Small Town Girl (33 page)

"Not enough ovens for baking," Amy murmured back, leaning around him. "We could sell chair covers," she suggested.

Flint hadn't a clue what they were discussing. He was desperately attempting to focus on the stage. It looked like the whole damned town had turned out. And all he could think of was the sexy scent emanating from the woman wiggling restlessly at his side. Jo had been jumpier than a hoppy toad ever since she'd told him about her meeting with Elise.

He couldn't say he was resigned to losing his restaurant to pay lawyers. The future looked damned black if he had time to think about it.

Fortunately, he hadn't had two minutes to call his own since the Barn Boys had decided to make Northfork their charity of the year. Announcing they'd organize a "Mill-Aid" concert had turned the town on its head. And shook out all their brains, from the looks of it, Flint concluded.

The future of Northfork's inhabitants looked bleaker than Flint's unless the concert generated a whopping lot of cash. And cash didn't guarantee the court would let the town buy the bankrupt mill. Losing his cafe lost its importance in the sum of the economic catastrophe facing all the unemployed mill families. And still they all enthusiastically turned out to help with the concert.

"Booths along the drive," Jo whispered across him, while up in front the mayor described the events leading up to this town meeting.

"We can use the outside electric lines from the Christmas light display!" Amy cried excitedly, causing a few warning frowns and hushes around them.

To Flint's immense relief, the sisters straightened up and faced forward at whatever decision they'd reached. He was swimming in perfume and frustration and couldn't be responsible for his actions much longer.

He scanned the room to locate his boys in a corner with a group of other kids their age, passing headphones back and forth. He tried not to imagine how many royalties they'd stolen from other musicians with their music habit. One of these days he'd have lots of spare time to investigate their disk and make a list of people he owed.

Not that he could pay anyone back in the foreseeable future.

"The bankruptcy court has agreed to withhold disposition of assets until we have time to gather our resources," the mayor was saying.

Flint knew all this. He'd attended all the Chamber meetings, heard all the arguments. He was more than willing to do his part to help out.

He just didn't see how the town buying the mill would save him or his future.

"With the aid of government grants and loans, the proceeds from the Mill-Aid concert, and a lot of hard work from everyone present, we have a chance to bid on the mill and save our jobs."

A cheer rocked the roof. Everyone in here had heard all of this in one form or another over the past weeks. Flint figured this was more pep rally than town meeting.

"Mama needs to borrow Adam and Johnnie," Jo whispered in his ear.

Her breath against his skin tingled his spine, and he lost what concentration he possessed. "Why?" he growled back.

"Clear out the barn on her place so Ina and the others can set up more cutting tables." She snaked her arm around his and trailed a pink-painted fingernail up the inside of his bare forearm, sizzling his skin. "And to help move all those heavy bolts of fabric."

He hoped she wasn't asking more than her touch was telling him. The kids needed to learn to help others. The exercise would be good for them. But his mind swept straight past those practicalities to other consequences of loaning out his kids. "When does she need them and what will you be doing then?"

Jo's sultry smile warmed all the cold places in Flint's soul, and his inner Neanderthal roared in triumph. He craved Jo more than music.

That thought didn't rock his socks as it ought. He couldn't even blame Jo for wanting a future for herself outside of this town, so he knew he was a desperate man.

"I'd rather be anywhere than at Mama's with all her cackling cronies," she murmured, ignoring the applause around them as the mayor increased the level of his rah-rah speech. "Tonight?"

"Tonight," he agreed without hesitation. He had a list of phone calls to make for the music committee, the lawsuit his lawyer had sent to read through, and bills to pay, but they could all wait. "You'll be at your mother's when I dropoff the boys?"

It was almost five now. Flint figured he could feed them and have them delivered by six if necessary. His pulse was tripping so erratically he'd have a heart attack if getting Jo into bed took any longer.

"I'll be upstairs," she purred, "working on that welcome song for the boys."

She didn't mean his boys. She meant for the Buzzards. Flint scowled at this hitch in his plans. "I don't have time to help you write a song."

