit,' and the line went dead."
Fletcher cursed under his breath as he stomped down the hall, opening the door to the office with so much force, it hit the wall, his hand stopping it before it smashed him in the face when it bounced back. "It hit the fan, that's what happened," he shouted down the hall, then slammed the door shut behind him.
He crossed to the desk and slumped down into the chair. Leaning back, he tipped his head up toward the ceiling, then covered his face with his hands. "Damn, what a mess," he whispered.
The door opened and Coop stood in the entry. "She knows, then." It wasn't a question.
Fletcher sighed, bringing the chair upright and dropping his forearms to the surface of the desk. He looked at his friend. "Oh yeah, she knows, all right. Hell, half of Justice probably knows what a bastard I am. That Yank has quite a repertoire of colorful curses." One brow rose, remembering just a few of the ones she spit at him when he'd hung up on Coop.
"Did she tell you to drop dead?"
Fletcher's lip curled. "No, she didn't go that far. But she did give me
directions to a very hot place, though. And I ain't talking
Fletcher gnashed his teeth, recalling that look of betrayal and doubt he saw on her face. He hated it. Her fury quickly followed, but he'd take that any day compared to the lost, bewildered look. Her instincts, the one thing she'd relied on to guide her through life, had failed her, and he actually witnessed the fear dull the sharp, confident brightness in her eyes. He'd shaken the stability of her world, and he might not forgive himself for it. His heart hurt for doing that to her.
"Me? I can go to hell?" Coop's brows lowered. "Why am I in trouble?"
Fletcher drew his attention back to his friend. He didn't buy his innocent act for a minute. "Because you're the guiltiest of any of us. You kept us both in the dark, and we're pissed at you. That's something she and I are at least in agreement on."
"And you'll both thank me when you work this out and live happily ever after," Coop replied, nonplussed that two important people in his life wanted to skin him alive.
"So you said on the phone." Fletcher tipped his head. "And yet, if she leaves town, we'll never know, will we?"
Cooper started out the door. "She won't leave." His confidence was solid. But he turned, pointing at his friend. "Do the right thing and she'll never want to leave you."
Fletcher's temples ached with a dull throb as a headache threatened to become a full-blown migraine. He rubbed the pressure points. "And how do you suggest I do that, oh wise one?"
"That's easy." Coop shrugged his shoulders, ignoring the sarcasm. "Make her dreams come true."
The muscle in Fletcher's jaw flexed, his patience wearing dangerously thin as he growled through clenched teeth, "That's what I was trying to do when I called you! You remember, Coop … it was just before I got caught red-handed in the lies we both told?"
"Yeah, I know. But do it anyway. And your biggest mistake was admitting to an indiscretion without making sure the coast was clear."
"I'll tell that little tidbit of information to the next woman you get involved with," Fletcher said dryly. "But you're wrong, pal. My biggest mistake was not being honest with Tess in the first place. That's why I can be pissed at you, but I can't blame you. This is my own damn fault."
"What can I do to help?"
His gaze rose slowly to Coop, his eyes narrowing. He grinned cynically. "Now, that I can put to you in Tess's own words, my friend—get out." He pulled the phone across the desk and picked up the receiver. "I'll handle things myself from here on in."
Coop chuckled, closing the door behind him, yelling through it as he retreated down the hall, "I'll be out front if ya need me."
"I won't," Fletcher answered just as loud, flipping through the Rolodex until he found what he was looking for.
* * *
Tess paced up and down the kitchen, wearing a path in the already-worn floorboards as she tried to hold on to her anger. She had every right to, and yet, what Fletcher had done to make up for his lying, scheming ways had her waffling between seething rage and thrilling elation.
When she'd walked down those stairs and heard Fletcher on the phone, she wasn't really paying attention—not until he mentioned the papers she'd left on the table. Then knots began to twist so tight in her belly that she'd had to breathe through her mouth to take in air. Fletcher was Mayor Graham. She'd been played like a violin! Or a fiddle, as it were, she thought wryly now. Played by Cooper, whom she'd come to trust in the last few months, and Fletcher himself, the man who'd ignored her repeated attempts to contact him and resolve the issue of her inheritance. That part was still unclear.
Of course, it wasn't as if she'd given him the chance to explain. The shame she felt that she was falling in—"No! I'm not in love with that lying bastard!" she shouted, then stopped in the middle of the room as tears welled in her eyes, wondering whom she was trying to convince.
Since she hadn't been dressed when she came down and surprised Fletcher, she went up after he left and showered, trying to cool her anger, but it hadn't worked. She put on shorts and a T-shirt, not really caring how she looked, just needing something to do so she could block out the hurt. She almost whimpered when she brushed her hair after pulling it out of her collar, remembering how it hung, smooth and untangled, down her back when Fletcher had taken such care when he brushed it. No man had ever made her feel so with such a simple gesture as Fletcher did.
She felt the tingle up her spine again, but valiantly shook off the sensations. Damn that man!
She'd gone back to the kitchen and dialed the number Fletcher had jotted down on one of those blasted letters.
Her heart sank, filling with remorse when she learned whom he was going to contact, had contacted, in fact, probably only an hour or so after she'd thrown him out of her house, telling him just what he could do with it.
