Love Letters, Inc. (10 page)

Rosie, now able to turn her head without swiveling her upper body, kept stealing peeks at him, admiring his knuckles; one set curved around the phone, the other on the steering wheel. She studied how he compressed his lips on one side of his mouth when he was thinking. She noticed how decisively he drove, the way he dipped his head to look in the rear view mirror instead of adjusting it. She noticed everything she could and imagined the rest.

She wondered if he could hear the sigh curling around her heart and nudging her stomach, if he could sense her difficulty in drawing all but the shallowest of breaths? Rosie couldn't remember this kind of wanting. Ever.

In less than forty minutes they were pulling into her yard, and in that same time Rosie's imagination had them upstairs tangled in her country-rose sheets. With no trouble at all, she'd cranked the heat from simmer to pre-boil.

Rosie hesitated, but only for half a nanosecond, then said, "Want to come in for awhile?" Her mouth was dry and her heart pounded like a drum. Every wayward nerve in her body jangled.

Kent turned his full attention on her. He was reading her mind, she just knew it. She forced a smile.

Then Summerton made the perfect move.

He glanced at his watch.

The hot tide of passion engulfing Rosie seemed to disappear. Lady Brain took over in one big hurry.

Rosie exhaled the remainder of her self-manufactured heat, and said, "Then again, maybe not. I'm tired. I think I'll just go in and stretch out."

Kent turned the car off and, one arm draped over the steering wheel, turned to study her, his gaze thoughtful. Finally, he nodded. "Good idea. I've got a dinner meeting. We wouldn't have nearly enough time to do it right."

"Do what right?" She had no doubt his "it" and her "it" were two different species.

Summerton smiled. "Make love. That is what's on your mind, isn't it?"

"Excuse me?" Haughty. She needed to be haughty here. She gave it her best shot, and figured she carried it off.

Kent tilted his head but didn't move. "Come here, Red. That brace isn't going to stop me."

She looked at him, his gaze set on her as if she were a chocolate cake and he was icing. The man was a macho, arrogant, smug, overconfident, presumptuous, egotistical—

"Red?"

"Do you have any idea how outraged I am?"

He didn't shift a bone or stretch a sinew. He just sat and waited.

"You really, honestly think I'm going to fall into your arms like a needy, sex-deprived female who hasn't a brain in her head?"

"A guy can hope."

She didn't intend to laugh. She truly didn't. The damn sound just came out of her mouth. She tried to smother her laugh with a cough. It didn't work.

Kent moved toward her, ran a finger down her arm, his grin gone. "I'm the needy one here, Rosie," he said, his voice low and serious.

She shot him a glance.

He tugged on her arm, not a demand, a request.

Hormone accepted on her behalf.

He pulled her close, gently, and moved his mouth over hers in a kiss so soft it was invisible, except to her heart. He pulled his head back, looked down at her and stroked a thumb across her lower lip. "This is getting serious, you know. Eating home-cooked meals together. Working together. Going to the doctor together." One corner of his mouth quirked up. "Putting our mouths together."

"It's not serious, Summerton. Trust me on that." Why didn't the man get on with it and kiss her? Really kiss her. He was making her crazy. Her chest felt as though someone was in there inflating a balloon. Her vision was blurred, except for Kent's face, which was in perfect focus. Her mind she kept closed. She didn't want to hear about getting serious.

He touched her lips again, then replaced his thumb with his mouth. Then he turned up the heat. Rosie had never felt lips like Kent's, firm and gentle, cool and heat-streaked, taking and giving. Her hands splayed across the muscles of his chest then, when his tongue touched hers, clutched the cotton of his shirt. She heard him groan, felt the beat of his heart against her knuckles, then her own against the back of her hand, before sliding her arms around his neck. Oh, yes, those tangled sheets were definitely in the works. His hand rested just under her breast, and she shifted, wanting him to cup her fully. Wanting more than that.

"Rosie?" Kent shuddered, and a rush of breath warmed her throat. He gripped her shoulders, set her back from him. "Can we take this up later?" he said, his breath ragged, his eyes hot.

She blinked, tried to focus. What was he saying? Something about later? She blinked again.

"Rosie, I've got to go. I've got a date, and the lady is special."

