The Reasons to Stay (Harlequin Superromance) (13 page)

When she opened the trunk of the Caddy, Adam set the box inside. Priss reached for the towel covering it, but he grabbed her hand. “No peeking. It’s a surprise.”

She grinned. “Bet it’s KFC.”

“You’d be very wrong.” After making sure her fingers were clear, he slammed the massive trunk lid.

Once they were on the road the wind made it feel like he was going much faster than the posted twenty-five through Widow’s Grove. When he turned onto the highway to the coast, he sped up a bit.

“Did we get a hotel room? ’Cuz there’s no way we’re gonna make it there and back in one day.” Nacho whined from the acreage of the backseat.

The seat belt cleaved Priss’s chest when she turned. “We talked about this. But it
is
going to be a long day if you start this crap already.”

Nacho, who had been strapped into the middle seat, moved to the seat behind Priss.

“Fine, be that way. Buckle in.”

The seat belt clicked.

Adam stopped at the intersection with PCH and turned right. When he hit the gas the engine growled and the car surged, spraying gravel. “Whoa. This thing has got some power.”

“Hello V-8.”

He took it to the speed limit, settling in behind an SUV. Warm wind slid behind the windshield, stirring the hair on his arms, brushing his face. The sun hit the ocean’s chop, breaking it into eye-slicing mirror shards.

He pushed his sunglasses up his nose and rested his elbow on the door. Contentment settled over him. This wasn’t too bad. Pretty cool, in fact. He glanced at Priss and met her smile.

“Told you.”

“Okay, you were right. This time. But under less skilled hands, this would still be a dangerous machine.” He ignored her smile. “Where did you get it?”

He let her animated voice flow over him as she told him about the day she found the “unloved gem.” God, she was cute. He kept his eyes on the road as much as he was able, nodding in the pauses to keep her talking. How had she not been snatched up by some hip local by now? Maybe she’d scared them all off. He glanced in the rearview mirror. Or her brother had.

“I know there’s still work to be done, but Mona is going to be awesome when I get her cherried out.”

Nacho leaned in from the backseat. “I’ll paint her when I learn how—black with orange flames like Bear had on that bike. Wouldn’t that be bad?”

She smiled. “You’re right, Nacho, it would. Can you imagine rolling through downtown in a car like that? Man, everybody would drool.” She scrubbed a hand over his head, and Nacho ducked out from under. “But that’ll have to wait.”

“Bear said—” The happy kid dissolved to a cranky toddler.

“Stop.” She put up a hand. “Can we have a Bear-free zone, just for this afternoon?”

The kid flopped back against the seat.

The sun still shone warm, but the car went cold. Adam raised an eyebrow at Priss, but she just shook her head. “Bear. Free. Zone.”

He turned on the radio, surprised to find it tuned to his favorite station. Jim Morrison wailed at him to keep his eyes on the road and his hands upon the wheel.

Priss leaned back in the seat and turned her face to the sun. “Oh, man, I love the Lizard King.”

Then I guess we’re not total opposites after all.
He tapped his thumbs on the steering wheel to Densmore’s backbeat. The road cut inland for a few miles at San Luis Obispo, and when they met the ocean again at Morro Bay, the hills on their right steepened. The coastline tipped into the ocean, exposing its rocky skeleton at the surf. They tooled along in silence.

“Wow, look at that, Nacho.” Priss pointed to the vista of grass-covered mountains.

“Seen it.”

Priss looked over her shoulder at Nacho. “Mom brought you?”

“Yeah, right. No car, remember? We went to Hearst Castle on a school field trip last year.”

“Oh, there’s a castle?”

“As close to a castle as money could buy, back in the twenties.” Adam pointed to a white spot at the very top of a brushy mount, then put both hands back on the wheel.

Priss clapped her hands. “Oh, I want to see that!”

“It’s too late today. They’d be booked up. But I’ll bring you back another time, if you’d like.”

“Oh, I’d really like.” She may have only been referring to the castle, but he read more into her smile.

“Boooorrrringg,” Nacho said from the cheap seat.