Tess glanced at the clock. It was five P.M. and as of two hours ago, she'd hired herself an agent, and not even forty minutes after she'd made the initial contact with him, Tom Castinguay rang Tess back with a contract for not one but two of her songs. The advance was an amazing amount, and she'd done incredibly well by industry standards for the royalties on both pieces of music. She'd been trying to contact that guy for months! And he hadn't gotten back to her, either. Tess snickered, rolling her eyes. Birds of a feather, she thought.
But it was because of Fletcher that she'd made contact at all. He'd heard every word she'd said to him right here in the kitchen, even as he sweated bullets, fearing discovery of his ruse. That, she conceded, and the sweating they both did, trying to keep their hands off each other. She desperately wanted to make a good impression in Justice, and dragging him to her bed would've done the opposite. She suspected his restraint lay in the deception he was perpetrating. Still, they'd barely skirted potential disaster, each for their own reasons.
Fletcher must have left her house and gone straight home, or to the bar to phone the much-sought-after agent. They were old college buddies, and Fletcher had told Tom to dig her demo tape out of the slush pile. He'd even adamantly pleaded her case, telling Tom that unless he was interested in representing her as a songwriter exclusively, she wouldn't consider making a deal. Her vocal talent wasn't a factor. Tom knew the score before she'd even picked up that phone, and had already set the wheels in motion, calling on an artist to hear the demo.
And Tom was all business, arranging a recording session as soon as he could be assured that Tess was on board. And he told Tess that he was thrilled to represent her, that managing the career of a talented songwriter was more rewarding in many ways than working with the artists who sang the songs. Songwriters were all about the music, and nothing ever got in the way of that, whereas the singers performing the music often became jaded, and the fame became the focus. Dealing with her on her level would suit them both.
Tess's resolve teetered even more as she recalled the conversation again. With a simple phone call, Fletcher, had made it so she could pay off her house, live in Justice, and make a heftier income than her job at Last Call provided. An income she'd need if she was going to take on the enormous job of fixing up the Old Vic.
Add to that, he'd made sure she could do that without having to apply for historical status to help defray the costs. No, this house that her great-great grandfather had built would be hers outright, free and clear to tear down walls if she wanted to. She wouldn't, though. Tess knew she wasn't going to change much of the structure of the place, but she loved the idea that she could.
A place to call home, she'd said to him, and he heard. Wow, he'd taken everything she'd said to heart.
He'd gone out of his way to help her, even after she'd told him that he could take her house and shove it. She said it in the heat of anger, but he knew she didn't mean it. She wanted this house, and all it represented to her.
She still couldn't understand why he'd lied. There wasn't a reason for it. Tess could see why he hadn't told her the truth last night when he found out who she was. He was already tangled in the web of lies and deception. She knew Coop was in on it. He was Fletcher's best friend, and he knew damned well that she was trying to contact the mayor about her inheritance.
Of course, she mused, she didn't think she'd ever actually told Cooper that she wanted to stay in Justice. Having traveled so much in her twenty-eight years, she played her cards close to the vest, never revealing too much of her plans. Last Call was the single stop for entertainment within the town limits. If people wanted to know something, they could probably find out at the bar. She didn't want people knowing her business, that she didn't have the money to pay off the house when she hit town and took up residence. Until she'd figured out what she was going to do about that, she'd kept mum.
Maybe if she'd—"No! I am not to blame here," she said out loud again, and growled, stomping her foot. Whenever she verbalized her thoughts, it was because she didn't have anyone but herself to argue with. And dammit, her conscience was always right, no matter how much she tried to fight it.
"Ah, hell," she grumbled, grabbing her purse, keys, and going to the mud porch to slip on her sandals. It had stopped raining cats and dogs, but the wind still blew enough to spatter her with sprinkles as she made her way over the flagstone path to her car. She groused, hating the taste of humble pie, but for whatever reason those two men had pulled the wool over her eyes, she had to take responsibility for her own part in it. If she was going to become a respected member of this community, and she would be, she determined, then she would be accountable. That, and the fact that only a few hours after Fletcher had left her house, she missed him. Totally crazy, but nonetheless true.
* * *
As she pulled into The Last Call ten minutes later, Tess knew she was doing the right thing. Of course, she reasoned sadistically, she wasn't going to make it easy on Cooper. He was on her shit list. She and Fletcher had that in common.
Putting on a game face, which was a scowl, Tess pulled hard on the door to the bar and marched inside, letting the wind slam it closed behind her. She knew she looked like a force to be reckoned with; the wind and misting rain was shut out, but her march across the parking lot mussed her hair, and she was damp, her appearance miserable. Perfect.
Coop took one glance at her and put his hands up. "Tess—"
"If you know what's good for you, Cooper Jones, you'll only answer my questions." Tess let him believe she could actually do bodily harm. She was a tiny woman compared to her boss's hulk, but, she remembered wryly, hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.
"Gotcha," Coop replied, obviously familiar with the adage as well.
"You didn't tell me who Fletcher was last night because you didn't know if I wanted to stay in Justice or not?"
"Correct."
Tess took a seat at the bar, and hunched her shoulders. "C'mon, Coop. You're gonna have to do better than that," she implored, needing all the facts before she went to Fletcher.
"Honey, I'm sorry I lied to you. At first, I thought you and Fletch would hit it
off, but only if you wanted to stay in Justice. You mentioned it on the phone
once when you called from
"I did?" Tess didn't remember saying that to him, but it was possible. It was
around the time that she came home from a gig in
Then she'd gotten the news that her grandfather had been deceased for two years, but he'd left her an inheritance. It was a crazy time. She probably had slipped and told him that. Coop was so easy to talk to, and his obvious affection for her relative led her to trust him without consciously choosing to.