The word
date,
coupled with
lady,
got her full attention.

Still holding her, he leaned his forehead against hers. "I don't want to go, I
have
to go."

With her new neckwear, she could lift her chin, so she did. "You're a piece of work, Summerton, you really are. First, you kiss me senseless, and in the next breath you tell me you have a date. A damned date, for heaven's sake."

"Did I really?"

"Really, what?" she grumped, stuffing her feet in her shoes and trying to remember when they came off.

"Kiss you senseless?"

She rolled her eyes. "Now the man wants a testimonial."

He laughed. "It's my mother, O'Hanlon. I've got a date with my mother. Can I be excused?"

"Your mother?"

He leaned back but continued to run a finger lazily up and down her forearm. "Every year my family gets together for a barbecue. It's a rotating host arrangement, and this year it's my turn. Mother's determined to hover this year. Ensure that I do my bit, even though the Beachline staff will be doing the work for me." He continued to play with her hair. "It's a week from Saturday. Will you come?"

"To the barbecue?"

He nodded.

"With you?"

He nodded again.

"Sounds like a date to me." This last she said more to herself than to Kent, turning his question over in her mind as if it were a beach rock, fully expecting to find some unsavory creature lurking beneath with teeth at the ready. She tugged at her hair, but as usual common sense was AWOL.

"Come with me," he urged.

"What about my kids?"

"What kids?"

"The ones I told you about. I haven't changed my mind. I want a big—make that very big—family."

"I asked you to come to a barbecue, Rosie, not a sterilization clinic."

"You asked me to meet your mother, Summerton. There are those of us of the female persuasion who might read something into that." That ought to put the run on him.

"True," he said. "But you're not one of them, so I have nothing to worry about."

He smiled then, lifted his wrist, and again looked at his watch, shaking his head regretfully. "Speaking of mothers, if I know mine, she's already waiting in my office." He leaned forward and brushed his lips across hers. "Then again, maybe Marlene can entertain her awhile longer."

When he reached for her, Rosie reached for her bag, then opened the car door. "Good boys don't keep their moms waiting."

She was half out of the car when she heard him say, "I think I've been a good boy long enough."

She was nearly to her front door when she heard him yell from the car window. "Rosie! Will you come to the barbecue?"

She turned. "I'll think about it, but that doesn't mean I want to have sex with you, Summerton." Now why on earth did she say that? Doctor Winters should do her a favor and put a few screws in her mouth.

He grinned and waved. "I'll take that as a yes—on both counts."

* * *

Kent listened intently to his mother's plan for the Summerton family barbecue. It was obvious she wasn't leaving much of the planning or organizing up to him. She'd made up notes for him, for God's sake. After her in-depth review of them, she shoved them across his desk.

"You won't forget Uncle Albert is on a special diet—" she gestured with her head toward the list in his hand "—and Evie and George aren't eating meat?"

"I got it. And you're sure everyone—absolutely
everyone
is coming?"

She beamed. "Not a no-show in the bunch."

Kent matched her smile. "Let's see then, including uncles, aunts, cousins, and assorted others. That makes sixty-eight adults and—" his smile widened "—forty kids between the ages of one and thirteen."

"Forty-one, if you count Josh."

"Josh?" Kent said vacantly, knowing he was losing track, At the rate his family was reproducing he needed a running spreadsheet to keep track.

"Claire and Jimmy's latest?"

"I thought they called him Joe."

"They changed their minds."

"Ah," was about all he could say to that. "I think we can leave baby Josh out of the count. But if you think of anything else, call and I'll make sure the club takes care of it." This was one occasion when Kent was damn glad he managed a resort with a large outdoor entertainment area. Anything less than a golf course would be seriously inadequate.

Mary Summerton, who'd been sitting in the seat on the other side of Kent's desk, stood to go. "That's it then, love. I've got to run. Your father's at Mike's helping him build a barbecue pit, and I'm supposed to meet him there. We're going out to dinner."

Kent stood and walked around his desk to where she stood. "I'm disappointed. I was hoping we could have dinner together. Mike has all the luck." He smiled. Mike was one of Kent's four brothers.

She looked surprised. "Why didn't you say something, dear? I would have loved that. I just assumed you'd be too busy."

