Dodging Temptation (The Retreat) (9 page)

“Pistachio.”

“
I don’
t like that kind.” She crossed her fingers behind her back—there was no kind of ice cream she didn
’
t like. Slinking off the bed so he wouldn
’
t hear the mattress springs, if that were even possible, Harper held her breath and prayed he
’
d accept her answer.

“Are you crazy? It
’
s the best kind. I
’
m allergic to it, and I still want it.”

A swing and a miss. She tiptoed to the door and looked through the peephole. He stood in the hallway holding a small tub of ice cream and wearing a chagrined look on his face. Damn her mutinous body, she responded instantly to both with her mouth watering and her thighs clenching. He needed to go so she could get back to her totally ineffectual plotting instead of eye fucking him through the peephole.

“I
’
ve given up ice cream.” With her luck, she
’
d end up lactose intolerant if she kept lying like this.

“That
’
s unfortunate. That means I
’
ll have to eat this, and I get balloon lips whenever I have pistachios.” He leaned in close to the door as if he knew she was barely restraining herself from flinging it open. “You will call 911 for me, right?”

“Probably not.” The way her body was humming, she
’
d elbow the paramedics out of the way to give him mouth to mouth herself. God, she was fucking pathetic.

He tapped a quick beat on the ice cream lid. “Then the only other choice is for you to open up and take the ice cream before I eat it. Then we can talk, and I can grovel until you forgive me.”

“No, the choice is for you to leave.”
That
’
s right, brain, take the lead on this one because the body is leading you astray.

“If this is the only way to get you to talk to me, then I guess I don
’
t have any other choice.” He popped the lid and stuck in the spoon.

Harper froze. It could be his attempt to fake her out—a lame one, but a trick all the same. But if it wasn
’
t and he had some kind of allergic reaction… She slipped the chain free and opened the door halfway, holding it in place with her foot. “Are you
really
allergic?”

“You want a doctor
’
s note?” He gave her a naughty grin that would have melted her panties if she
’
d been wearing any.

He was not to be trusted. She
knew
this, but as long as she could keep a door between them, there was no reason she couldn
’
t have her ice cream and eat it, too. Now that was a compromise her brain and body could agree on—mostly.

Keeping her gaze locked on the frozen pint, she tried her best to ignore the man holding it as she reached through the narrow opening, swiped it from his grasp, and hip checked the door shut before he could sweet-talk his way inside.

“Hey,” he half hollered and half laughed. “We were supposed to talk.”

Ice cream in hand, she slid down the door so she sat on the floor with her back against it. “So what
’
s stopping you?”

A thunk sounded low on the door. “A big, hand-carved piece of oak.” His voice came through lower. He must have sat down on the ground, too.

“I can hear you through it just fine.” She took her first bite of the green ice cream that reminded her a little too much of the color of Dodge
’
s eyes. It was a sweet, but hollow, victory.

“You
’
re a real hard-ass.”

“I learned the hard way.”

“Tell me about it.”

His warm tone snuck through the crack between the door and the wall, warming her from the inside out and tempting her compliance. “Why should I?”

“Because who else can you tell?”

“Who said I wanted to?”
What
’
s private stays private.
Her mother had said it enough times that in another era Harper would have embroidered it on a sampler and hung it on her bedroom wall.

“Everything about you screams it. The only reason you
’
re so tightly wound is because you haven
’
t been able to let any of the ugly just hang out.”

What would that be like? Just being herself and not wavering between the proper political princess Old Harper or the tough-as-nails New Harper? The question frightened and excited her. Both were images created out of necessity and the need for control—the first of others controlling her and the second of her holding the reins. That moment of clarity when she
’
d slapped her ex-husband had been as close to the real her as she
’
d ever been. If he continued to tug on the thread with his unwavering calm, the covering holding the real Harper in a cozy but too tight cocoon would unravel. Who would she be then?

She ate another spoonful of pistachio ice cream as she rolled the idea around in her head. “How do I know you
’
re not going to run off and tell the world?”

“Because telling guests’ secrets would ruin The Retreat
’
s reputation for privacy.” No hesitation. No hemming and hawing for some version that would be most palatable. No spin to appease his audience, even if in this case it was just her instead of a gaggle of voters.

“Enough procrastinating.” He tapped on the door, the reverberation vibrating up her spine. “Spill your secrets, Harper. What happens in the hallway stays in the hallway.”

Heat bloomed in her cheeks at his words. He
’
d protected her from the overeager eyes of Mrs. Vander when Harper had gotten carried away in the hallway the other night. Now wasn
’
t that a politically correct way of saying “had an orgasm against his leg in public.” Chuckling despite herself, Harper shifted to a more comfortable position and scooped up another spoonful of ice cream. “I overturned hundreds of years of family tradition.”

“By slapping your husband on TV?”

“No.” She shook her head. “By doing what you advised. I didn
’
t seethe only on the inside. I let my ugly hang out for the world to see, and that
’
s just not done.”

The level of pistachio ice cream in the pint dropped as she told Dodge about growing up as a potential president
’
s daughter. Boarding school. Debutante school. Elite Ivy League private university. Her parents
’
schooling that centered on the proper way for a popular politician
’
s daughter to behave at home and in public. None of them had been what anyone with half a heart would call touchy-feely. All of it culminated in her practically arranged marriage to the up-and-coming senator from Vermont.

“Saying it out loud makes it sound all the more bizarre. I was an eighteenth century daughter in a twenty-first century world, and I never thought twice about it. I did what I was told.”

“So what made you change?”