"But Tess, you never mentioned it again. I tried to ask you about it, but you always clammed up."
"That's because a bar is to men what the beauty salon is to women. Rumors and gossip were things I didn't need, and couldn't afford. If people knew I didn't have the money to pay the debts on the house, they might have pressured the mayor, Fletcher, to make a decision. I needed time, Coop."
"I know that honey, now." He sat down on a stool on his side of the bar, "But there are things about Fletcher that you don't know."
"What things?"
"It's not for me to say, Tess. But I kept quiet because if you were to stay, then you and Fletcher would make the perfect couple. He's the only one who liked your kind of music before I converted the bar. I'd bought it about eight months before that. I was only starting to make a profit a few months before I hired you, but I lost it in maintenance and repair."
"Then why did you turn it into a piano bar?"
"Because Fletcher is a silent partner of The Last Call, and as a honky-tonk, we had brawls and the sheriff was here almost every night. We lost more money in broken furniture and glassware than I was taking in."
"Customers get rowdy in any kind of bar, Coop."
He shook his head. "But they haven't here. When Fletch helped me with the finances to convert it, we put in more security, and even my waitresses were trained to spot and cut off those who couldn't handle their liquor. He turned this place around, Tess. Made it a place to enjoy the music, not the drink. Oh, don't get me wrong. It's still got atmosphere, but it's not a stop-off to get hammered."
"You've done a great job with it, Coop."
"Thanks, honey, but I can't take all the credit. And it's more far-reaching than you'd think. The domestic calls into the sheriff's office have dropped dramatically, too. And the doc at the clinic tells me he's seen fewer knuckle scrapes, and stitches than before. Fewer alcohol-related injuries. The last drunk driver we had was coming in from a bar in the city. There's less crime to speak of, all because of a facelift on a bar and a change in format." Coop shrugged a shoulder. "We still have country music here—this is the South, after all—but without anyone knowing who did it, Fletcher made it clear that inebriation, violence, and unlawful conduct wouldn't be tolerated in Justice."
"He's a good man, isn't he?" Tess asked, knowing the answer already. Her instincts were as sharp as ever. They hadn't failed her.
"He's the best, honey. And that's no lie."
She looked up at her boss. "Then why did he tell me that he was a mechanic?" Her brows lowered in confusion.
Coop's brows lowered, too. "He told you that?"
"Yeah, he—" Tess stopped mid-sentence as it dawned on her. She closed her eyes, moaned, and banged her head on the bar as she replayed the conversation over in her mind. If she hadn't been so aroused by him last night, she might have paid better attention then. "No, he didn't say that," she admitted, sighing, and realizing that she'd let her hormones get the better of her. "I did. I assumed it by the way he was dressed last night, all grungy and streaked with grease. You told me he worked for the town, and I told him I'd figured out that he was the town mechanic, taking care of the cruisers and town vehicles. He just didn't correct me. Oh, damn," she groaned.
It didn't help that Coop chuckled and patted her head. "It's okay, honey. We all make mistakes."
The smug look on his face when she lifted hers was a bitter pill for Tess to swallow, but swallow it she would. "I get the point, Coop," she grudgingly granted.
"Good."
Now she was going to have to eat crow too. But if she was going to trust Fletcher with her heart, she had to admit her own part in all of it. She hoped the terrible things she'd said to him could be forgiven.
Throwing caution to the wind, Tess took a deep breath. "Okay, boss. I need your help."
Six
"Dammit!" Fletcher stood in front of the mirror in his bedroom, trying for the fifth time to knot the bow tie of his tuxedo. It wasn't even his fumbling fingers that had him so frustrated. It was the same thing that had been eating at him since he left Tess's house. He wanted to be with her, and he'd blown it.
Before he left The Last Call, he'd tried phoning her, but she didn't pick up. He knew it was a long shot, but he was hoping she'd cooled down enough to hear him out. No such luck.
When he got home, there was a message on his machine. He'd anxiously played it back, but it was just his secretary, Margaret, reminding him of the event at the governor's mansion tonight. It was a formal charity event. He'd all but forgotten about it, having dismissed it as nothing more than politicians hobnobbing, and that wasn't his idea of a good time on a Saturday night.
He still didn't want to go, but if he stayed home, he'd do nothing but think of Tess, would probably do something colossally stupid and go over there. Another mistake he wasn't willing to make. She needed space.
Much as it killed him to back off, and not sit her down to listen to him, he wasn't a violent man unless provoked. And he'd never force a woman to do anything she didn't want to do. But it had only been a few hours, and he already missed her.
A knock drew his thoughts back around. He was glad for the interruption, whoever it was. It pulled him from the reminder of the catastrophe his personal life had become, and he abandoned the task of tying the tie, leaving it to hang around his neck as he went to answer the door.
The knocking became more insistent, and Fletcher yanked hard on the door. "What?" he shouted, but was speechless as Tess stared back at him, a wry grin on her face.
Looking cool as a cucumber in the blasted heat, she stood on his stoop. She crossed her arms under her ample breasts, leaning against the wooden rail, and asked, "Is that how you always answer the door, Mayor?"
Fletcher's jaw flexed; he was so tempted to remind her that it was exactly as she'd greeted him this morning, but he was more interested in taking in her presence.
