Fool for Love (37 page)

Sam leaned in, his big body overshadowing Tasha with implied menace. He rarely lost his temper. He didn’t have to. Rocky attributed his intimidation skills to his years in the military. As much as she didn’t want to, she had to give Tasha credit for not shrinking back.

“Let’s cut to the chase,” he said. “You didn’t want Chloe at the shoot, so you found a way to detain her. Don’t bother,” he said, cutting Tasha off when she opened her mouth to lie.

“Were you afraid we’d want her included in the pictures?” Judy asked.

“She would look awfully pretty on the cover,” Rachel said. “Could mean higher sales.”

“You tricked her by sending her off to take photos of Daisy,” Monica said.

Tasha glared. “
You’re
the ones who didn’t want to send off the proposal without a shot of Daisy! If Miss Big-City-Know-It-All got lost on a simple drive through Thrush, then
you’re
to blame.”

“She didn’t get lost,” Rocky said. “She spun off the road. Hit a tree. She’s fine, not that you care, but here’s the deal: The recipe book project’s off.”

Tasha’s beautified head nearly exploded. “What?”

“Unless…,” Casey started, then took a lazy pull off her longneck.

“Unless what?” Tasha snapped.

“Unless you step down as president,” Monica said, then took a sip of her own drink.

They’d reasoned it out prior to Tasha’s arrival, come to a unanimous decision. Rocky watched Tasha’s face as the ultimatum sank in. In the long history of Cupcake Lovers, no president had ever been asked to resign.

Judy cleared her throat and took a somewhat gentler approach. At least her tone was kind. “The only reason you’re president to begin with, Tasha, is because it was a deathbed wish of your mother’s and Della Harper, rest her soul, was a good woman who deserved some peace of mind.”

“I’m sure she thought,” Helen added, “as we all did, that between the shock of her death and your marriage to an older stable man you’d mature into a more grounded and, well, generous soul.”

“Instead,” Ethel said, “all that new power went to your head.”

“And being the dynamo you are,” Rachel said, “you sucked us all into your big plans, which, at the time, sounded noble.”

Sam raised a brow. “Now we know better.”

Rocky reveled in a morbid bit of satisfaction as Tasha gritted her insanely white teeth. They’d been at odds for years, and most of the time Tasha came out on top. Mainly because she was conniving. Rocky didn’t play dirty. Not usually, anyway.

Before Nell could set the dual martinis on the table, Tasha nabbed one of the glasses out of her hand and drained the drink in one long swallow. She glared at Rocky. “This is your doing.”

“No, it’s all yours.”

“So you’re kicking me out of the club?”

“Just asking you to step down as president.”

“I suppose
you’re
going to step up.”

Monica spoke for her. “We all voted.”

Still glaring at Rocky, Tasha spewed, “You can’t even make a success of a rinky-dink inn, yet you think you can handle negations with a big-time publishing house?”

The insult hit its mark, but Rocky simply balled her fists beneath the table. Due to Tasha’s raised voice, suddenly everyone in the now-crowded bar was looking their way.

“No need to get ugly,” Ethel said in a hushed voice. “You’ll still be the go-between with that editor man,” she said to Tasha, “but Rocky will be the club’s official leader. We need to refocus on our core objective.”

Ignoring the older woman, Tasha downed her second martini, then slammed the glass to the table. “You’re jealous of me. You have
always
been jealous of me! Take the damned presidency, Rocky. You are and will always be a pathetic
loser!
”

That last taunt burned to Rocky’s toes and gave her feet wings. She flew out of her chair, sailing over Monica, and knocked Tasha, chair and all, to the floor.

“Whoa, whoa!” Rocky heard Luke bellow as the rest of the crowd gasped and hooted.

Straddling her longtime enemy, Rocky smacked Tasha hard for fifteen years of insults. Only Rocky’s hand was balled so it was more like a punch.

“Bitch!” Tasha fought back, grabbing one of Rocky’s braids and yanking so hard, Rocky yelped and lost her balance.

Keeling sideways, she conked her head, shouted, “Fuck!” then kicked out just as Tasha lunged. They whaled on each other, rolling into a table. Drinks flew and plates of food crashed to the planked floor. Cheering patrons gave a wide berth.

Out of the corner of her eye, Rocky saw Luke coming their way. “Break it up, dammit!” Only he tripped over Sam’s big foot (
Thank you, Sam!
), allowing her to get in another swing.

