Have Bouquet, Need Boyfriend (11 page)

and her glasses, a picture of innocence and youth. But his heart tugged

slightly at the sadness in her smile. Her father looked big and burly

next to her, a powerful figure for such a dainty little child. He had

his arm around both girls but his smile seemed aimed toward Suzanne.

“My loft isn’t very big,” Rebecca said, “but I like it here.”

“It’s cozy,” he said. “A real home.”

The very opposite of his showy, modern house.

And what were those delicious smells? Brownies? Apples and cinnamon

maybe? It felt as if he’d just stepped into his grandmother’s house.

Except Rebecca did not remind him of his grandmother in any way. Maybe

the glasses, but behind those wire rims lay the sexiest blue eyes he’d

ever seen.

Since when had he associated the word sexy with Rebecca?

Sweet, attractive, maybe, but sexy?

“My studio’s in the spare room. It’s small, too, but the lighting is good.”

He passed the adjoining kitchen, then another room, which was obviously

Rebecca’s bedroom. A handmade quilt topped an antique white iron bed

with dozens of pillows piled near the headboard.

He tried not to imagine Rebecca in that bed, but the image floated to

him anyway. Her lounging against the pillows, looking at him with hunger

in her eyes.

Thankfully, she couldn’t tell his mind was wandering. In fact, she’d

practically flown past the room and was already standing in the doorway

of the studio. Small was right. The studio would only fill half of the

walk-in closet in his master suite, but natural light spilled in through

a skylight, and the ten-foot ceiling added dimension. The vibrant

paintings on the walls and the canvases in process took the wind from

his lungs and breathed life into the room.

“Oh, my God, these are beautiful.”

Rebecca’s face broke out into a smile. “You really like them?”

His eyes were glued to the mountainside with day lilies and blue and

purple flowers dotting the carpet of green grass. The wide sweeping lush

forest rose beyond, and a gazebo draped in red roses sat perched on the

edge of the mountainside overlooking the valley. “That’s the most

exquisite place I’ve ever seen.”

“It’s my grandmother’s house.”

“Where Alison and Brady got married?”

“Yes.” Rebecca turned to him. “I hope it’s not too painful for you.”

It took him a minute for the implication to sink in. Did she think he

still harbored feelings for her cousin? “I’m happy for Alison,” he said

truthfully. “I realized that we were just good friends.”

“Oh.”

“And I meant that the painting is beautiful, Rebecca. I’m not much of an

art expert, but any fool can see you captured the essence of the mood of

the place in its natural state.” His gaze swept the other canvases, the

tulip garden, the rock walkway surrounding it, another raw piece of an

old clapboard house with an ancient well. “You’re very talented.”

She fidgeted with a paintbrush on the easel next to her. “I enjoy it.”

He met her gaze. “It shows.” Every line, every

stroke of the brush, her attention to detail all hinted at the inner

woman. The vibrant colors and hues radiated warmth, energy and a passion

for life, yet he detected an underlying sensitivity steeped with emotion.

His gaze fell to her slender hands, and he imagined her stroking the

brush across the canvas, immersed in the mood of the moment. Then an

image of her stroking those long nimble fingers across the bare expanse

of his chest flashed into his mind, and his heart began to pound.

If she put that much feeling into her art, what would making love to her

be like?

Thomas tried his best to shake off the thought and dragged his gaze from

her paintings to her face. A big mistake. His praise earned a radiant

smile. Pink rosebud lips turned up like the budding petals of a rose

opening to the sun, beckoning for his touch. He stared at her mouth for

a hungry moment, watched as her gaze fastened onto his lips. His mouth

parted involuntarily. The heartbeat of silence between them stretched

into an eternity. Her tongue flicked out to wet her lips, and he nearly

groaned out loud at the tiny, sultry movement. His body hardened in

response. He wanted to taste her. To trace that trembling pulse at the

base of her throat where desire sprang to life. To have her whisper his

name in that sweet throaty voice and open up to him.

Good heavens, what was he doing?

He’d toasted her as a friend earlier, and that was all he wanted.

Friendship and her connection to her father.

“You really should show these,” he said, surprised that his voice worked

at all when his brain had taken a disastrous detour into lustful

fantasies. Like how Rebecca

would look lying in his arms beneath the skylight with only moonlight

spilling over her body. Like that rosebud ready to bloom with those

petals coming alive for him….

Her smile faded slightly, and she folded her arms beneath her breasts.

“No. I paint just for myself and my family.”

“And friends.”

She blushed again. “I’ve never done that before.”

So he was her first.

A quiver of longing snaked through him again, more intense this time.

Would he be her first in other ways, too?

Shaken by that thought, he was grateful when the phone rang. She jerked

as if surprised, then stepped over to the end table and looked at the

caller ID. She let it ring once, twice.

“Aren’t you going to answer it?”

She nodded and picked it up. “Hello, Suzanne.”

Girls. They’d probably talk forever. He pounced on the opportunity and

decided to leave before he did anything stupid.

But they had had such a nice evening, he didn’t want to be rude. So he

moved closer to her, then lifted a strand of her silky hair from her

neck and whispered, “Thanks for having dinner with me. I had a great

time. I’ll call you tomorrow.” Then without analyzing why or what he was

doing, he brushed a gentle kiss to the hollow of her throat.

