Just One Taste (4 page)

H
oly Mother of God
. It had been one thing when he’d snuck in and kissed her a little while ago, kind of like a stealth attack. He hadn’t asked permission, too afraid she’d say no.

Not that there was one thing wrong with that earlier kiss, aside from its brevity—the hairs on his neck were still waving and other parts of him were distinctly alert. Carting her around for what seemed like a couple of miles had done nothing to calm him down, either.

But now
she
was kissing
him
, and Will almost fell over in surprise. His hands hit the hood and he held himself up by sheer will.

Sheer will. Ha. He’d cracked a joke that no one would ever hear.

She was nibbling in a kind of tentative way, as if she wasn’t sure he’d like it. Hell, he liked it too much, and returned a gentle parry of his own. Her hands were loosely locked around the back of his head keeping him still, not that he wanted to go anywhere.

She tasted…fresh. Sweet. The kiss reminded him of when he was young and fumbling but thought he was studly—there was an innocence to it that belied the fact that both of them were pushing thirty. Will had done his share of kissing, and she’d been
married
—but this may as well have been the first kiss ever in the history of the world.

He opened his eyes to find hers were closed, her lashes flicking. She had a stripe of brown shadow on her lids to match her brown eyes, but not too much make-up. Everything about Alexandra Elliot Russell was subtle. Proper. In the best of taste.

Including this kiss. Will wondered what Alex would be like when she wasn’t so proper, when her hair was tangled, her cheeks flushed. What she would look like when he was so deep inside her—

He shut his eyes. Down, boy. Way down. Talk about getting carried away. According to her, this wasn’t even a date.

Did she go around kissing guys she wasn’t dating at the drop of a hat? Will didn’t think so. She’d been a little skittish. You didn’t get divorced without a lot of hurt and shit involved.

Her ex-husband must be an idiot, but then, so was he. There was no point to thinking this kiss meant anything more than she was grateful for not getting her feet dirty.

She made a noise as her tongue swept into his cheek. Kind of a squeaky groan. He could feel her tremble. Will’s groin tightened and he knew he was in trouble.

He was pretty sure she was enjoying this as much as he was, and he was enjoying it a lot. So much so that he couldn’t remember the last time he kissed anybody and wanted to spread them out on the hood of a car and fu—

His brain stopped. That wasn’t the right word to use around the princess at all, even if she couldn’t read his mind.

He wasn’t an impulsive guy—he couldn’t afford to be. Work had come first for so long he’d almost forgotten how to talk to a woman. Not that he was talking now. He had much better uses for his teeth and tongue.

She made that noise again, and he growled back at her. Her nails raked his scalp and he growled again.

Could they do it in her car? No, his truck was better. Much more room. He had wishful-thinking condoms in the glove compartment. Jeez, he hadn’t screwed a girl in a vehicle since community college, and that hadn’t gone all that well.

Suddenly her hands were on his chest and she was pushing him away.

Screw was nicer than fuck, wasn’t it? Maybe she knew what he was thinking after all.

He didn’t want to stop, but he did. Because even though he was feeling like an animal at the moment—a healthy, horny, highly functioning animal—he was a gentleman. He’d said so.

She was breathless, her eyes wide with a kind of deer in the headlights look.

“I need—I need to go home.”

No, that wasn’t what she needed. It certainly wasn’t what
he
needed.

“Okay.” His voice broke and he sounded like he was thirteen again.

“Th-thank you for getting me to my car.” She slid down the hood, and her bare feet hit the ground.

He touched her arm. “My pleasure. Do you want me to follow you home?”

“Don’t be silly. I’m fine. I think I have sneakers in my trunk.”

Sneakers? What the hell was she talking about?

“Huh?”

“Driving barefoot is illegal,” she said as she popped the trunk.

“Urban legend.”

She looked up in doubt. Her lips were pink and swollen and he wanted to get at them again.

“Really. Look, I’ll Google.” Will pulled out his phone and tapped out his query while she rummaged around in the trunk. “Here. See?”

She’d stuffed her foot into one mangy looking Nike and hopped over. “Legal but not recommended. I’ve had enough car trouble for one day. All I need is for my foot to slip off the brake.”

“One of my brothers-in-law is a cop. I can get you out of a ticket.” Will had never asked, but there was always a first time. He might have to give Mike his Patriots tickets, and then his sisters would kill him. They had all chipped in last Christmas to get him seats for three home games. Kelly, Jen and Katie loved their little brother now that he was bigger than all three of them put together.