At the same time Tasha shoved Rocky’s face into a glob of artichoke dip.

Rocky saw red, white noise roaring in her ears when the freak tried to shove an olive up her nose. As she retaliated, the last thing Rocky heard before scooping up a handful of maple cream pie was, “Ten bucks on Rocky!”

*   *   *

Chloe’s eyes flew open. She stared into the dark, heart pounding, confused about her whereabouts and the spooky silence. Then her brain engaged and she realized the storm had abated. No rain. No thunder. She reached out. No Devlin.

Her nostrils twitched with an acrid smell, a familiar smell.

Kitchen fire!

Clutching the comforter to her naked body, she rolled out of bed, wincing as her feet hit the ground. Her ankle throbbed along with her head. Ignoring the pain, she limped toward the stink. She spied Devlin moving a smoking pot from the stove to the sink, heard him cursing under his breath. Confident he had the situation under control, she breathed easier and bit back a smile. He looked pathetically inept in the kitchen, but he was trying, which struck her as oddly sweet. Waving her hand in front of her nose, she asked, “Are you okay?”

“Better than these baked beans,” he groused, dousing them with water and igniting a fresh burst of sizzle and steam. “I only turned my back for a couple of minutes.”

She moved forward and glanced at the stove. “You had the heat set too high.”

“I’m used to nuking everything in the microwave.” He looked over his shoulder then.

For a moment, time ceased as he took in her disheveled state. Her heart pounded in slow, desirous thuds. A heady mix of lust and affection heated her cheeks and blood. She opened her mouth, then shut it when he cocked his head and smiled.

“I’d planned on serving you supper in bed,” he said, “but you brought the bed out here.”

She glanced down, noting she’d not only wrapped herself in the comforter, but the top sheet was half trailing behind her as well. She laughed, welcoming his lighthearted tone. Then she noticed
he
was wearing clean, dry sweats and a T-shirt. “Hey, where’d you get those?”

He nodded toward the bedroom. “The five-drawer dresser.”

“Be right back.”

“Be right here,” he said, scraping charred beans into a pail.

Chloe limped back inside, ecstatic things weren’t weird between them since they’d had sex. Sometimes sex changed everything, and not always for the better. When he’d dragged his gaze over her just now, she sensed the same raw desire, a deeper regard. Lost in her own firestorm of emotions, she’d been tempted to speak her heart. Right there in the kitchen. A charred pan of beans between them. But in the next second she questioned her timing.

He knew she’d lived with Ryan for two years, suggesting a serious relationship. What if he didn’t believe she was over Ryan? What if Devlin thought she was on the rebound and didn’t know her own heart? Or thought that she was fickle and fell in love at the drop of a hat?

“Too soon,” she whispered to herself as she switched on a small bedside lamp. “Take it slow.” For once in her life she wasn’t going to rush into something, only to muck it up. She heaped the blankets on the bed and quickly rooted through the drawers. She didn’t feel right about pulling on a pair of whatever brother’s briefs were in the top drawer, but she did pull on a thick pair of socks. Chilled, she a nabbed a flannel shirt. Made for a tall man, the sleeves were too long and the shirttails hit her mid-thigh. Long enough that she didn’t have to worry about going commando. Twisting her damp, clean hair into a knot, she returned to the kitchen to find Devlin looking through the limited cabinet space. “So what are our choices?”

“Beans, beans, and more beans. A can of crushed tomatoes, bag of popcorn, Scotch Broth Soup—”

“Let me see.”

He passed back the can while still looking through the cabinet.

“‘A traditional everything-in-a-pot barley soup,’” she read from the label. “I like the sound of this. What else?”

“Quaker Oats, brown bread in a can—”

“What?”

He passed that back, too. “A throwback to old New England,” he said, scouring the next cabinet. “You’ve never had it?”

“No.” She read the description. “‘Moist and dense. Natural ingredients. Rich molasses taste. Serve right out of the can, or toast, bake or microwave.’ Given the latter, I assume you’ve had it?”

He laughed. “Yeah.”

“Good?”

“Surprisingly, yes.”

She moved on to the fridge. “Not much here. Beer, jar of pickles and … oh no. For real?”

“What?”

“An unopened package of Vermont smoked summer sausage.”

Looking over, she could tell by the hot spark in his eyes that he, too, was thinking about their first sexually charged meeting in Oslow’s. “Expiration date?” he asked.

She looked, smiled. “We’re good to go.”

“I know I am.”

Flustered by his intense stare, she blushed. “What?”

