Wishing Lake (7 page)

“Don’t be.” He released her.

Peyton’s palms itched to feel his arms again. She turned from the reporter to cross to her refrigerator, and again her heel caught on the area rug. Her lips parted on a gasp as she felt herself falling. Once more, Darius grabbed her waist, stopping her from landing on her face. But this time, he hauled her flush against him.

Her breasts were crushed against his chest. Her hands gripped his broad shoulders. His warmth seeped into her skin. His scent—soap and cedar—clouded her mind.

Peyton tipped her head back. The heat of his gaze scalded her. Her fingers dug into his taut muscles as Darius lowered his head to hers.

Peyton’s body trembled as Darius’s lips moved over hers. A bolt of electricity shot from her core to her heart. Or was it from her heart to her core? This must be what other women meant when they said someone “turned them on.” She’d read about such reactions in romance novels. She’d heard about them in love songs and seen them in romantic movies. But she’d never experienced them herself, not once in her thirty years.

Peyton slid her arms up and over Darius’s chest. She grew warm and wet as she absorbed his body’s heat and strength. Darius shook under her touch. Peyton stilled.

Feminine power swelled inside her. Bruce had found her lacking. He didn’t think she knew he found his pleasure elsewhere. But to have a man like Darius respond to her was her secret fantasy. Peyton gave in to the pull of Darius’s hard, hot body. Lost herself in his intoxicating scent, his seductive touch, and his thrilling taste.

His tongue traced the seam of her mouth. He was asking her to let him in, requesting rather than demanding, giving her a choice. That consideration was far more erotic than the intimacy he sought. Peyton parted for him. Darius swept inside, caressing, stroking, planting in her mind an image of what their bodies could do. Peyton shivered. Her muscles went weak.

Darius’s arms banded around her waist. He straightened, lifting her with him. Only her toes touched the floor. Peyton was losing control. Her head spun. Her body floated. She ached to wrap her trembling legs around Darius’s hips and press her thighs to his sides. But even the thought was too scandalous.

She tore her mouth free. His name was all she could manage. “Darius.”

Slowly he released her, letting her feet return to solid ground. But her legs were too shaky to stand on her own.

Darius caught her forearm to steady her. “Isn’t this how we started?” His voice, husky and low, did wicked things to her still-throbbing muscles.

A blush heated Peyton’s face as she realized Darius was referring to her tripping into his arms—twice. But her clumsiness had answered one question for her. Any doubts she had about ending her engagement to Bruce had gone up in flames beneath Darius’s kiss.

Sex with Bruce had never been interesting. In contrast, the possibilities with Darius aroused so much more than her curiosity. But even as her body swayed toward him, her brain sent out warning alarms. Darius Knight was the Derek Jeter of Trinity Falls. The Yankees shortstop was a confirmed bachelor with an inexhaustible supply of women willing to have their hearts broken. Did she want to be one of his casualties?

Peyton stepped back. “Do you have any other questions for me?”

Darius let his arm fall to his side. He hadn’t been this confused by a woman since . . . He’d never been this confused. And why was she freezing him out after she’d kissed him back?

“You’ve answered all of my questions. Thanks.” He should leave now. He needed to clear his head. “I’d like to call you if I have any follow-up questions.”

“Of course.” She sounded relieved.

Darius collected his recorder and notebook. He threw his coat over his arm. “Thanks for your time. I’ll take a rain check on that water.”

Maybe his parting shot had been unfair, but the blush that pinkened her honey-and-chocolate-cream complexion was worth it.

Peyton followed him to her office door. “I’m glad you’re writing a tribute to Dr. Hartford. He’s done a lot for the university.”

Darius turned to her. Through her window, he could see Wishing Lake. The name of that particular body of water had always confused him. It was a pond, not a lake.

“Do you know how Wishing Lake got its name?” Where had that question come from? He was supposed to be leaving.

“Students throw pennies in the lake for good grades.” She spared a quick glance at the window behind her.

Darius shook his head. “There are better ways to invest in their education.”

“I take it that’s not how the lake got its name?” Peyton’s smile distracted him.

“According to Dr. Hartford, TFU’s founder, Clara Butler, was desperate to start a school for the freed and escaped slaves who’d helped establish Trinity Falls.” Darius nodded toward the window. “She stood by the pond and prayed for guidance and courage. And that night, she had a life-changing vision that told her what she needed to do to start the school.”

“What did she need to do?”

“Build it.”

Peyton’s arched brows knitted. “That’s it?”

“That’s it.” Darius met her gaze. “Wishing Lake isn’t about coins. It’s about faith and finding the courage to follow your dreams. But for some reason, students keep tossing pennies in the pond.”

“That’s poetic.” Peyton looked at him as though she’d never seen him before.

Darius’s eyes slid free of hers. “Dr. Hartford told me the story.”

“I don’t know Dr. Hartford well, but I’m almost positive he wouldn’t have described the lake as you did.”

She was right. No one would ever call Dr. Kenneth Hartford a poet.

The impish lights in Peyton’s caramel eyes made him want to kiss her again. Darius pivoted toward the door. “Enjoy the rest of your day.”