“That wouldn’t be right. And you shouldn’t go around bragging about stuff like that. You’ll both get in trouble.”

“Little Miss Goody Two-Shoes.” He handed her the other sneaker. “Goody One-Shoe.”

Her fire engine-red toes disappeared into it. He noted there were no laces. “I can’t help it. I’ve always been a rule-follower.”

“Yeah. I remember.” Alexandra Elliot had been a virgin all the way through high school. Untouchable even as she was cartwheeling across the football field showing off her cheerleader panties. None of the boneheads Will had known had ever been able to make any inroads with her at all, and he, of course, had never tried. She lived in a friggin’ colonial mansion, for Chrissake.

And apparently still did.

“I’ll feel better if I see you home. Your car might not be safe after today’s little incident.” That headlight looked ready to go any second.

“It’s—oh, all right,” she relented. “If it’s not too much out of your way.”

His new house wasn’t all that far from hers distance-wise, but no one would be coming through his on a fundraising tour for a few years yet.

“I’m practically your neighbor.” He looked down at her. “Call me if you need to. Like with the adjustor. Or anything.”

“O-okay. Thanks for an…interesting evening.” She gave him a rueful smile.

He watched her as she buckled her seatbelt, then hopped back into his truck and started it up. She was a slow driver, almost too slow, and Will drummed his fingers on the steering wheel.

The streets were pretty deserted. Stop lights through Norwich were flashing yellow, and soon they were rolling through the richest and oldest part of town. Original pre-Revolutionary war homes surrounded the green, their windows dark. Just like contractors, lawyers and doctors had to get up early to make their money.

Will followed Alex down a winding country road studded with McMansions until she turned right onto a narrow unmarked road. The Elliot driveway, actually. Old-fashioned brass lanterns were blazing at every door, illuminating the enormous dark red house and the stone pathways. The night air was scented with lilacs that hugged the kitchen ell, and Will felt like he’d stepped into a
Country Living
magazine shot.

She pulled in front of an equally well-lit three-car saltbox garage, a modern addition to the property where a carriage house or barn might once have stood. Should he get out and try for another kiss?

He was prevented from making his move when Mrs. Elliot opened the front door and stepped out onto the path. She was still dressed, in slacks and a sweater. Probably cashmere.

“What’s going on?” He could feel her glare through Detroit’s best shatterproof windshield.

Alex tripped out of her car. “Nothing, Mom. A friend just seeing I got home safe and sound.” She smiled and waved, and Will knew what he was supposed to do.

Fuck that.

He climbed out of the truck, feeling his blazer strain against his shoulders. “Good evening, Mrs. Elliot. Will Garrity.” He stuck out his hand.

Mrs. Elliot looked as if he were passing her a dead fish, but was polite enough to take it. Her gold charm bracelets jangled as Will gripped and shook.

“Garrity.” She squinted at the advertising panel on his truck. “I think your father did some work for me once.”

“He’s retired now. I inherited the business.”

And the bills.

“How nice for you. Alexandra, it’s dreadfully late. I was worried.”

“Sorry, Mom. I would have called, but my cell is charging.”

“I know. I saw it in your room.”

Creepy that her mother snooped around in Alex’s room at this stage of the game. Will’s mother was a snoop too, but she knew better than to go into his bedroom, thank God.

“Thanks for following me home, Will,” Alex said quickly. It was crystal clear she wanted him gone.

“No problem. Maybe I’ll run into you at Ms. Lassiter’s.” His words meant to tease, to recapture what they’d had between them for such a short time under the parking lot light.

“Aha! So
you’re
the one,” Mrs. Elliot said. “You crashed into Alexandra’s car today! Alexandra, what are you thinking? What if he intends to sue us?”

“I’m not suing anyone, ma’am,” Will said, irritated. “Alex is a friend.”

“Alex
andra
,” they both said at once.

“Right. Well, maybe not that
good
a friend. Good night, ladies. Enjoy the rest of your evening.”

Will tamped down his desire to peel out of the driveway. He was an adult. Owned his own business. Had nothing to be ashamed of, as long as his sisters never spilled the family beans. Nobody needed to know about that time he called a psychic on a 1-900 hotline or any of the other stupid shit he’d done when he was a kid. He wasn’t going to let some snotty bitch make him feel bad.

