Tempt Me Tonight (5 page)

And her body was
responding
just as it had in high school—only much stronger. Back then, she wouldn’t have believed a girl could yearn for a guy’s touch more intensely than she’d yearned for Joe’s at the time—but she’d been so very wrong. The small of her back ached with pleasure and need, delivering the urge to crush herself against him—but then she realized they were
already
pushed pretty tightly together, her breasts to his chest, their pelvises aligned. When had
that
happened? And why hadn’t she kept a reasonable distance between them?

Because you’re melting. And because you’re beginning to lose complete control over this situation. He’s fudge, after all.

“This is nice, Trish.” Yet he hadn’t said it like it was nice. He’d said it like he was turned on, his voice low and smoldering.

“Yeah.” Had she just said that? Oh God—she had. Although, to her horror, she hadn’t really
said
it so much as
breathed
it.

And then things somehow turned very slow and hard to fathom.

She knew only his hands, caressing her back, all over.

His breath, coming heavy and deep in her ear, on her neck.

His hips, beginning to move, ever-so-gently, and sexy, against hers.

And not just his hips. Oh my—she could
feel
him. Hardening against her. Softly grinding. Darkness hid the sight, leaving the intimate friction a secret only the two of them shared, and her eyes fell shut, absorbing the sensation. This was
way
better than fudge.

She needed more of him now. Not just that rock-solid part, but the rest of him, too. She needed to run her hands over all these muscles he hadn’t possessed when they were young. She needed to touch the stubble on his face, kiss his mouth—hard.

But—dear God—where had her sanity gone?

Push him away. Say you’ve had enough dancing, you need to go buy some fudge, anything.

Yet an overwhelming magnetism had come into play now, one she couldn’t break free of. Especially when he peered heatedly down at her, then brushed an agonizingly soft kiss across her lips.

She made a sound. Like a moan. Low but potent. She hated that she’d let it leak out, but like everything else tonight, it seemed beyond her control. That tiny little kiss had just stirred her more deeply than
sex
with
some
men.

“Damn, Trish, I’m sorry—I didn’t plan it like this.” His voice was like a hot breeze. “But some things never change, I guess.”

Oh Lord. What the hell to say to
that.
She had no idea.

He pulled back slightly, his blue eyes gone dark and completely possessive as he said, “Come home with me.”

Whoa.
Come home with him?

She understood how he’d gotten all those proverbial notches in his bedpost—he might not know how people outside of Eden danced, but he was clearly schooled in the art of seduction. And she was completely aroused by everything about him—yet it wasn’t that simple. There was no way she could let him seduce her like this, just no way. Betrayed once because she wouldn’t do it, then bedded for a night because now she was grown up and she would? A few short minutes ago he’d been earnestly apologizing for the past and now he was asking her to sleep with him? She was not the chaste, untouched girl she’d been in high school, but she couldn’t become just another conquest for him, either.

“No,” she said, proud she sounded so darn sure.

He didn’t look surprised, just disappointed. And, as he always had, he used his eyes to plead with her, to look sincere and sexy all at once. “Come on, Trish. Let me show you what you missed.”

Oh.
Ouch.
His words swept her smoothly back to a very old passion in the midst of this very
new
passion—and it would have been ridiculously easy to give in.

But it was a matter of pride. And principle. She’d gotten
over
the past, yet she hadn’t
forgotten
it. And to let him seduce her—to let him hear her say no, yet then convince her to say yes—seemed like the ultimate way he could conquer her. Even if conquering was the last thing on his mind, she would still feel that way. She couldn’t let him make her feel so conquered again.

She pressed her palms to his chest, an attempt to put a little distance between them. “For your information, I’ve already been shown
plenty.
I’m not eighteen anymore.”
So there. I’ve had sex. With lots of other guys. Well, some. But either way, you ceased being the center of my sexual universe a very long time ago.

Yet her attempt at separating them had failed woefully because their hips remained glued together and their bodies still moved slowly to the music. And his voice was little more than a growl when he said, “I could show you more.”

