Country Heaven (12 page)

Tory pulled away, her heart beating faster. “That’s okay, really. I don’t want the prize.”

“Don’t work that way, honey,” Clayton said, dragging her forward while women continued to call her inventive names from the sidelines.

She pulled back. “You only want this for your PR campaign, admit it.”

He just laughed and continued pulling her along. “I’ve never seen a woman so hesitant to kiss you, Rye. Maybe it’ll teach you some humility.” His hands propelled her into Rye.

There was no smile or wicked gleam in his eyes when he pulled her to him. In fact, his face was totally blank.

“You’d better be careful, partner. She’d as soon bite you as kiss you.”

“Look, it’s just a kiss,” he murmured.

Right. She was making too much of this, wasn’t she?

But she hadn’t kissed a lot of men, so it didn’t seem insignificant to her.

“Fine,” she said. “Just do it.”

His mouth twitched at that. People whistled and screamed and heckled all around them. Her face grew hot. He lowered his head and pressed his lips to hers. The touch was electric, and she jumped, bumping their noses together.

“Settle down,” he growled, caging her waist with his hands.

She started laughing, a strange impulse that seemed to come out of nowhere. “That had to be the worst kiss on the planet.” What had she been so worried about?

Patting his chest, she took a step away.

His hands gripped her hips again and yanked her close. Her breath rushed out when she found herself pressed full length against his rock–hard body. Those hazel eyes gleamed down at her as they scanned her face. “Can’t have you impugning my reputation.”

It was a pretty impressive word, she thought, and then he pressed her back a few steps until she hit the fence, throwing all thoughts aside. He yanked off his hat and threw it.

Uh–oh. Laughing had been a bad idea.

“I didn’t mean—”

“Shut up,” he commanded and cupped her face, fitting his mouth to hers.

Oh no. The intimacy of it stole her breath. His lips were soft, his body hard as he leaned against her, ducking at the knees to fit his pelvis against her own. A delicious spurt of desire flashed through her belly, and the surprise of it made her open her mouth. His tongue swept lazily inside, engaging hers in a wicked dance.

Her heart rapped against her ribs, and she became lost in sensation. His mouth. The hands tickling her waist, slipping under her T–shirt to stroke her skin.

Her hands slid up his chest on instinct, as much to hold on as to touch him. A moan erupted from deep within her, and primal heat flooded her body.

The man kissed like he ate. With slow, determined, sensual enjoyment. No one had ever kissed her this way. No one. When he tugged on her bottom lip, ending the kiss, she leaned in instead of stepping away, caught up in the sensual storm he’d created. Rye indulged her, taking the kiss even deeper, giving her the connection she craved.

His hands slid down her bottom, and the hard line of his desire brought her back to her senses. The crowd was shouting and laughing over the buzzing in her head, and a few people were pointing at them. Luke gave her a wink from the periphery of the room. So he hadn’t left after all. Camera flashes made her blink.

Yeah, they probably couldn’t believe she was kissing the infamous Rye Crenshaw. And Clayton was getting the PR of his dreams, no doubt.

Realizing she was still clutching at Rye’s shirt like she had the bull, she pushed away. He staggered back, his mouth parted in surprise.

Darting through the laughing hordes, she made her way to the front of the room, deciding not to detour and go back with Luke. She didn’t know him well, after all, and she really didn’t want to be around anyone right now.

Not when she’d just been kissed senseless by Rye Crenshaw. When someone kissed women all the time, he was bound to be good at it.

But it didn’t mean anything to him. Even if had rocked her world.

She simply had to remember that it couldn’t mean anything to her either.

***

Rye watched Tory’s red shirt until he lost it in the crowd. He stepped forward to pursue her, but to what end?

He ran his hand over the back of the neck because it still tingled from her touch. That kiss had been much more than he’d bargained for.

Maybe he’d had too much to drink. He grabbed his hat from a grinning Clayton and slapped it on his head.

“Well, now. That didn’t look difficult at all, and the press loved it. Who would have guessed she’d win on her own without me rigging the thing? The girl’s got thighs of steel.”

Rye gripped his friend’s shirt. “You were going to set me up?”

“Come on, now, we talked about this weeks ago.”