Her brows rose as she raked her eyes down his body and back up again. The hot summer heat that slammed into him when he opened the door was like a frozen tundra compared to the feel of this woman's appreciative stare. The licks of flame went straight to his groin, and Fletcher shifted his stance before the effect she had on him became obvious.
Her tongue darted out and coated her lips to whistle low. "Whew. You sure do clean up good, Fletch."
That sultry, sensuous voice of hers was like a drug to him. It increased his pulse rate, and upped the furnace temperature his body had become. He had a sneaking suspicion that she was doing it on purpose, too.
Add to that, she was wearing a T-shirt and a pair of cutoffs. Different from what she'd worn last night at the bar, or this morning, when she was wearing nearly nothing, but she was so incredibly beautiful, she'd wear a gunnysack like a gown. And her hair was all messy again, windblown and tangled. Just the way he liked it.
"Come in, Tess." He hardly recognized the hoarse inflection of his own voice.
"Don't you want to know why I'm here?"
"I don't care why. You are—that's all that matters."
Her face softened, and she brushed past him. She waited until he'd shut the door, then, as he turned, pressed herself against him, her hands sliding up his chest and around his neck. "Kiss me, Fletcher."
"Tess, I don't think—"
"Just kiss me," she said huskily. Her fingers tangling in his hair, she drew him to her tempting mouth.
It wasn't as if he really put up much of a fight. It was what he wanted, too. What he ached for. Gawd, but he'd missed her!
His arms went around her slim waist, unable to let her set the pace this time. He held her as close as he could with both of them still fully clothed. With all the love and lust he felt for her, he kissed her deeply, his tongue thrusting into her mouth, showing her what he wanted to do with her. That honeyed sweetness flooded him again, and he growled, remembering how he'd asked to taste her earlier today.
His wet lips slid to her ear; he held her close, whispering huskily, "Say you forgive me, Tess."
"I wouldn't be here if I didn't."
"Good," he breathed, and kissed the shell of her ear, delighting in the soft sigh that escaped her lips. He pulled away and looked down at her. "I'm gonna make love to you now, darlin'."
"Thank God. I thought we'd have to do a lot of talking first."
He chuckled, backing her toward the stairs. "Later. I'll be able to pay better attention if I'm not distracted with need," he said, stepping over her sandals as she slipped them off. His dinner jacket joined the shoes on the floor.
Off came her T-shirt next, her bra teasingly hid her luscious breasts from view. He couldn't wait to feel her flesh under his hands, his lips and tongue.
He followed her as she backed up the stairs, but stopped her halfway, their eyes level as he stood three steps below. "You're perfect, Tess."
She gasped, surprise and wonder written all over her flushed face. A little giggle escaped her. "Hardly, Fletcher. Just maybe perfect for you."
"Yes," he whispered low as she leaned forward and kissed him, but her lips moved away before he was anywhere near satisfied. There wasn't anyone more perfect for him than Tess.
Her delicate, talented hands pushed the suspenders off his shoulders and traveled to the fastening of his trousers. Good, Lord! He didn't know if he was going to last if they took a long time. He wanted them naked already!
His eyes closed on the incredible sensations, forcing himself to remain still. He had a death grip on the banister, the other hand flat on the wall; Fletcher swallowed hard.
The back of her hand brushed over his fly, tented with the evidence of his hard cock underneath. She turned her wrist and softly gripped him through his trousers. He hissed through clenched teeth, trying so hard to let her play, but it was no use. His hand left the wall, and pulled hers from his engorged, throbbing cock.
Her disappointed expression made him grin painfully. "I'm working with a hair trigger right now, darlin'," he explained.
"Then let me see you, Fletcher."
"You first, sweetheart." His hand reached out, and with a flick of his fingers on the front clasp of her bra, it separated.
"Take it off," he ordered quietly, his eyes transfixed on her.
Tess's breathing became shallow as she slowly pulled the cups away and her breasts bounced free. She moaned when he licked his lips, her nipples responding to the intimation. Shrugging her shoulders, the undergarment slid down her arms, and she flung it away, standing proudly for his perusal.
"Now the rest." Fletcher kept a tight leash on his control as she obeyed his rough commands. She was her own woman, but she was just as turned on, letting him take the lead.
She unsnapped the shorts, tugged the zipper down, and wriggled them over her hips.
He absently unfastened the row of buttons down his shirt as he watched with pinpoint focus, but his hands went slack time and again, and he made little progress.
His eyes followed the movement as the shorts dropped to her feet, and she kicked them away. The sight of Tess, standing on his staircase in nothing but her panties, was the most provocative thing he'd ever seen.
He was hypnotized by her smooth, pale skin as more and more was revealed. The ring that pierced her navel glinted in the light. "This is so sexy, darlin'."
His nail flicked at the tiny golden jewelry, and her belly sucked inward, her breath catching. "Oh, please, touch me," she moaned, her legs too shaky to hold her anymore. Sitting down on a step, her arms beckoned him forward, her lush, pale thighs parted, offering him a place between them.
He leaned down, his hands gripping the step on either side of her head; he hovered over her, lowering just his head, but feeling the heat come off her in waves.
His kisses started at her mouth, lazily lingering, the tip of his tongue tracing her soft, pouty lips. She lifted her face, urging his mouth to satisfy hers, but Fletcher always retreated, teasing her as she'd done to him, leaving her wanting more of his tormenting play.