Not Alex
andra
. Her mother, on the other hand, was a piece of work. Definitely not mother-in-law material.

Ah, hell. Will was about to step off the deep end.

M
ay

I
t had been
a busy two weeks. Kind of scary, actually. Alexandra had hired and trained her Chico’s replacement, TiVoed all the news programs and watched them at midnight, visited all four television stations and had a notebook crammed with measurements and information. She was old-school, had to have notes on paper instead of punched into her phone. She had story-boarded everything, making collages that the anchors could inspect and touch, with magazine cut-outs, fabric samples and her own sketches. Being a visual person herself, Alexandra wanted them to see what she had in mind, and gather any input or objections they had.

As expected, Phil Andriotti had been the least cooperative, calling her Alex on purpose after being asked not to and being generally cantankerous. He was old-school too, and had contempt for the blown-dry airheads who made up most of contemporary media personalities.

Tonya Lassiter’s employees were by and large exceptions to these current standards—they considered themselves serious journalists. But in Alexandra’s opinion, everyone enjoyed looking good, especially if thousands of people were watching them every night. Who wanted to get email complaining about bad hair, unplucked eyebrows and ugly ties? Alexandra didn’t hold out much hope to get Phil to the barber to do something about the caterpillars over his rheumy eyes, but maybe she could bribe him with a year’s supply of Brylcreem. Did they even still make it? Phil was not a modern mousse kind of guy.

She had ideas about the sets too—some inexpensive tweaks were certainly in order. It had been pretty fascinating watching the anchors get ready to go on air, and she had come up with ways to streamline that process. Ms. Lassiter—Tonya, as she insisted—seemed pleased so far and Alexandra kept her fingers crossed she’d keep the job past the six month trial period and be recommended for others.

And, best of all, she had seen Will a couple of times. Was seeing him tonight. Not dates, exactly, and he hadn’t tried to kiss her either time, damn it.

The first encounter had been accidental, even though he’d been texting her for a few days. Silly, light-hearted stuff, links to fashion articles he said he’d actually read.

As if.

She’d shared a bagel and coffee with him on the tailgate of his truck a couple of days after their meet-up for drinks. She had to confess, she had been a little disappointed when she arrived for a quick early meeting with Tonya that Will was not around. Thank God she didn’t crash into him again on the lane leaving when he came around the bend after his coffee run. He’d pulled over fast and offered to share his Dunkin Donuts bounty, to hell with his crew—they could drink lukewarm brew. Will had tossed a plaid blanket on the tailgate and they’d spent twenty minutes talking about nothing much. It had been…pretty nice.

The second time, he’d texted her to help him pick out a birthday present for his Realtor sister Kelly. Alexandra was quite sure he didn’t really need any help, but they’d cruised around T.J. Maxx on a Tuesday night like a real couple, bickering over scarves and discounted designer handbags. Alexandra loved shopping for other people, since she didn’t have the cash to shop for herself. She’d convinced Will to buy a scarf
and
a handbag, and looped the pretty pastel striped scarf around the bag’s handles for the perfect spring touch.

He’d actually called her about tonight. Sounded a little nervous too.

Good. So was she.

Emma was already asleep, so that was one less thing to feel guilty over about going out. But her mother had given her the third degree. Will Garrity certainly was not in her crowd in high school. What did she know about his family? Had he been married? Was his business successful in this economy?

Alexandra had assured her mother that going out with Will was no big deal. It was time—long past time—she moved on after Rick. Why shouldn’t she have some fun? God knows, she hadn’t had any for a really long time.

Rick Russell couldn’t say the same. It hadn’t taken him long to find another naïve idiot. He and his new bride were in Florida where he was probably fleecing more investors in his new financial planning company. Ha, that was rich, a man who had declared bankruptcy had the chance to do screw over a fresh set of suckers.

Alexandra was glad he was so far away, even if it meant Emma didn’t see her father. Especially because he didn’t see her. At least her daughter would not be let down by empty promises.

It was a struggle for Alexandra to speak positively of her ex to her child; sometimes, she thought with uncharacteristic viciousness, it might have been better if Rick was dead or in jail, where he belonged. But Emma seemed happy enough with the occasional card and coloring book in the mail, even if Rick’s fluffy new wife was probably responsible for sending them.