It was true, but it hadn’t come up at all in the last two weeks. He’d hoped it was enough for them to just be seen together occasionally. Somehow it took the spontaneity of the kiss away and left a bad taste in his mouth “I wouldn’t have agreed to that, Clayton.”

“Tory’s helping your image, but we needed something more. We haven’t had any pictures of you two acting like a couple since you went off–roading. And we couldn’t have pictures of you kissing another woman, now could we?”

“She’s off limits, Clayton. Starting right now.”

“Dammit, I hate it when you go noble on me. You can tell Mama. She’s gonna be pissed.”

“I’ll take care of it,” he said and headed to the main bar for a beer.

Blonds, brunettes, and redheads all made excuses to touch him as he walked to the bar, their invitations as obvious as their outfits. Anger and lust waged inside him. She had made him hard as hell. And now Rye was arguing with his old friend and business manager over using a little kiss to boost his image.

Well, it hadn’t felt like a little kiss.

A blond in desperate need of a root job gave him a slow smile and slid across the bar to stand next to him.

“Hi there,” she said, running her hands up his shirt like she was playing
The Itsy Bitsy Spider.

Her touch didn’t diminish his desire for Tory, so he nudged her away. Usually, he had no qualms about grabbing anything women offered him.

He took his hat off and picked up a water pitcher from a nearby table, upending it on his head, hoping it would clear his mind of all the swirling thoughts about his family and the kiss with Tory. Shaking himself like a dog, he slapped his hat on again and forced his best knowing grin. He didn’t want anyone to know he was upset, and everyone was laughing uproariously now beside him. Well, he was a performer, wasn’t he?

“Time for us bubbas to show you ladies how it’s done,” he called out as he started toward the bull.

He got a firm grip and dug his heels in, so he was ready when the bull started bucking. Or so he thought. His body slammed into the mat after what must have been his worst time ever. He used the opportunity to get his breath back.

He reached for his damp hat and smacked it on his wet head. Christ, he needed another drink. Anything to forget that soft mouth and the tiny body that fit perfectly against his.

***

Tory was humming to herself when Rye showed up for a late breakfast. They’d both stayed at the hotel last night, but he liked her food so much that she always cooked for him on the bus unless it was her day off.

After tossing and turning all night, she was ready to execute her plan. There was bound to be some awkwardness after their kiss. He’d responded. So had she. Better to put it out on the table and say it meant nothing.

Even though it wasn’t true, at least not for her.

The urgent need for this discussion had been underscored when Tory saw pictures of her kissing Rye with that horrible bull in the background on the Internet earlier in the morning. The media was speculating that Rye was getting cozy with the struggling cook he’d hired. The reports mentioned how she’d accompanied him on an off–roading outing. Comments about her not being his type were prolific, but several accounts attributed his interest in her to him wanting to settle down with a good woman. Even Myra had called this morning to ask about the romance, promising she’d never tell a soul. Tory had adamantly denied it, of course.

The PR machine was speeding along like a Eurorail train, trampling her privacy, and she knew there was little she could do about it. Or complain to Rye about. Especially when she suspected Georgia and Clayton were pushing it more than he was.

And it wasn’t like she was completely innocent. She’d fed the media beast by kissing him in the first place.

“Good morning,” she said in a measured tone. “Breakfast is about ready. I made biscuits and gravy since we had leftover ones from last night.”

Rye sat at the table and grabbed the remote control, flicking on the morning news. “Great,” he responded, not saying anything else.

After she served him, he cut into the piping hot biscuit swimming in sausage gravy and took a bite. His eyelids fluttered shut like they always did, and a low groan filled the kitchen. It was hard not notice those lips after their kiss, so she turned to wash the pans.

“So that whole kissing thing last night was pretty embarrassing.” She scrubbed the gravy off the pan under a stream of hot water. “I don’t want there to be any weirdness between us. I mean, I work for you. Besides, it wasn’t a big deal. We got carried away since the crowd was watching.”

She picked up a hand towel and dried off the pan. “I mean, if that’s what it’s like for you on stage, it must be incredible. All those people looking on, screaming and shouting. Pretty heady stuff. It’s called the public effect. It’s a known phenomenon.”