Adam glanced in the rearview mirror. “Don’t worry, Nacho, I promise something really cool is coming up.” He slowed and turned left at the sign for the Hearst-San Simeon State Park.

He pulled into a parking space and turned off the key. The breeze carried the smell of dampness, salt and shellfish. Nacho stood on the seat and vaulted out. The car chugged.

Nacho sprinted to where the grass ended and the rocks began.

“Hey, wait up,” Priss yelled, opening the car door.

The car continued to cough and sputter. Adam took his hands off the wheel, but hovered, just in case. “What’s wrong with this thing?”

Priss stepped out and closed the door. “Oh, she’ll quit in a second. Come on, show us the cool stuff.”

When he pulled out the key, the car settled with one last wheeze and a fart. He opened the door and stepped out, watching to be sure it was truly done, then followed Priss to the edge of the continent.

The edge dropped four feet onto a floor of black rocks. Small waves pushed in, replenishing the tide pools in the cracks and bowls formed by time and ceaseless pounding.

Nacho said, “Cool starfish.”

“This is the second cool thing. The first cool thing is over there.” Adam pointed to a sheltered beach, a hundred yards away. “Come on.” They walked, grass brushing their legs. He enjoyed watching Priss take in everything at once: the hills, the ocean, the horizon.

A parking lot lay nestled around a white sandy cove that was sheltered by a jutting escarpment.

Nacho squinted. “What’s so big about a beach full of rocks?”

“Because those aren’t rocks.”

Nacho ran up to the rope strung at the edge.

“Don’t go any farther.” Priss’s breath caught. “Oh, gosh, look at that!”

Elephant seals lay sunbathing on the beach. Half-grown pups humped around their seemingly comatose parents, mock-fighting with each other. Their honking bellows sounded like a sugar-fueled, too-loud playdate.

“Way cool,” Nacho said.

“The pups will be weaned in a couple of weeks, and then they’ll all leave until next year, when they come back to give birth again.”

Nacho pointed. “Look at that huge one yelling at her baby.”

“See? All kids get yelled at when they screw up,” Priss said.

“Yeah, and adults are the same in every species. Look over there, at the one with the spots.”

Adam could watch seals any time, but these two humans were much more interesting. He could easily see they were related when they stood side by side with their matching shiny, stand-up hair and widow’s peaks. Their faces were small and heart-shaped, but Nacho’s eyes were brown, and Priss’s were green. Priss’s skin was lighter as well—a milky latte to Nacho’s coffee tone. Nacho must have inherited his short square body from his father, because Priss had the long, fluid lines of a cat. Or a dancer. Or—

“I’m starving. Can we eat now?” Nacho broke Adam’s musings.

“Sure. Then after lunch, we’ll explore the tide pools.”

The wind played with their clothes on the way back to the car.

Adam opened the trunk and carried the box to a chained-down state-owned picnic table. “Now, for the
pièce de résistance
.”

“We’re having pizza?” Nacho peered over the side of the box.

“Not hardly.” Adam hadn’t been able to find his mother’s wicker basket, but other than that, the lunch would have made any foodie proud: French cheeses, duck pâté, Greek olive tapenade, salmon-orzo salad, savory ham and butter croissants. He’d have loved to include a bottle of wine, but knew he’d be driving, so he’d settled for sparkling cider. He laid everything out. “Ta da.”

“What the h—” Nacho shot a long-suffering look at his sister.

Their faces would have been comic, if this had been funny. Priss’s brows scrunched and her lips spread, but her mouth teetered between a smile and a grimace. “Um. Nice.”

Their reaction smacked his brain
.
Standing beside them now it seemed so obvious.
A kid and a street warrior are going to eat
pâté?
You’re such an arrogant idiot—thinking only about what you’d be impressed with, instead of considering your audience
. He felt the blood pounding in his face “There may be a KFC in Cambria. I can just—”

“No, no, it’s great.” She surveyed the dishes. “Do you have any mustard?”

He lifted a small jar of Grey Poupon from the box.

She smiled. “This will work. Here, Nacho, we’ll make you a sandwich.”