At the feel of Thomas’s lips on her neck, Rebecca quivered with longing

that arose from somewhere deep inside her. Then he disappeared, and she

sank onto the

couch, breathless, wondering why he’d kissed her. And wishing he hadn’t

left.

Had she misinterpreted the look he’d given her earlier? She’d thought

she’d seen hunger in his eyes. For her.

No, it couldn’t be.

He’d said they were friends.

“Rebecca, are you listening?” Suzanne’s voice broke into the haze around

her.

Still, she savored the sensations spiraling through her, memorizing his

masculine scent and the lingering whisper of his kiss. “Yes.”

“Are you all right?”

“Yes, I’m fine.” Attracted to a man who is all wrong for me. I want to

ask him to give me a baby but I don’t have the nerve.

“Like I was saying, Mimi called earlier, and she and Hannah plan to come

to Atlanta on a shopping spree to pick new outfits for the party. I hope

you’re coming with them.”

A shopping trip with all the girls? “I…I don’t know.”

“Oh, come on, Rebecca, don’t be a fuddy-dud. You can use a new wardrobe.”

She glanced down at her loose-fitting dress. “What’s wrong with my clothes?”

Suzanne sighed. “Nothing, if you want people to think you’re an old

school marm.”

“My clothes are comfortable. Besides, I sell books in a small town-“

“That doesn’t mean you have to look like the spinster librarian. Come

on, it’ll be fun.” Suzanne’s voice grew excited. “We’ll get free

makeovers and have

lunch. Oh, and there’s a great lingerie shop we can buy some fancy

underthings, too. You never know when you might be taking your clothes

off for some sexy guy!”

Rebecca faked a laugh. Yeah, right. If only she had that problem to

worry about.

Thomas turned on his treadmill and began to walk, then jog, hoping the

exercise would purge the desire to call Rebecca and hear her voice

again. That stupid kiss had done something to him. His lips had never

tasted skin that actually made him tingle from the inside out.

He had wanted to dip his mouth and taste her lips, then lower down her

neck and beyond….

He adjusted the speed on the machine and sped up until he was sweating.

What was wrong with him?

He’d never been interested in art before, but the passion in those

pictures had aroused him and his curiosity about the woman who had

painted them. They were just landscapes, for God’s sake. It wasn’t as if

she’d painted nudes or erotic love scenes.

Don’t think about the paintings-think about that homey little apartment.

All those antiques and family photos and hand-knitted afghans. Rebecca

was a homebody. She’d obviously settled in Sugar Hill for life.

And he didn’t intend to.

He planned to move on. When he went to Atlanta, he’d find some

sophisticated city woman to keep him company. And if he ever did decide

to open up his heart again, it would be with someone who enjoyed

the same activities he did, hiking and skiing and…and football!

Someone who’d help him in his drive for success.

He picked up the pace and ran until he thought he would collapse. Until

the images of Rebecca lying naked beneath that skylight faded and

reality returned. Images of Rebecca crashing his car and nearly killing

him with her driving replaced the fantasies.

If he allowed himself to care about her, she might break his heart. Or

he’d hurt her and feel like a heel when he moved to Atlanta.

His phone jangled, and he turned off the treadmill, swiped a towel

across his sweating face and reached for it, half hoping to hear

Rebecca’s voice on the other end of the line.

Instead Rachel Lackey’s frantic husband bellowed with worry. “Rachel’s

in labor, Doc. And I think-” his voice broke “-I think something’s wrong.”

Rebecca was certain she wouldn’t need new underwear, but she could

hardly turn down an outing with her cousins and sister without seeming

like a real bore, so she agreed to join them and hung up. She touched

her finger to her neck, where her skin felt hot from Thomas’s lips. It

couldn’t hurt to spruce up herself and her wardrobe. Maybe then she

could summon up the confidence to ask Thomas about her plan.

Except after that near-kiss, maybe she’d forget about in vitro and

consider approaching the baby plan the old-fashioned way. Would she ever

have the nerve to ask Thomas? Would he be interested even if she did?

Her gaze landed on the hope chest. She traced a

finger over the intricate carvings on the silver handle of the comb and

mirror set, then raised the mirror and looked into the antique glass.

What had Thomas thought when he’d looked at her earlier? Did he see a

dowdy-looking spinster or the lonely girl who ached inside for love? For

a man’s touch?

As she placed the mirror in the hope chest, she dragged the handmade

afghan over her, then picked up the book of erotic poetry and stretched

out on her bed. Several passages later the images the words evoked

sprang to life. Bodies entwined. Lovers’ lips meeting and parting.

Tasting. Exploring. Taunting. Seeking.

She picked up her sketchbook, knowing she had to express herself the

only way she knew how. Though she had always blushed and been nervous

when she’d had to sketch nudes in her drawing classes, here in the

privacy of her bedroom, the lines and angles of the man’s body flew from

her fingertips. The mouth, the eyes, the subtle hint of a smile, of

desire. Broad shoulders, muscles defined, a wide chest narrowing to lean

muscular hips. Thick dark hair sprinkled over hard muscular thighs and

calves. She hesitated. Told herself not to continue. To tear up the

sketch and throw it away, just as she should throw away these silly

fantasies.

But her hand disobeyed, and the artist in her continued to sketch, to

fill in the details of his physique. Strong. Defined. Bold.

And when she finished, she stared at the face of the man she’d sketched

and couldn’t believe her eyes. It might have been the best freehand

drawing she’d ever done.