His breath fanned over her skin as he lowered his head, and she jerked under him, moaning long and low, frustrated as he took his time. His lips curved in a smile as they forged a path, featherlight along her collarbone, until he couldn't taunt her anymore, and his mouth finally, finally lowered and closed over one taut, dark pink nipple.
"Fletcher!" Tess cried out, and her head dropped to the step. Trying to catch her breath, mindlessly aroused, her arms closed around his head, and her back arched like a strung bow.
Gawd, but he loved her responsiveness!
Fletcher drew on her plump breast, his tongue laving over the dark peak before his warm, wet mouth sucked hard. Her erotic moans were like an aphrodisiac. Moving to the other crest, and treating it to the same loving attention, she twisted and bucked under him, until he was at the end of his own rope, knowing if he kept it up, she'd climax just from sucking her breasts. That wasn't where he wanted to be when she let herself go.
With a last lick at her sumptuous nipple, he said, "I gotta feel you against me, sweetheart." His voice was ragged, rough as sandpaper.
"Hurry," Tess moaned, letting go of him and reclining back on her elbows as he stood up on the step.
As he looked down at her luscious frame, her knees rubbed together, and she opened her eyes; the hunger in them nearly brought him to his knees.
Literally popping the remaining buttons off his dress shirt in a rush to get it off, Fletcher was barely aware of the clasp tearing on his pants, but only because it hindered his efforts to divest them. Dammit! Why did he wear a tuxedo, of all nights? He'd have shucked his jeans in a flash.
When they were finally gone and he was in nothing but his boxers, he noticed that somehow, his black tie still hung around his neck. Fletcher pulled it free, carelessly flinging it aside. He backed down the stairs, but his hands covered her knees as he knelt three steps down.
His eyes journeyed up her body, as did his palms up the outer curve of her thighs. "Lift up," he murmured, scanning her face for any signs of hesitancy. Thank God there were none. Only needy little whimpers as she bit her lip, her cheeks flamed in passion as she lifted her hips for him.
He clamped his fingers around the band of her panties and dragged them down her legs, lifting first one foot, then the other. His gaze didn't waver from hers and both of them held their breath as his hands covered her knees again, and with agonizing slowness, spread them wide.
Her eyes followed his every move as Fletcher gave in to his burning need and looked down. With a sigh, he lowered his head between her legs, murmured "Beautiful" along her sensitive inner thigh, and his hands slid under her buttocks; he breathed in her womanly scent. Cupping her soft cheeks and tipping her hips up, Fletcher held her steady and listened to her shrill gasps as his mouth covered her, tasting her sweet, honeyed center for the first time. He wanted to grin at her reactions, but he was too caught up in his own desires. He went about pleasuring her as he should have done this morning.
His tongue danced up and down her slick, wet lips, and he lapped at her swollen flesh while she bucked under his exploring mouth. He delighted in bringing her to the very edge of her sanity, but retreating every time, pressing kisses on her thighs or along her hip before she could tumble over.
Fletcher imagined driving her like this well into the night, but he wanted to get off the stairs. He needed his big bed to love her properly. And the condoms were in the nightstand.
He brought his hand around from her buttocks, and he slid a long finger into her opening; she sighed, tightening around him. He groaned and his mind reeled, anticipating the feeling of her squeezing around his cock like that.
And oh, did he ache! The throbbing was distracting; his boxers wet again, this time with pre-come, but he needed to feel her climax against his mouth. He wanted to taste the honeyed sweetness of the height of her pleasure.
"Come for me, darlin'. Let me taste you," he whispered roughly into her sensitized skin. His finger pushed in and out, over and over. Driving her on and circling her clitoris, he relentlessly flicked at it, then pressed the rough flat of it to the sensitive nubbin of flesh, pressing against it.
She arched up, suspended as her scream pierced the quiet of the house, and Fletcher encouraged her to ride out her climax, keeping to her, and refusing to stop until her fingers tangled in his hair, pulling at it, her body squirming, unable to take the feelings anymore.
Fletcher settled her back down to the step, holding her steady or she might've melted right down the stairs. He took a leisurely trek back up her body, stopping to flick his tongue over her belly, and that tiny ring. A groan of satisfaction rumbled in his chest as she whimpered and cupped his head, not letting go until he was over her, and she was kissing him, their tongues tangling and frenzied. He knew she could taste herself on him, and it drove him wild!
The hair that covered his chest served to rekindle her arousal; she rubbed her swollen, well-kissed breasts back and forth, making cooing sounds, as little shivers wracked her body. Yeah, he thought. They definitely needed that bed.
Not willing to let that luscious mouth go, Fletcher's hands cupped her behind and brought her with him as he got to his feet. Her arms snaked around his neck, and her legs clamped around his waist, her ankles locking behind him. Gawd, but he could feel her wet heat pressed tight to his stomach. The sooner they got upstairs, the better.
She panted as she broke the kiss. "Bed?" she asked, her eyes glowing like pure gold.
"Oh yeah, honey. We definitely need a bed," he growled, taking the steps two at a time.
She laughed, but gasped as he playfully pressed his lips against her shoulder, swirling his tongue over the spot. He couldn't help it; he loved keeping her charged, ready, even as he managed the remainder of the staircase and moved down the hall. She was last night's fantasy, and tonight, it would be real. He wanted to give her the pleasure that he'd imagined she'd given him in his dreams. More than that, he wanted to show her the love that could overcome the issues they still needed to address. Later, he thought. Much later.