He’d forgotten about Nacho. Well, not forgotten, but when he walked into the Tasteful Widow Italian Market and Deli, he’d gotten carried away, imagining him and Priss on a bluff overlooking the ocean, eating pâté and staring into each other’s eyes.
You are pathetic.

Adam ducked his head, busying himself with the plates and napkins. He should have known that Priss wouldn’t like this meal any more than Nacho would.

This was a lunch that June would have liked. Except June would never have agreed to come out and see a bunch of smelly, noisy seals. He’d set out to make a good impression, and ended up making a bad joke.

Priss split two croissants down the middle with a cheese knife, smeared brie on one side, Grey Poupon on the other, and placed thin slices of prosciutto ham between.

“Make me one, too, will you?” He sighed. “Nacho, how’d you like to try some salmon?”

“No!” There was no smile in his grimace. “No, thank you.”

To her credit, Priss put a dab of everything on her plate.

They ate in inelegant silence.

Priss pointed her fork to a gray blob on her plate. “This is good. What is it?”

“Pâté. Here, it’s better this way.” He snatched up a cracker, spread some on it with a knife, and held it to her lips.

She bit into it. “Yum. What’s it made of?”

“Goose—” He caught the word before it escaped. “Stuff. I’m glad you like it.”

Kicking the metal support of the picnic table with a rhythmic, metallic bong, Nacho drained the last of his cider. “Can I get up now?”

Nacho wasn’t the only one grateful for a reprieve. Adam stood. “I’ll get this cleaned up. Why don’t you guys check out the tide pools?”

“You go, Nacho, but stay close to the edge, and don’t get wet.”

Nacho took off.

Adam crumpled trash in his fist. “I’m sorry. That was stupid of me.”

She stepped up close, wrapped her hand around his bicep and looked up at him with those huge green eyes. “I think you’re sweet.” She stood tiptoe to kiss his nose. “Thank you for thinking we were worth all this effort.”

He put his hand over hers. “Why would you say that? You’re worth a lot more than some pâté.”

She slid her hand from under his and put the top on the Poupon. “Yeah, maybe. But I’m touched. People don’t usually care that much what I think.”

An hour later he and Priss sat side by side on the edge of the small cliff, watching Nacho herding small crabs with a stick. His shoes were soaked and his legs were sand-dusted, but it was clear he was enjoying himself.

Once Adam had gotten Priss talking, he’d discovered they had a few things in common besides music and baseball. Priss, too, wanted to see places.

She sat cross-legged, pulling up stems of grass, one at a time. “And so, after school’s out, Nacho and I will move on to the next place.”

The pâté soured in his stomach. “What? Where?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe Boston. Or Boca Raton. Or Seattle. It depends on where I get a job.”

Bells went off in his head. “You have a job.”

Her eye roll included a head tilt. “Yeah, a great job. Even you thought so.”

“Hey, it’s a paycheck, right? What about Nacho?”

She shrugged. “Kids are portable. It’d be good for him to see other parts of the country.”

He looked out to where the sun neared the horizon. “My legendary luck is running true to form. The most intriguing woman I’ve met in years walks into my life, and she’s on her way to somewhere else.”

Priss’s small shoulder gave his a gentle bump. “It’s only March. Nacho’s not out of school till the end of June.”

When his pâté sandwich tried to crawl up his throat, he swallowed it again. He’d just made up his mind to grab for the life he wanted.

Three months weren’t going to be near long enough.

“We’d better get going, if we want to be back by dark.” He stood, and reached a hand down to help Priss up. Her hand fit in his as if it belonged there.

She squeezed his hand. The look in her eyes lit the pilot flame in his chest and the heat cranked up.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

P
RISS
WOKE
M
ONDAY
to an explosive sneeze. Overnight the tickle at the back of her throat had expanded to a full-size feather duster crammed into her sinuses. Glancing at the alarm clock on the nightstand, she threw off the covers, rolled her legs out of bed and sat up. Her head throbbed with every conga drumbeat of her heart. When she blinked, the sandpaper on her lids scoured her eyeballs.