“Just thinking how sexy you look in that shirt and wishing it were mine.”

She sighed. “Romantic notion number … I’ve lost count.”

“Trust me,” he said, devouring her with a hungry gaze. “Romance is the last thing on my mind just now.”

Noting the not-so-subtle bulge in his sweats, her intimate parts tingled and a dozen racy scenarios played through her head. Doing it on the sofa, bent over the sofa, burning up the rug in front of the wood-burning stove, and nailing him upright against the wall. As much as she wanted to jump his bones here and now, her throbbing ankle and various body aches proved an irritating distraction. Starting something she couldn’t finish wasn’t an option. She wondered if the Brodys kept a stash of Tylenol.

Mind racing, Chloe lightened the sexually charged moment with a playful wink. “Yeah, well, let’s get some food into you first, mister, because the next time we … tango,” she teased, “you’ll need all the strength you can get.”

“Promises, promises.”

She waggled her brows as she ambled to the stove. “I am a woman of many talents.”

“You’re also limping.” And just like that the playful moment was gone.

“It’s nothing.”

“Let me see.”

“Devlin…” She broke off as he knelt, grabbed her foot, and rolled down her sock.

“It’s just a little swollen,” she said of her ankle.

“And bruised.”

Because of the force of the impact when she’d collided with the trunk. A freak accident that still blew her mind. “I’ll live.” Speaking of freaky things … “Do you know anything about dream animals?”

“What?”

“When I was in the woods, I thought I saw a moose; then again it could have been a hallucination.”

“Plenty of moose inhabit Thrush and the surrounding area,” he said as he rolled her sock back up.

“So maybe he
was
real. Still, he inspired these … visions.”

Devlin regarded her with a raised brow.

Since she wasn’t ready to talk about marriage, babies, and her plans for Gemma’s Bakery, she laughed off her ramblings as though they were whimsy. “That’s what a head conk will do to you. Do me a favor and open up that soup, please.”

“How’s your head?” he asked while pushing aside her hair and inspecting the bump.

“Honestly.”

“Chloe.”

“All right. It’s throbbing a little. And my chest…”

“What?”

“I think it’s because I hit the steering wheel so hard when I crashed. No air bag.”

He unbuttoned the top three buttons of the flannel shirt and pulled it wide. “Jesus.”

“What?” She looked down but couldn’t really see.

“You’re bruised.”

“Is that all?”

“You’re getting a head-to-toe checkup when we get to the hospital tomorrow.”

“Fine. Can we have supper now? I’m starving.”

He shook his head, rebuttoned her shirt. “Luke was right about you. Sweet city girl by circumstance, tough country girl at heart.”

She knew Luke was a player; still … “What a sweet thing to say.”

“In case you haven’t noticed, my brother’s enamored with you.”

“According to Daisy, Luke’s enamored with most women.”

“In your case,” Devlin said, brushing a kiss over her lips, “his appreciation is justified.”

Her heart swelled as Devlin eased away to open the can of soup, then the canned bread. Chest fluttering with joy and contentment, Chloe adjusted the heat on the stovetop as well as the oven. She poured the soup into a pot, asking Devlin to search the cabinet for spices. They worked in tandem, her lip twitching when he mocked a wince while slicing up the summer sausage. After arranging their appetizers on a plate, he popped the tops of two beers and passed one to her.

She sipped and stirred the aromatic soup.

He sipped and moved in behind her, wrapping a possessive arm around her waist. “I could get used to this,” he said, nuzzling her ear.

Taking that as her cue to give up at least a hint of her true feelings, she snuggled back against him. “So could I.”

THIRTY-FIVE

Silk. No,
feathers.

And velvet.

Devlin stirred from a heavy sleep.

Chloe.

She was straddling his body, teasing his chest with whisper-soft kisses. Her long, soft hair tickling his skin as she worked her way down his torso. Sweet torture.

“Good morning,” she said in between playful nips.

“I’ll say.”

She continued working her way south—lips, tongue, teeth.

Judas Priest, if she put her sexy mouth around him, he’d lose it before they even got started. Shifting, he clasped her arms and deftly maneuvered her beneath him. Now he was on top. Brushing tender kisses over her bruised collarbone, suckling her breasts. She moaned and arched as he worked his way lower, intent on making her come with his mouth. He loved her scent, her taste, her passionate response to his touch. The need to vanquish her memories of ex-lovers, of possessing her body and soul, resonated with raw intensity.