* * *
Tess clung to Fletcher as he made his way up the stairs, tears forming in her eyes. No one had ever taken the time to see to her pleasure first. And when he'd opened that door, standing there in that tuxedo, his black tie undone around his neck, her stomach, tight with nervous butterflies, churned with a whole other feeling: pure lust. He filled it out so well. He was dangerous and sexy in his jeans and T-shirt, but in a tux, he was both those things, and dashing to boot. She didn't know where he was off to, but she was thrilled that her arrival had changed his plans.
She'd made Coop cough up his address and had come over to straighten things out with him. In just a day, he'd come to mean so much to her that she couldn't bring herself to stay away. She didn't like being on the outs with him.
He gently set her down in the middle of his bed; she was so glad she'd swallowed her pride and followed her heart instead.
He bent to her, but she pushed him up until he'd backed off the bed completely; then she scooted to the edge, her feet on the floor as she looked up at him. Tess couldn't believe she had not an ounce of shyness with him, but the pleasure in his green eyes, dark with desire as he stared down at her, filled her with a sense of empowerment. And his boxers were barely able to cover the state of his arousal only inches from her face.
"Now you," she said, tugging on the material, being careful when she revealed his hard, throbbing erection.
She still stared up at him, but her tongue wet her lips as she took him in her hand, her fist encircling him.
He shuddered, his breath rushing from his lungs, but he made sure she wasn't pressured. "Tess, you don't have to, honey," he murmured, but hissed and closed his eyes when she ignored him, her tongue laving the very tip of his penis.
"Mmm—yes, I do, Fletcher," Tess argued, licking and teasing him the way he had her; with slow, meticulous detail.
His eyes opened and he shuddered to find her staring up at him, watching his reactions. Her hand stroked along the hard shaft; he had to grip the post on the bed when she took him in her mouth, first the head, then her lips slid along the veined shaft, feeling it pulse and throb as more disappeared.
"Gawd, Tess. Harder," he growled, unable to stop the slight rocking of his hips.
She obeyed his throaty command, sucking harder and countering his movements, using her mouth to draw out his pleasure. Her hand came up and cupped his heavy sac, fondling him and driving him to the near breaking point of his restraint.
His fingers tangled in her hair, and she loved it, especially when they tightened—not enough to hurt, but it was just another sign that he was enjoying her treatment of his gorgeous body.
His hard, toned thighs began to shake, and she knew that soon he was going to climax; she anticipated it, sucking him and alternately licking the underside of the shaft.
But before she could send him into sensual bliss, he pulled back, gasping. She let go of him, looking up at his strained face. "Fletcher?"
"Not like this, darlin'," he said, his hand untangling from her hair to cup her face as he tipped up her chin. Leaning down to kiss her pouty lips, he whispered into her mouth, "I want to be inside you, feeling you squeezing me tight when I come."
"Oh, yes," she said quickly, not finding a single thing to object to.
He laughed. "I love a woman who's easy to please," he said, opening the drawer and extracting a condom.
Did he love her? Tess wondered, but there was no way she was going to stop to ask. She ached for him, and relying on her instincts again, went with the magic of the moment. She wouldn't be here if she wasn't already sure he was a good man, an honest man, and one who'd just gotten caught up in something that snowballed out of control.
They'd work it out, she assured herself as she watched him don the condom. He was very well endowed, and Tess could feel the pulsing between her legs from the unbelievable feelings he'd already evoked, and in expectation of their joining.
The mattress dipped as Fletcher settled himself between her thighs. He leaned over her, one hand by her head as his hard arousal grazed along her cleft. He held it as he rubbed her clitoris with the tip, and the feeling was like a jolt of electricity through her body.
She curled a hand around his arm, the other taking a firm grip on his thick hair and pulling his head down for a kiss. The excitement was palpable as their tongues lunged and parried; then she drew her mouth away, staring into his eyes. When he smiled wickedly at her, always intent on drawing out her pleasure, Tess waited until he was right where she wanted him—then she arched her hips, and he sank into her. She moaned, "No more playing, Fletcher. I can't take it."
It garnered a strangled chuckle from him. "Oh, you could take it, and much, much more, darlin'. I know it."
But he didn't attempt to prove it. Instead he pushed in deeper, taking it slow and steady. She wanted to impale herself on him, it felt so damn good, but despite his near-reverent preparation, it was still an incredibly tight fit.
When he was buried to the hilt inside her, he closed his eyes, and except for his deep, even breaths, he remained still, letting her adjust to his size. She was acutely aware of how he filled her so fully, but soon an overwhelming need to feel him move inside her overrode any twinge of discomfort.
She squeezed around him, and the breath whooshed from his lungs, his eyes popping open, staring at her. She cast him a wicked grin of her own. "Now, Fletcher," she whispered.
"Yeah … now," he agreed and brought her legs around his hips, then interlaced his fingers with hers. "Christ, you're still so tight Tess."
"I can feel you throbbing inside me, Fletcher." Her eyes closed, not in embarrassment, but at the sensations that washed over her as he growled and pulled almost all the way out of her, then plunged back into her depths.
His voice was rough, tinged with apology. "I'm not gonna last, Tess—I'm sorry." His pace escalated with every deep stroke.
Tess couldn't make her voice work; the friction of the hard and fast movement along her sensitive walls was too heady. She gripped his fingers and tipped her hips up, meeting each thrust and hoping he understood her body language.