Oh my.

She believed him. Completely. And the juncture of her thighs tingled madly.
Welcome back to my sexual universe.
She’d never in her life indulged in a one-night-stand, but if Joe were a stranger, tonight she would’ve—the animal attraction was that potent.

Only he
wasn’t
a stranger.
You have to remember that. This is Joe.
The
Joe. The first-love, cheating, heartbreaking jerk Joe.
And she simply couldn’t let him have his way with her
now.
It would only add insult to that long-ago injury. “No thanks,” she said, trying to sound far cooler than she felt.

Above her, he let out a thwarted sigh, even as his erection settled deeper against her. “How long are you in town?”

She sucked in her breath. He was so hard. Then she bit her lip. And kept dancing. Moving with him,
against
him. “I’m not exactly sure. A week or so.”

“Let me see you again.”

Oh God. “No.”

“Why not?”

She sighed, exasperated…tempted. “I don’t have to give you a reason.”

“No,” he said slowly, “but the way you’re dancing with me makes me think it doesn’t have anything to do with not wanting to be near me.”

His words weakened her even more. He could see through her. And despite herself, she kind of wanted to let him see
all
of her.

Except—she couldn’t, she just couldn’t. “This can’t go any further.”

His voice came low and persuasive. “I don’t know why not. We still have every ounce of chemistry we ever had.”

Part of her wanted to just tell him the truth—
You can’t have me because you hurt me once, and you don’t deserve me. And after all we shared back then, I refuse to be simply another notch added to your bedpost, one more instance where you do whatever feels good without caring who gets hurt.

But she’d told him she was over that, and she was. She didn’t want to start bringing emotions into this. She liked letting him see the confident, assured woman she’d grown into, and she wasn’t going to let him take that away. And she was going to start hiding the lusty part of herself better, too.

“You’re right,” she finally admitted. “We have chemistry, always did. But going to bed with you is the last thing I came home for. And I hear you show a
lot
of women what I missed, so if you need it tonight, I suggest you get it someplace else.”

Wow, she’d sounded good saying all that. Now she only had to grab her purse and leave and this would be over. No more fudge, and once it was no longer right in front of her, she’d be glad she’d resisted.

So, breaking free from the dance, she snatched her bag and turned to go. But she hadn’t counted on him blocking her way—a solid wall of heat and sexuality. She lifted her gaze from his broad chest to his determined expression.

“You still think I’m a rotten guy.”

“No, actually, I don’t. But that has nothing to do with sex.”

He spoke quietly enough that no one else could hear. “I want you so much right now I can barely breathe.”

God, his words nearly made her
own
throat close up. She never could have imagined when she’d first seen him on that bar stool that something like this could happen—and so fast she’d barely had a chance to think. It would still be easy to give in. To just say,
Take me home. Have your way with me.

But how would she feel afterward?

Weak. Used.
Conquered.

Even if he didn’t mean it that way.

The fact that they shared a turbulent history changed everything.

So she said, “It’s not gonna happen,” instead.

“You want it, too,” he insisted.

She tried to be pissed at his arrogance, but the truth in it—his innate knowledge that they were both sharing the same burning desire—somehow just excited her that much more. Damn it. “Do you hear yourself?” she asked anyway. “When did you get this ego?”

Probably as the notches had started accumulating.

Yet his eyes went a deeper shade of blue. “I don’t need an ego with you, Trish. It’s just the way things are. We still want each other.”

She swallowed, hard—but forced herself to stay strong. “I’m leaving. Move, please.”

Despite her demand, he still stood confident before her, looking so brutally sexy that she could barely catch her breath. “We both know this isn’t gonna go away.”

She couldn’t break the gaze for a moment. And she also couldn’t deny what he’d just said.

But she
had
to deny it. She had to end this. “It just did,” she said. Then she pushed past him, ignoring Debbie’s questioning eyes as she strode past her and Kenny to step out into one more hot summer night in Eden, Indiana.

Free at last, free at last.