It was bad enough suffering through the ignominy of calling up all his old friends and begging them to participate in the concert. It was hell telling everyone he wasn't available for backup. It would be pure damned torture to help Jo write her ticket out of here. He'd been avoiding her place for more reasons than his kids.

"I only need a little inspiration," she murmured. Releasing his arm, she stroked his thigh just as the rest of the crowd stood up and cheered.

A part of Flint stood up and cheered with them, and it had nothing to do with the mayor's call to arms.

As Joella disappeared into the talking, excited crush of people exiting his back room, Flint focused on getting his kids out of here and up the road.

He didn't have music or business on his mind as he rushed them out the door.

Nervously, Jo tucked a stray curl behind her ear and returned to tuning her guitar. Flint had provided her with the sheet music he'd composed for her lyrics. She'd been practicing every chance she had—which was a lot more empty time than she wanted.

He had been so stone-faced and inaccessible these past weeks that she'd backed off to regroup. Everyone was caught up in the excitement of the concert, and multitasking had become a way of life. So it wasn't as if Flint were avoiding her. Or vice versa. They were just overwhelmed and avoiding potential pain.

She understood that. She was as guilty as he was of looking for excuses to steer clear of confrontation. She hadn't agreed to the record company's cash settlement yet. Her family had another few weeks before money ran out. Elise said it was good to make the record executives sweat. If Jo decided to sue instead of settle, the bad publicity might sink the album, so it was better to wait for the album's release to bring in money first.

She simply couldn't stand the frustration any longer. Working side by side with Flint five, sometimes six, days a week, finishing each other's sentences, handing each other the needed tool without asking, laughing and joking together, was just too damned intimate. She was a horny nest of nerves, lust, and uncertainty. She despised uncertainty. She couldn't see love and marriage in their future, so what in heck did they have?

They could at least work out the sex part before they set the cafe on fire. Or the church. Or any other place they came in contact, which was just about the whole town. She'd even run into Flint at the supply store, and it was a wonder they hadn't found a cleaning closet and just had at it that day. Who knew that nails were such a turn-on?

The phone rang, but she continued practicing a chord Flint had written for one of her funnier lines. She loved what he had done with her lyrics. She could actually think of them that way now, as
lyrics
. Not ditties or silly poems, but real songs. She owed him for that. It was because of him that she was brave enough to consider holding out for copyright and not just cash.

The band hit a practice note in the room below. They didn't usually start until seven, but they were scared stiff about playing backup for some of the biggest groups in the country. Even Flint had been infected by the Buzzards' fear and had helped them out a bit. She hoped he wasn't down there now, ignoring her invitation.

The answering machine kicked in and Amy left a message about selling pillows at the concert and another about Friday night's menu. The dinner meals on weekends had been working out well. Flint had paid off part of the new oven, but he still wouldn't order an espresso machine. Jo couldn't blame him. It was far better that he was paying Amy for her efforts.

She heard the tread of heavy boots on her stairs and hastily checked her breath and smoothed her hair. Bare feet tucked under her, she called a cheery greeting at the knock on her door. She prayed she didn't look as nervous as she felt. She wasn't used to being nervous around men.

Flynn Clinton was more man than she'd ever known, in more ways than just the physical. But it was the physical setting her heart racing now.

He entered looking all Johnny Cash broody in his black T-shirt and jeans, with a hank of hair falling in his face. He carried a pint canning jar containing roses he'd stolen from someone's garden. He didn't smile when he saw her, just closed the door behind him and approached the couch with a look that boiled the July-steamy air.

"No songwriting," he insisted, taking the cushion next to her and replacing the guitar on her coffee table with the bouquet.

Jo swallowed at the sight of the gorgeous colors of the roses—yellow and orange and pink and even a lovely silver-purple. Just the rich perfume made her stomach go all weak. He was courting her, in his own inimitable way. Not with fancy jewelry or expensive florist bouquets, but with flowers he'd handpicked with her love of color in mind.