Faster and faster they went until one last, deep, spearing thrust and her climax crashed down on her, dragging a scream from her throat. Residual tremors and lip-biting convulsions followed, rippling through her, so strong that they triggered Fletcher's own release, making her whimper as his sex pulsed inside her and his body shuddered over her.
His unsteady groan of satisfaction brought a dreamy smile to her lips before he kissed it away. Finally succumbing to the exhaustion, he collapsed onto her, pillowing his head on her breast, his body spent and his hunger sated.
Tess's hand came up, fingers idly raking through his dark blond hair; she was tired as well, but utterly for the first time in her life. Here, with Fletcher, she was right where she belonged.
Seven
"Stay with me, Tess." His appeal fell on deaf ears; she was still asleep.
Fletcher lay on his side, Tess's bottom tucked to him like a spoon while he rested his head in his hand, the other reaching around to play with her belly ring; he was still so fascinated by the adornment. He'd never met a woman who had one, and he loved it.
He'd never taken so much time with a woman, either. Or given so much care to tease and drive her beyond her limits. But with Tess, he delighted in her responses, her genuine pleasure. He just hoped that once they had their talk, she'd stay in Justice. With him.
"Stay with me, Tess," he whispered, not expecting an answer, but needing to say it again and again.
"Do you believe in love at first sight, Fletcher?"
She surprised the hell out of him, but he didn't hesitate, "Not until last night, when I saw you up on that stage."
He felt her sigh, and heard her soft reply. "I don't," she said.
Fletcher's heart began to pound right out of his chest. "Tess, let me explain—"
She twisted until she was flat on her back, pulling the sheet up under her arms; she stared up at him, and he wisely shut up. "But I felt something," she amended. "You were drop-dead gorgeous, even all messy and dirty, and I was so flustered when you winked at me. I got the song back on track, but I really didn't hear it anymore. All I could think about was meeting you, and praying you weren't married."
Fletcher chose that moment to interject, "I was married once. She hated it here, and eventually, she hated me."
"Why?"
"Because I wanted to settle here, plant roots. I went away to college to get a degree in business so I could come back to Justice with the knowledge to start a business of my own." He absently smoothed his hand over the sheet along her thigh. "What I didn't want was to move to the city. She did. I didn't want to use that degree to learn how to play and manipulate the market. I didn't want to work on Wall Street, and I didn't want to join the country clubs just to make connections. I didn't want to play at being something I wasn't."
"What else did you want, Fletcher?"
His sober eyes connected with hers. "I wanted to love my wife enough so none of that mattered to her. But I didn't. And she couldn't love me enough to give up her need to be the wife of a rich and powerful man."
She brought her hand up to his cheek, her eyes conveying her empathy. "You had different values, different dreams, that's all. Get that look of failure off your face, mister. It doesn't suit you."
He flashed her a fleeting smile, turning his head and kissing the soft pad of her palm. "Tell me your dreams, Tess."
Her hand lowered to the springy hair on his chest. "You know my dreams, Fletcher. In fact, you listened to every word I said this morning. And this afternoon, you made them come true."
"How'd I do that?"
Her eyes brightened to a golden hue as she raised a brow. "Your friend didn't ring you back after you called him, did he?"
"Tom called you?"
"No, I called him."
He swept his hand over his head. "I'm lost."
She chuckled. "You wrote his number on one of the papers."
Fletcher closed his eyes. He'd forgotten. All hell had broken loose right after that.
She went on. "After I threw you out on your ear, and I'd had some time to smash a few things, get dressed, and calm down a little, I saw the letters there, and was just about to crumple them all when I spotted it. I wanted to know who the number belonged to."
"About that, Tess—"
"Do you want to hear this or not?"
Fletcher laughed. "Sorry darlin'. Go ahead." His anxiety started to wane. Maybe that wasn't wise, but pillow talk with Tess was just about as stimulating as the sex. And the sex was fantastic. He wasn't going to blow it by interrupting now. Not when she didn't look as if she was going to be getting up any time soon.
"He knew who I was when I called, and had already found my demo tape and burned it onto a CD. The quality sucked compared to a professional cut, but it was enough to download and send to an artist for a listen. When he knew I was in agreement, we hung up, and he called back in about an hour with an offer on the table."
"You're kidding. That's great, honey." Fletcher tried to put enthusiasm into his voice, but still, he worried.
"I know it. And because of you, I sold two of my songs to a popular singer. She'll be recording them as soon as the contract is drawn up and signed."
He couldn't stand it. He had to know. He hated feeling weak. "I'm happy for you, Tess. But what will it mean to us?"
She smiled. "I wondered how long it would be before you asked that."
"I'm sorry, honey. I don't want to be selfish, but I want you to stay. I know I don't have a right to expect it, but I hope you were honest with me about that."
"Oh, Fletcher. This mess started because I wasn't honest in the first place. I only told Coop once that I planned to move permanently to Justice. I never mentioned it to you in the letters I sent. And you had to consider the citizens first, and that includes your father."
He lifted his head off his hand and played with her hair that he'd taken great, exquisite pleasure in tangling. "You're a citizen of Justice, too, darlin'. If I hadn't been so worried that you'd forfeit the house, and force me to tell my father I'd be damned before I let it be torn down, we could have been helping each other all this time."