"And I assumed you'd be available." He kissed her forehead, genuinely regretful. It occurred to him he hadn't sat down and talked with either of his parents in a long time. He missed it. "Looks like we were both wrong. Next time then."

"Absolutely." She hugged him. "And if you need anymore help with the reunion, you let me know."

"It may never be the same after its first Summerton invasion, but I'm sure Beachline will handle it."

She gave him a speculative look. "You're surprisingly obliging about all this, Kent. Is there something I'm missing here?"

"Uh-uh. Just doing my bit for the Summerton clan." And preparing to show a certain woman what having a too-large family is really all about. If seeing forty wild kids and their frazzled relatives and parents in action didn't do it, nothing would.

His mother eyed him with a glint of speculation. "You're bringing someone, aren't you?"

Kent felt his jaw loosen. He'd forgotten his mother's uncanny ability to read his mind—along with those of his four brothers and five sisters.

He wouldn't lie to her. "Yes—" he said, breaking off when her smile threatened to encompass her entire face. He held up his hands. "But it's not anything serious, so don't start booking the hall." He kissed her again and opened his office door. "Have a nice dinner, Mom."

She was still smiling when she turned to wave good-bye. Mothers were incorrigible romantics. A guy might as well accept it. And he wasn't sure he was telling the whole truth. Something was "serious" between O'Hanlon and him, or at least could be if the woman could be brought around to thinking in terms of an adult relationship instead of a kindergarten.

Something in his gut—and lower—wanted to pursue
something
with Rosie, but the bare truth was she was right about his attitude toward having a houseful of kids. His own house had shook, bulged, and groaned under the stress. The youngest of the bunch, he'd envied his friends their orderly dinner tables, their own rooms, their privacy. As the last one in, he'd been the Johnny-come-lately, the runt nudged constantly toward the pack. He didn't blame his parents. They were the best, but by the time he showed up, the crowd around them was so big he was lost in it. Chaos ruled.

Rosie had no idea what she was in for, but if he could show her, she might do a one-eighty. He had to hope, because he was smart enough to know you didn't mess with maternal instinct. If Rosie didn't adjust her own thinking, he sure as hell wasn't going to try and argue her into it—or let himself get further involved.

* * *

Rosie woke with a start. When her eyes popped open, she closed them quickly, determined to hold the remnants of her dream behind her eyelids. Not a dream really. A realization. Yesterday, at Beachline, she'd heard a familiar voice. Gardenia's voice. She was sure of it. In her dream the voice had a face, but now, no matter how she tried to hold it, the dream was escaping her. The face was gone and the voice was fading.

She lined up the Beachline staff she'd met in her head. Marlene, Susan, Mae, and what's-her-name in the pro shop. She scrunched her brow and tugged hard at the tail end of the dream. Her eyelids started to hurt.

Useless. It was useless.

She sat up and opened her eyes, letting the last of the dream drift away. She threw back the covers and sat on the edge of the bed.

For now she'd leave it alone. No sense calling Kent and alarming him about his staff. It was only a dream, after all. But at least now she had a plan B. If her letter to Gardenia didn't work, she'd spend more time around Beachline.
If
Gardenia did work there, she'd identify the voice and that would be that. She pushed up from the bed and stretched, then poked at the seemingly dead dog stretched out beside her bed. He groaned a complaint.

"Up, you useless hound," she said, scratching his ear. "We've got work to do, and we're going underground to do it."

She had bills to pay, and a manual to compose. For the next week or so, she wasn't going to think about Gardenia, dreams, barbecues, or Kent Summerton.

The Summerton family barbecue.
She could just imagine it. A half dozen people eating filet mignon on the Beachline patio, while insects fried themselves on the bug light. She probably wouldn't go, but of course she couldn't be sure.

When it came to Kent Summerton, she seemed to be doing a lot of things she hadn't planned on doing.

He shouldn't have kissed her. It wasn't fair. She couldn't think rationally when he kissed her. But then, she didn't think rationally most of the time. Except about filling her life with kids. That wasn't a whim. It was her calling, a vocation, a primal and wondrous need. And no one—not even Summerton with his hot, passionate kisses—was going to mess with it.