Nacho’s head appeared at the doorframe. “You’re not up? We’re gonna be late.” He stepped in. “Wow, you look like crap.”

She gently lowered her massive head into her hands. “I tink I’b dying.”

He swung his backpack onto his shoulders. “Okay, but can you do it after you take me to school? I’ve got a spelling test.” He leaned his shoulder on the doorjamb as if collecting his cool. “Not that I care.”

The oversize T-shirt brushed her knees when she pushed to her feet. “I’ll bake you sobe eggs—”

“We don’t have time. I ate some Cap’n Crunch.”

She sneezed again. “Okay. Hag on. I’m boving.” She shuffled for the bathroom.

How do mothers do this?

A half hour later after dropping Nacho off and getting chewed out by Floyd for calling in sick, Priss slid onto a tall stool at the soda fountain and laid her head on the bar.

Sin’s gum snapped double-time. “Now that’s sanitary.”

“Could you snap that gub a little more quietly?” Priss slipped her forearm under her throbbing temple. “Do you dow a good doctor?”

Sin poured her a cup of coffee. “Wouldn’t it just be quicker to call the mortuary?”

“Okay. Whateber.”

“Anyway, no one would be in their office or clinic yet. But hello—this is a drugstore.” She cupped a hand around her mouth and yelled, “Hey, boss, cleanup in the fountain area!”

Priss covered her ears, but it was too late. The echo ricocheted through her skull like a stray bullet.

“Sin, you don’t have to bellow.” Footsteps and a voice got closer. “I have a cell phone in my pocket.”

Sin pointed at Priss. “It will not help business if she’s still here when we open.”
Snap. Snap.
“I’m just saying.”

“Priss?” A hand touched her back. “What’s wrong?”

She pushed herself upright. “I hab a cold.”

“Let me see.” The back of his hand touched her forehead. “No fever. That’s good.”

His hands bracketed her cheeks. “Do your eyes itch?” His thumbs pulled down her lower lids.

“My eyes, my throat, eben my tongue itches.” She dropped her too-big head onto her forearms. “Just leab me here to die.”

He chuckled. “You’ve got hay fever.”

She rolled her forehead on her arm. “I don’t hab allergies.”

He smiled down at her. “I hate to argue with a dying woman, but you do, hon.”

Sin’s gum interrupted. “I had that once, when I visited my cousins in Pittsburg. I was miserable. I’m never going back there.”

His arm came around Priss’s waist, helping her to her feet. “Come on, I’ll fix you right up.” He stopped. “Unless you’d rather see a doctor?”

Widow’s Grove trusted Adam as their pharmacist. Surely an entire town couldn’t be wrong. But he was a nice guy—and nice guys couldn’t be trusted. Right? She looked into his soft brown eyes and saw competence. And concern. And caring. She thought back to what she knew of him: his empathy after her fight with Nacho, how hard he’d tried to make a good impression, on their “date,” that smoking kiss on the sidewalk just outside the window. Truth was, for whatever reason, she did trust Adam. She relaxed into him, allowing him to support her. “I’ll trust you.”

They walked together down the “cold and allergy” aisle. “Do you own a Neti Pot?”

“Whad’s dat?”

“Okay, you go upstairs. I’ll gather the stuff you need and be up in a few minutes.”

“Brig drugs.” She missed his warmth as soon as he dropped his arm. “Major drugs.”

He smiled. “You’re going to feel better in a half hour. Promise.”

Within five minutes he was at her door, arms full of relief. He punched two allergy pills out of the foil packet, fetched a glass of cold water, and put both in her hand.

“Those will start working soon, but let’s do something for your sinuses in the meantime.” He opened a rectangular box.

“Okay, but you deed to know, I’b paying for all dis. What is dat, Aladdin’s lamp?”

“Nope. A Neti Pot.” He opened a bottle of distilled water and poured it into the “lamp.” “You use it to run room temperature salt water through your sinuses...” He opened the cupboard over the stove. “Where’s your salt?”

She took it from the table and handed it to him.

“This’ll work like a charm.” He shook salt in, then mimed how to use it. “Come over to the sink.”