On the next breath she was tossed back in time to that moment when her husband, who
’
d publicly humiliated her by cheating—repeatedly—turned to her at that press conference with every expectation that she
’
d fall in line with the strategy. That she
’
d forgive him so the voters could, too. She should have been furious, but she was too brokenhearted when she realized that she
’
d never given him or anyone else reason to believe that she wanted to be more than a pawn in someone else
’
s political schemes. Where there should have been fire, there had been only ice.

“I couldn
’
t do it anymore.” She inhaled a shaky breath. “Standing on that dais with the press chomping at the bit a few feet away and my ex-husband on his knees in front of me after I told him that the press conference was the last thing I
’
d ever be doing as his wife, I realized that he didn
’
t believe me. He didn
’
t take me any more seriously than anyone else in the world. Despite my perfect GPA, the functioning brain in my head, and the fact that it wasn
’
t the 1700s, he—along with everyone else—had accepted the perfect political princess image as the real me. I didn
’
t even know who I was anymore. All I knew was how to act as the power behind the throne, doing whatever it took to further the ambitions of those around me. It may not have started with me, but I
’
d allowed the farce to go on for much longer than it should
’
ve, and
that
infuriated me.”

The epiphany had hit her with the force of a wrecking ball, shattering every false belief into a million pieces. “With that single slap, I broke free. I
’
m never going to go back to being the old Harper ever again. I’m my own woman and not a pawn in someone else’s plot and plans to be moved around the board as he or she sees fit.”

She
’
d been on a high until the next morning paper hit her door with a thud, followed shortly thereafter by her mother in full-on dowager duchess mode as if by will alone the older woman could turn herself into the ever proper iron-fisted women in the Regency romances Harper loved to read. But she hadn
’
t relented. That had been the first small step toward independence and being in charge of her own destiny.

“So what
’
s next for such a rabble-rouser as yourself?” Dodge asked, bringing her back to the present.

Wasn
’
t that the question she seemed to always be asking herself now? She demolished another bite of ice cream, relishing the sweet, nutty taste of the fast-melting treat.

“Soon, I
’
ll be done cataloging May
’
s cowboy diaries, and I
’
ll go back to Washington to reboot my life.” She dropped the spoon into the nearly empty pint, the declaration feeling as hollow as her ice cream victory earlier. “And adding about a million hours of cardio to my to-do list.”

“I
’
m sorry.”

“I said cardio,” she repeated louder than the first time. “For my giant ass from eating all this ice cream.”

“One, your ass is amazing. Two, I
’
m sorry for acting like a jerk and setting up the press conference. You were right. I only heard what I wanted to hear. I have a bad habit of doing that.”

The ice cream pint slipped in her grasp. She may not know Dodge as well as her body thought she did but apologies were about as foreign to his type as ancient Greek. “Who are you, and what did you do with Dodge Loving?”

“Cute.”

“I am, but seriously, what gives?” She turned her head so her cheek rested against the door, imagining—however ridiculous it was—that he was doing the same.

He exhaled a heavy sigh. “You said you
’
d think about talking to reporters and all I heard was ‘I will.’ Sometimes I get so focused on what I think needs to be done that I lose track of everything else.”

She trailed her fingers across the smooth, varnished wood as if she were touching him. “You should stop doing that.”

“Hey, I
’
m working on it. So are we good?”

What had those self-help books she
’
d downloaded said? That the first step is admitting you made a mistake? That sounded right, and she wanted to believe. If she could change, couldn
’
t he? That was even scarier to contemplate than her own transformation.

“Are you really allergic to pistachios?”
Baby steps, Harper, baby steps.

He laughed. “Yes.”

“Are you going to wait for your brain to catch up to your mouth next time?” She set the ice cream pint down on the floor near the wall.

“I
’
ll try.”

It was crazy, but she believed him, right down to her toes.
Must be the ice cream talking—or the universe, if she listened to May Loving.
Whatever it was, it was something, and she needed to get rid of the door between them. Harper scooted over so her back was against the wall instead of the door and reached up to release the latch. “Dodge—”

She turned the knob, and the door flew open with such force it banged against the opposite wall. Dodge, who must have been leaning against it, fell backward, landing on his back.

“Oh my God, I
’
m so sorry.” She scrambled to his side and leaned over him, brushing her hands across his shocked face. “Are you okay?”

He didn
’
t say anything, and Harper filled the silence with imaginary scenarios involving concussions and amnesia. Fingers shaking, she combed them through his short, coarse black hair. Then, he leveled his should-be-patented-as-a-lethal-weapon grin at her and winked one of his green eyes.

“If I say no, will you kiss it and make it better?” he asked.

Relief whooshed through her, and she laid her head on his chest over his fast-beating heart. “You have a one-track mind.”

“Oh no, I
’
ve already thought up at least five ways this can go.” He glided his fingertips across the bare skin of her arms, reminding her all too well of what had happened last time he
’
d done that.

Desire pooled deep in her belly, warm and heavy. It turned her limbs languid and her breasts heavy with want and need. She straightened her arms and raised herself up from his muscular chest as she swung her leg over his prone position so she straddled him. This time she was the one in charge, and she
’
d dictate the pace. She undulated her hips, rubbing herself against the hard bulge behind his zipper.

“No.” She grasped the hem of her T-shirt and swept it off, then leaned forward so her breasts swung an inch above his hungry mouth. “I only see one way.”

Dodge moved beneath her, raising and rotating his right leg enough to kick the door to her room shut. “Great minds, huh?” He lapped at one hard nipple and circled it with his tongue before drawing it into his mouth.