“Could you turn around a minute?” he asked in that rumbling, deep baritone that raised goose bumps on her skin.

Tory complied and forced a smile. His gray T–shirt clung to his body and the slight tear in the right sleeve only made him look hotter. When had clothes ready for the garbage ever turned her on before?

“Are you saying my kiss was a
phenomenon?”

“No, I mean the phenomenon was kissing you
in public.
I’m sure it wouldn’t have been half as interesting in private.” Yeah, right.

Rye stood up and walked toward her with a gleam in his hazel eyes. “Are you saying the kiss would have been less…eventful if we’d been alone?”

Oh, the mere thought of it made her want to rip the rest of his T–shirt into threads and run her hands up his bare chest. Instead, she held the dishrag in front of her like a shield.

“No offense, but we’re not each other’s type. I mean, you like big–breasted women in tight clothes with big hair. And I don’t go for cowboys.”

Even though she knew that his cowboy side was just one of many hats he wore.

He leaned against the counter and pulled his Stetson down. “Honey, I’ve been told by tons of women I’m the best kisser they’ve ever experienced.”

“So you’ve said.”

Rye frowned. “And here I was planning to tell you not to get all clingy this morning. You really know how to knock a man’s ego.”

Clingy?
Her? No way. Talk about insulting. “I didn’t intend to hurt your ego,” she said, brandishing the dishrag in one hand. “I only wanted to assure you the kiss was no big deal.”

Rye grabbed the dishrag from her, and when his fingers brushed hers, she felt sparks where their skin touched. He leaned around her and threw the rag on the counter, the movement brushing their bodies together. Oh, that primal desire was back, dag nab it, and it just wasn’t fair.

He smiled when he leaned back. “Of course it wasn’t a big deal. As you said, kissing women is practically part of my job description. But you do make a man want to prove you wrong about this public phenomenon theory.”

Oh, her lips tingled at the thought of his mouth on hers again. She watched as he strolled back to the booth to finish his breakfast, her eyes glued to his incredible butt.

“But you’re right,” he drawled, forking another piece of biscuit. “We’d best let it go.”

Thank goodness he stopped speaking when he slid the food into his mouth, giving another moan instead.

It pinged throughout her body.

He scooped another forkful into his mouth.

She clasped her hands together like a school marm, trying to ignore the electricity coursing through her body. “Good, I’m glad we’ve got that settled. Well, I’ve got to go. There’s a special program about the challenges of organic farming on NPR this morning.” Lame. So lame.

Rye waved her away. “Well, I wouldn’t want you to miss
that.”

As she left, she found herself wondering if there would be another mechanical bull bar along the concert circuit.

Like eating a piece of bittersweet chocolate, she found herself craving more of him.

My Grandma Simmons made incredible pies. There are two mediums you have to master to do the same. A flaky crust is essential. Here’s a tip if you’re making it from scratch: use Butter Crisco™. It really does make an incomparably flaky, golden crust. But you can’t stop there. You have to make a filling that doesn’t crack or weep. Lemon meringue is my favorite of all the pies she used to make. The secret to her meringue was the extra egg whites she used to create those four inches of magic that swirled on top as puffy as clouds. Add fresh lemon zest, and you have a real winner—a comforting yet tangy treat for a hot, humid day. I’ve never met a person whose mood didn’t improve after having a slice of this pie. Its magic is potent.

Lemon Meringue Pie
Pie Crust
1 crust for the bottom (you can buy a prepared crust or make one from scratch). Here’s our family recipe.
1 c. flour
½ tsp. salt
1/3 c. regular or Butter Crisco™
¼ c. cold ice water (we put ¼ in a 1 c. measuring cup and add ice to it)

Mix until incorporated (not too much, but just until it comes together). Then roll the dough into a circle on a floured surface. Lay into the pie plate and flute the edges by pinching the dough on the top and sides between your two index fingers.

Lemon filling:
1½ cup sugar
3 Tbs. cornstarch
3 Tbs. flour
Dash of salt
1½ cup boiling water
3 egg yolks beaten
2 Tbs. butter
½ tsp. grated lemon peel (fresh is best)
1/3 cup lemon juice
1 tbsp. lime juice