She imagined what was going to drain out of her head. “I’b
not
doing dat while you watch.”

“Oh, all right. Go in the bathroom, then. Remember to breathe through your mouth.”

The treatment was gross and messy, but the salt water shrunk her sinuses almost immediately. The pills must have kicked in too, because she could breathe again.

Glancing in the mirror, she winced. She looked terrible. Why hadn’t Adam run screaming? She wet her fingers and spiked the bed-head, brushed her teeth, and tried a quick Visine application to get the red out. She considered lipstick, but decided against. Lipstick was for job interviews and serious dates. This was neither.

Checking to be sure Nacho had flushed the toilet, she mopped the counter with a bath towel. She glanced in the mirror once more, then snatched the lipstick and swiped it across her lips before opening the door.

Adam stood leaning against the counter, his long legs crossed at the ankles, his shoulders blotting out the light from the window over the sink. That one fallen curl on his forehead, the chin dimple. He may be a good boy, but he was a smokin’
hot
good boy. “Better?”

“Yes, thanks to you. I think the drugs are kicking in, too.” She stepped out, suddenly aware that they were alone in the apartment.

“Do you want coffee?” He glanced to the cupboard over the counter. Of course he knew where the cups were. This used to be his apartment. She imagined him living here: cooking in her kitchen, showering in her bathroom, lying in her bed. Naked. She swallowed. “No, thanks.”

Maybe their thoughts
were
synced, because suddenly his professional look softened, going all smoky. He reached out and the back of his fingers grazed her cheek.

Odd as it was, she really liked this nice guy. He was so cute that day of the picnic, all flustered at having brought pâté. She’d been touched that he had tried so hard. Might as well face facts. Downstairs, she said she trusted him, and in spite of every bit of evidence in her past screaming that she shouldn’t—couldn’t—she did.

As long as he knew this was temporary, why not give in to the attraction that pulled at her? They could have some fun before she flew off to the next place.

The air seemed warmer, closer all of a sudden. More intimate. Her libido roared to life, imagining his broad hands on her bare skin, his leg, thrown over hers, his...

“Apparently that thing
is
Aladdin’s lamp because I feel so much better.” She took a step closer. “Can you guess what I wished for?”

His lips twitched. “Too easy. Clear sinuses.”

“Well, yeah.” Giving in to the tug deep inside, she took the last step that brought her inches from him. The clean smell of his skin filled her head. “But I get three, right?” She ran a finger along his strong jaw and down his neck, to the first button of his shirt. “Want to know my second wish?” She looked up at him, trying for sultry.

She must have achieved some version of it, because his dark chocolate eyes melted to black.

His arm came around her waist to bring her snug against his long length. “I don’t know about the second, but I call dibs on the third,” he whispered, lowering his head to kiss her.

What was it about his kisses that made them different from anyone else’s? It was as if his entire attention gathered to that moment, drawing to a white-hot laser of focus.

And it burned.

With a twist of her fingers, the first shirt button slipped out of its starched prison. She moved to the next.

She was so tired of reasoning with herself, arguing how this wasn’t a good idea. Her brain knew it wasn’t—she just didn’t care.

When he lightened the kiss, she caught his bottom lip with her teeth. He moaned and took her again, making love to her mouth.

She caught fire. The heat fanned out. She felt it in intimate places: the soft hollow of her throat, the tops of her breasts, between her legs. Adam was so buttoned-down. What would happen if she undid all his buttons, and started pushing them, instead?

The thought blew away when he cupped her butt and lifted her slowly over his hard length. Electricity zipped from her core, sending sparks that ignited her lips, her nipples...her need. It was her turn to moan. When he pushed away from the counter, she wrapped her legs around his waist.

“Don’t you have to get to work?” She whispered against his lips.

“Oh, hon, I think I might have to be a little late today.” Still cupping her bottom and kissing her dizzy, he walked to the bedroom as if he owned it. Which he did.

When they fell onto the rumpled bed the warm smell of her night billowed around them. The thought drifted through her mind that she’d never see this bed the same way again—before
all
thought blew away in the wind that was Adam. He may have been tentative that day on the beach, but he wasn’t now.