"I've been practicing your songs," she said breathlessly, eyeing the flowers but focusing on her words. "I have a lot to learn, but the way you put together notes that fit right in with what I was trying to say—" She halted for breath at the lift of Flint's dark eyebrows but managed to continue. "You can't give up music!" she cried.

There, she'd said it. The words had been bubbling in her for so long that she couldn't contain them any longer. If he could keep writing songs, playing… Maybe they could form some future together. There, she'd let that hope out of the bag.

"I can and I have," he said, firmly dismissing her hopes. "My kids come first."

She had to give him credit for not offering to ride out of here on her dreams. He could be wooing her into dropping the lawsuit, and she'd probably be dumb enough to cave. Instead, he was helping her fight Randy and ruining his own future.

Without further discussion, Flint wrapped an arm around her shoulders and dragged her toward him, showing her exactly why he had come here.

Hot, deep, and hungry, Flint's kiss scorched clear to Jo's toes. She forgot all her carefully prepared speeches, all her brilliant insights, all her impassioned pleas. She forgot everything except the way Flint's mouth belonged on hers, her hands belonged in his hair, and their tongues were meant to stroke.

He had her sprawled against the sofa cushions under him before she could remember if this was even what she wanted.

"You smell better than Amy's muffins," he declared, taking time from her bruised lips to sip at her earlobe and nibble her neck. "I've been wanting to take a bite out of you for hours. Days."

He had his hand up her shirt and cupping her breast as he said it, and Jo took his flattery for the sweetest love song she'd ever heard. "You smell like fried onions and mint Listerine." She laughed as he nuzzled the base of her throat. "Mama must have fed you."

"I'm trying to seduce you, if you don't mind," he growled, unhooking her bra front. "No kids or parents are allowed in our heads right now."

"Can't be avoided," she murmured, tugging his shirt loose of his jeans and rubbing her palms up his hard abdomen, thrilling at the rough texture of hair over hard, hot flesh. "Life is about family. Sex is about family."

Flint halted his depredations to rise up on one arm and stare down at her with a concerned expression. "Are you trying to tell me you're pregnant?"

The anxiety reflected on his strong, masculine features caused Jo to chuckle and smooth his forehead. "Hardly. I'm not that kind of girl," she teased.

Instead of looking relieved, he frowned. "It would be simpler if you were."

Before she could question, Flint lifted her from the sofa pillow and drew her tank top over her head, flinging it toward the guitar. When he fastened his mouth on her breast and sucked, Jo forgot what she wanted to ask. All confusion fled beneath a wave of desire.

He rearranged their positions so her backside was against the sofa and he was on his side facing her. He used both hands to push her breasts together and lap at them alternately. "You're so real," he said between strokes. "I need you to keep me grounded."

She'd heard better praise, but Flint's words were far more honest than the fancy lies others had told her.
Grounded
spoke of connections and commitments and all those things she craved and never had. She feared she couldn't have them now, but that fear was lost in the power of the moment.

"Ground me then," she muttered, fumbling for his belt buckle. "Ground me before I explode like one of Amy's lightbulbs."

Flint laughed and kissed her hard, sliding his hand inside the waistband he'd loosened. "My thought exactly. Plug me in before we both burn up."

He tugged off her shorts and panties, pushing them down to her knees so she could kick them off while he unzipped. When they were both naked, he stopped, propping himself on tendoned forearms above her, his eyes glowing with appreciation while he studied her supine position.

Jo had to remember to breathe beneath that heated gaze.

"We haven't got all night, but I want to make this last," Flint said, catching her by surprise. "No matter what we do or where we are in the future, I want this to be something we can remember in our old age."

As if she could ever forget the rugged shoulders and chest swelling over her. A band of hair nearly hid the tattoo of a guitar on his pecs. The same band of hair ran down the flat line of his abdomen to the nest of curls at the juncture of his thighs. Jo swallowed hard as she contemplated the full length of Flint in all his male glory.
That
was a picture she would remember for the rest of her days.