Alexandra checked her reflection in the antique mirror. It was going blind and needed to be resilvered, but she looked okay. Skinny jeans, sparkly ballet flats, a pink twin set and pearls. Traditional with a twist. She wore her hair down, because in all those romance novels she read, the heroes were always itching to remove the heroine’s hairpins and release the curls.

Alexandra had no curls, but her hair when loose reached past her shoulders. She kept it out of her face for work, but now she was playing. She’d taken a bath and slathered herself with scented cream.

In case.

Her whole body was pinging, as if she’d had champagne instead of a glass of ice water while she was getting ready.

Will was taking her out for a late dinner. Nothing fancy, he’d said, which suited her. For two weeks she’d been dressed to the nines in heels and suits and been on her best behavior. Tonight she was hoping to relax and get to know Will better.

Maybe kiss him again, too.

She’d had dreams about the parking garage kiss—hot, wet, squirmy dreams where she woke up writhing on her mattress. She had been shameless that night, and it had felt really great, if unfamiliar. Alexandra had never been the kind of girl who hooked up on the hood of a car—or even inside one—but Will Garrity made her consider throwing her automobile inhibitions to the wind.

Wait. She’d sworn off men. She was far too busy to nurture a relationship. She had a new job, a daughter, her parents to think of. Even if her father didn’t recognize her half the time, she still wanted to spend time with him.

No, now was not an optimal time for her to have a dalliance. Dalliance—a word her old English teacher Mrs. Macht might have smiled at. What else could it be with Will? They were, like the historical romance books said, “chalk and cheese,” complete opposites.

Alexandra could not understand the derivation of the phrase. Was it because chalk could look like cheese? Doubtful—that didn’t make any sense at all. She would have to Google.

But she didn’t have time now. She reached for her Juicy Tube and smoothed the sheer color over her lips. Perfect. She grabbed her red Coach clutch even if it clashed with the pink, checked on Emma who was zonked out after preschool and a playdate, and hurried down the stairs, car keys jingling.

Her mother was waiting for her in the kitchen. “He’s not picking you up?” It was clear she didn’t approve.

“My idea, Mom. I don’t like to depend on anyone to get home. This way, if the evening goes south, I’m outta there.” Not that she expected that to happen.

She wouldn’t let it happen.

“Things have changed since my day.” Her mother had grown up with white gloves and hats for church, panty girdles, and pointy bras. Change was for the better, in Alexandra’s opinion, at least sartorially.

“We’re not kids. He doesn’t have to meet the Fockers.”

“Don’t be vulgar.”

“It’s a
movie
, Mom. Blythe Danner’s in it. You like her.” Hell, her mother
looked
like Blythe Danner, all pale hair and propriety. “I won’t be late. Please don’t wait up.”

“You know I can’t sleep when you’re not home.”

“I’m not in high school, Mom. You slept all those years I was married to Rick, didn’t you?”

“That was different. You had a house of your own.”

And, God willing, might have one again. Or at least a cute rented condo somewhere.

“Kiss Dad good night for me,” Alexandra said softly. “And don’t stay up to watch The Tonight Show. You know you’ll be sorry tomorrow morning.”

“That Jimmy Fallon is so cute,” her mother said, smiling. “Now
there’s
someone who’s worthy of you.”

“He’s married and has two babies! Anyway, I’m not looking for someone serious. Been there, done that, have the divorce papers to prove it.”

Elizabeth Elliot stretched her hand out. “We were all deceived by Rick. Don’t let your unfortunate experience sour you against marriage. Nothing in life is ever perfect or guaranteed, but you manage. I don’t regret a single minute with your father, not even now.”

Alexandra swallowed the lump in her throat. They’d all had to make adjustments, especially her mother. She had once been the unofficial queen of Norwich society, such as it was, and now she was changing her husband’s adult diapers.

Impulsively, Alexandra hugged her mother, feeling the woman stiffen beneath her arms. Elizabeth Elliot didn’t like to be mussed or smudged, and only made allowances when she was playing with her granddaughter.

“Thanks, Mom. For everything. I know things have been pretty horrible.”

“It’s helped having you home,” her mother said, extricating herself from the embrace. “Emma is a true joy. Now, go. Have fun, but not too much.”

Act like a lady. The words were unspoken, yet her mother had drilled them into Alexandra daily before she was Emma’s age.
Yike a yady
, little Alexandra would repeat, causing both her parents to laugh.

Trouble was, grown-up Alexandra was tired of being ladylike.

Lucky Will Garrity.