He lay beside her, reading her face as his hand slipped under her T-shirt. His eyes widened at discovery that she hadn’t put on a bra this morning.

She smiled. “Just for fun, right?”

“Oh, yeah, I can get behind that.”

She closed her eyes to feel without the distraction of sight.
It’s only a brief rest. Enjoy it while you have it.

And with a flip of a switch, she let go of what she held so tightly.

His lips captured her earlobe and bit lightly. She squirmed. He must have created some magical magnetic pull because when he lifted his hand from her breast, her body followed, arching against the bed.

“Don’t move.” Adam sat up and shrugged out of his unbuttoned shirt.

She didn’t need him to tell her to stay still. The dozens of short white scars marring his chest paralyzed her. When he turned away to toe out of his shoes, the matching scars on his back sucked her breath away. A soft sympathy spread through her chest. These were old scars. Very old. She reached out to smooth one, to ease the pain of it, retroactively.

He flinched, then froze. As if her touch allowed her to read his mind, Priss realized he’d forgotten the scars for just that moment, and was now sorry he had. She lowered her hand. She had no right to know his thoughts.

In one fluid motion, he dropped his pants, stepped out of them, and turned.

She forgot the scars, too.
The buttoned-down pharmacist goes
commando?
The long, rigid length of him bounced against his flat belly.

“You’re full of surprises, Preston.”

A corner of his mouth lifted in a smoky smile full of promise. “Oh, I hope so.”

He held out a hand. She took it and he pulled her to her feet. He skimmed his hands over her ribs as if she were an exotic piece of art. Her T-shirt bunched, so she raised her arms and he whisked it off. His gaze warmed her flesh where it lingered.

He lowered his head.

She heard a whimper and realized it was her. He sucked in her hard nipple, then blew a soft breath across it. Tinder caught and flared, the sweet flames roaring under her skin, racing through her, melting all they touched. Her hips bucked against him. It had been a long time.

“So sweet.” He said it like a prayer.

Her knees weakened but his hands were there, supporting the backs of her thighs. She had to touch. She grabbed handfuls of his thick hair. His tongue scorched a path across her stomach, trailing nips and kisses. Her eyes closed to better feel. With a rattle of zipper teeth and a brush of air on her belly, she let go of him and watched as he slid her jeans and the damp panties down her legs. No longer supported, she plopped on the bed and her eyelids slid shut.

How had she ever imagined Adam staid and uptight? The man before her was all fluid power, carefully harnessed, but hot. Searing hot.

“Priscilla, watch.”

She opened her eyes. Wide.

His dark eyes bored into her, asking, demanding, taking.

When he lowered his head and inhaled, she twitched deep inside. He exhaled, blowing on the fire, teasing it, setting her ablaze. She squirmed beneath him, the watching somehow making this intimate moment more private—even more personal. When his tongue whispered against her sensitive bud, electric heat shot from her sex to her nipples with a flash of pure lust, leaving in its wake an aching hollowness.

Be careful; this man is addictive.

The thought melted before her need. “Adam. Please.” She caught his wrists, unable to articulate her yearning.

He looked up and saw it. He must have, because after one last intimate kiss, he fumbled with his jeans on the floor, brought out a condom, opened it with his teeth and unrolled it onto his length.

I wasn’t the only one thinking—

Then he was with her, his long body filling the bed, his clean scent filling her head. Lying side by side, he seemed taller—larger. But her need was larger still. She reached for him.

He caught her hands. “Be sure.”

“I told you downstairs I trust you.” She gave him a flirty smile. “Did you think that only covered dispensing pills?” She twined her fingers with his and curled his hands against her breasts, capturing them both. He kissed her deeply and she threw a leg over his hip and guided him to the edge of her.

He broke off the kiss, settling his head on the other half of her pillow, watching her with heavy-lidded eyes. With a thrust of her hips, he was inside. With a thrust of his, he filled every empty place to overflowing. Her muscles closed around him and squeezed in a grateful spasm.