She snuggled closer to him. "Oh, I don't know. I think I liked that bit of mystery at first. You were elusive, and even when I was doggedly determined, I couldn't get near you. I was beginning to wonder if there really was a Mayor Graham. And Coop says that the minute he heard my voice he knew you'd fall in love with it."
"It's not just your voice I'm in love with, Tess."
She looked at him sharply. "Can we really be in love after only a day, Fletcher?" She tipped her head, doubting the notion, but there was hope sparkling in her eyes.
"I know I can. This isn't like what I felt with Jane. Wanna know how I know?"
She giggled. "Tell me."
"Because when I was getting ready to go out tonight, to the governor's, I wondered if that charity event would be my last one as the mayor of this town."
"I'm sorry you missed your event, but I don't get it."
"I didn't want to go anyway. I just didn't have anything better to do on a Saturday night." He tweaked her nose. "But what I mean is, being mayor, living here in Justice … those things didn't mean as much to me as being with you. If you'd forfeited the house and moved to Vegas, I'd have gone with you."
"Really?
He chuckled. "I'd have adjusted. But I know I'm in love with you because I wasn't willing to leave my home to follow Jane. But I'd follow you anywhere and I'd be home."
"That's so corny, Fletch."
He knew it sounded like a cliché, but he meant it, and the tears that formed in her eyes told him she knew he was sincere. "Do you love me, Tess?"
She put him out of his misery by nodding her head. "It's crazy, but I do. Head over heels in love with you. And I'm not going anywhere. I told you this morning that Justice is a place to call home." She laughed. "But really, wherever you are is home."
"Are you making fun now, darlin'?" He couldn't fight his grin. He didn't care if she was ribbing him—it felt damn good to hear the words.
Her innocent look needed practice. "Now, Your Honor, would I do that?"
Fletcher chuckled. "I don't care, but say it with conviction."
She took his advice and pushed him back onto the mattress, lying across his chest. Gawd, she was hot!
She lowered her head and gave him a kiss that made all his parts pay attention. She lifted her head, and said quietly, "They say, home is where the heart is. Well, you're here, and you have my heart. So I'm home."
He pushed his advantage, going one step further. "Then marry me."
Tess pushed up off him suddenly, sitting up, back on her heels, and looking down at him. "Are you kidding me? After one day? How is that going to look? What will your constituents say?"
He came up on his elbows, and after popping the question, Fletcher gauged her reaction. Shock, not fear. He could work with that. "They'll say it's a helluva lot better than shackin' up with you. And I will be at your house every day after I leave city hall. We've got a lot of work to do if you plan to live there and make a career as a songwriter. I'm going to buy you a piano so you can write at home during the day instead of having to go to Last Call to compose music and write lyrics."
"Fletcher, I'll be able to buy a piano—"
"But you need a place with good acoustics, and that front room would be ideal. Gawd, I'm gonna love hearing you sing, trying out new songs."
"Fletcher—"
"Just a second honey, I'm thinking," he said, but he wasn't, really, he was railroading her, giving her too many reasons not to refuse him.
She stalled him right on the tracks, saying quietly, "You really want to marry me?"
He looked at her, with that chestnut-colored hair snarled and tumbling over her naked shoulders, he wondered how she could be so beautiful and so obtuse at the same time. "Tess, the last impulsive thing I did resulted in divorce. I know those aren't good odds, but my heart and my faith weren't in it."
He picked up her hand and kissed the back of it. "I'm putting all my faith in you. I love you, and I want everyone to know it."
She raised her eyebrows, considering his offer. "I suppose there are perks that come with being the mayor's wife."
His brow furrowed. "What perks?"
Tess smiled, the irony so poetic, "Well, if I request an audience, he's legally obligated to see me."
Fletcher chuckled, sitting up fully, and pulled her into his arms. "Don't tell my father that. Since this whole thing started, I told him he's got to make an appointment like everyone else, and I haven't been available to him, either. See, honey? It's not just you I was avoiding."
Tess laughed, too. "Well, you can tell George I'm keeping my house. Problem solved," she said, and put her head on his shoulder.
"Not yet."
"What else is there?"
"You haven't actually agreed to marry me."
Tess snuggled down into his lap, and Fletcher had to force his concentration to remain centered. Her answer was too important.
Her soft, naked bottom wriggled and ground against his cock in a bid to get comfortable, but he knew it was just a bit of veiled, torturous payback. Reminding her of his avoidance might not have been such a good idea—another tip he filed away as a lesson learned. But she made it worth his wait as she murmured so low, he had to strain to hear. "Yes, I'll marry you."
He sighed in relief. "Thank God," he exclaimed. "I thought I was going to have to go down on one knee."
Tess cast him a pouty look. "You didn't want to?"
He kissed her so thoroughly, she had a sleepy, dizzy look about her. "Not when I've got you naked, sitting here, giving me a lap dance."
She giggled and socked him in the arm.
"You like making me suffer, don't you, darlin'?"
Tess wriggled a little more, and tipped her head, considering. "I don't know yet. I think I need more practice." She grinned mischievously, slipping off his lap.
Fletcher hurled himself back down on the bed, and flung his arms wide. "Practice makes perfect, honey. Please, practice away."
Shoving the covers out of her way, she lightly raked her nails up his calf, over his thigh, and finally closed over his now hard, achingly aroused cock. With a gentle squeeze and a teasing flick of her tongue, practice, she did. Perfectly.
* * * * *