But maybe you were only as free as you felt.

And at the moment, she felt completely captivated by Joe Ramsey.

Witness:
a person who testifies to what they saw, heard, observed, or did, in a court of law; [+
or
+] to see, hear, or know by personal presence and perception.

The next morning, Joe slid onto his usual stool at the Waffle House, regretting the night before. If he’d been a heavier drinker, he’d be battling a pounding head and blaming last night—like one other night, long ago—on too much beer. As it was, he had nothing to blame it on but his dick.

Beverly turned toward the counter, red-dyed hair pulled back in a low ponytail. “Morning, Joe. Usual?” She wore a flirtatious smile.

He didn’t smile back—he never did with Beverly—but gave a short nod, then listened as she spouted off his regular order of eggs, sausage, and hash browns to Floyd, the elderly cook who’d been manning the griddle for as long as Joe could remember.

“You look tired,” she said, placing a fork atop a small napkin in front of him, then pouring his coffee.

“Late night.” Not really, but it felt the same. He’d headed home soon after Trish had left—just hadn’t gotten a hell of a lot of sleep.

She cocked her head. “Anybody I know?” She tried to sound casual, but he knew better.

And he figured
this
oughta knock her socks off. “Trish Henderson.”

Bev’s eyes widened, as expected, and her back went stiff. “Really? Trish is in town?”

Another short nod. “Yep.” No more details, though, because it was none of Bev’s business. Time to change the subject. “Carissa need anything?”

Carissa was Beverly’s thirteen-year-old daughter, who she’d quietly let people assume Joe had fathered all those years ago after their one night together. He’d had reason to question it, so he had, and the
DNA
had proved he was right—yet he’d already taken on a role in Carissa’s life by then, so he’d never exactly left it.

Most people who didn’t know the
DNA
results—which meant almost everybody—thought he was a jackass for not claiming her, and maybe he should have. Maybe he should have just told the lie, been her dad. But those days had been strange, murky. His mom had just died. His dad had just left. And he’d been watching his little sister suffer the losses.

Still, he hadn’t wanted Beverly’s daughter to go through life without any sort of father figure, so despite never naming himself as her dad, he’d stuck around. He’d been trying like hell to do the right thing, maybe in some effort to fix everything else that had been so royally fucked up at the time.

Now he didn’t think through all those whys and ifs anymore—he just made sure Carissa had what she needed when Bev’s waitress salary didn’t stretch far enough. And as for the people who criticized him—screw ’em. It was none of their business, just like last night was none of Bev’s.

As usual when Carissa’s needs came up, Beverly looked sheepish. “School’s starting and I guess she could use some new blue jeans. And she’s joining the chorus and needs a nice pair of black pants.”

“School supplies?”

She shrugged, still reticent but practical. These were the only times he felt bad for her, since he knew she didn’t like asking for money. “I’m sure she’ll need some. She has to have some special calculator for advanced algebra.”

He gave another quiet nod. “I’ll drop a check by.”

Her eyes looked more doleful now than flirtatious. “Thanks, Joe.”

“Order up!” Floyd called behind her, and Joe watched Bev move to grab his plate and lower it before him, then pad to a nearby booth to wait on a trucker who’d just ambled in. Good.

Even now, after all this time, he tried to keep his contact with Bev short and to the point. He knew she worked hard, and she did her best to be a good mom to Carissa—but hell, she
still
greeted him with that same come-hither expression every time he walked into the Waffle House. She was still flirting, still hoping. One ill-fated night together and she’d never moved on.

Just then, she lifted her gaze toward the door, her eyes lighting. “Well, hey, look who it is.”

He knew from her tone even before glancing up, but turned to see Carissa dragging her grandfather by the wrist through the plate-glass door. “Grandpa wanted waffles before we start working,” she announced.

“Hey, Care Bear,” Joe said easily.

“Hey, Joe. What’s up?” She hopped onto the stool next to him in denim shorts and a fitted T-shirt that reminded him she was starting to look like a girl. He tried not to let that worry him.