“You do the same. And thank you for the history lesson.”

“You’re welcome.”

Darius made it out of her office and down the hall. He paused at the top of the staircase that led to the building’s rear entrance. For too many years, he’d buried his emotions. It was an act of self-defense against his parents’ frequent public displays of disaffection for each other. It also protected him from the many and varied ways their thoughtless words had hurt him. After a while, he thought he’d stopped feeling.

But kissing Peyton had proven him wrong. Darius started down the steps. He could still feel. His heart had punched him in the chest. His skin had burned beneath her touch—and his manhood had swelled uncomfortably in his shorts.

What was a former robot to do with these very human feelings?

“I’m stepping down as town council president.”

CeCe Roben’s declaration shouldn’t have surprised Doreen. She’d suspected the council president had a major announcement. What else would bring her to Doreen’s home on a Monday evening? CeCe wasn’t in the habit of just dropping by. Still, Doreen was blindsided.

She cradled her cup of chai tea and stared wide-eyed at the other woman seated across from her at her mahogany dining table. “Why?”

The former council president released a deep sigh. Her pale blue gaze strayed across the cream-and-mahogany dining room, then back to Doreen. “I’m not ready to leave the council altogether. But I’m burned out. It’s exhausting dealing with the posturing and obstruction. Sometimes I feel like the only responsible adult in the room.”

“Is that really something you should be saying to me the day before the election?” Doreen’s question wasn’t totally tongue in cheek.

CeCe’s eyes twinkled with humor. “Perhaps not, but that’s how I feel. I need to step back from the daily oversight of the council.”

“For how long?” Doreen sipped her tea. The pearl gray clock mounted to the warm cream wall behind CeCe read almost six o’clock in the evening. Alonzo would be here soon. What would he think of CeCe’s news?

“The rest of my term.” CeCe stared into her cup of tea as though viewing her past. “This isn’t what I’d planned on when I ran for council president. I want to serve the community, not negotiate with adults as though they were spoiled prepubescents.”

“You need to do what’s best for you.” Doreen empathized with the former council president. She’d dealt with similar attitudes while serving on volunteer committees.

“The other council members were supportive.” With her right hand, CeCe swept her shoulder-length auburn hair away from her oval face.

“You were a good council president. One of the best the town has ever had. You’ll be hard to replace.”

“Thank you, Doreen.” A faint blush warmed CeCe’s alabaster features.

“When will the council vote on your replacement?” Which of the members would want to take CeCe’s place? As the soon-to-be-former council president had implied, it was a tough and thankless job.

“We’ve already voted.” CeCe tucked her bone-straight hair behind an ear. “Nessa is the new council president.”

“Nessa?” Unease snaked through Doreen, twisting the muscles in her stomach. “Was the council’s vote unanimous?”

CeCe gave her a strange look. “Yes. Actually, Nessa was the only council member who wanted to be president.”

After two and a half terms as a council member, why would Nessa choose to become council president now, in the middle of her third term?

Doreen forced a casual tone. “Had Nessa ever indicated before that she wanted to be council president?”

“I don’t think so.” CeCe shrugged. “At least, she’s never mentioned it to me.”

Doreen’s unease increased. “Whose idea was it for you to step down?”

CeCe’s thin auburn eyebrows knitted. “Mine. I told the council I needed a break.”

“In the middle of your third term?”

“I couldn’t wait another two years, Doreen. I’m just burned out.”

Doreen nodded, though she didn’t understand. If CeCe was so disillusioned with the president’s position, why had she run for reelection two years ago?

“Did you approach the council with your decision or did one of the members approach you first?”

CeCe frowned. “Why are you asking all of these questions?”

“I’m just curious.” Doreen attempted a nonchalant shrug, but her grip was tight on her teacup. The pale blue porcelain was warm in her palm.

“Well, I wanted you to know I’d stepped down before you took office.” CeCe sipped her tea.

“And that Nessa was now council president. I appreciate the warning.” Doreen’s tone was dry.

CeCe frowned again. “It’s not a warning. I’m just letting you know.”

“I’ll be honest with you, CeCe.” Doreen sat back on her chair. She set her feet in their fluffy, cool pink socks, flat on the hardwood flooring. “I think Nessa convinced you to step down so she could take your place as president.”

“Why would she do that?” CeCe looked confused.

“Nessa doesn’t want me to be mayor.” Doreen recalled Nessa’s attack during Books & Bakery’s Halloween celebration.

“Why not? As much as you’ve done for this town, everyone knew it was just a matter of time before you became mayor.”

“Apparently, Nessa doesn’t see things that way.”

“Has Nessa ever argued with you before?”

“No.”

“Then why would she start now?”

“I’m not making this up, CeCe. So did you approach the council or did Nessa approach you?”

CeCe hesitated. “Well, actually, now that I think about it, Nessa brought it up to me.”

Doreen sagged on her chair. “I was afraid of that.”

“Are you glad the election’s almost over?” At a vile hour the next morning, Darius stood poised to document Doreen’s response into his reporter’s notebook.

It was just after six-thirty the morning of November fourth, Election Day. The Heritage High School gymnasium served as one of the town’s polling locations. He’d arrived early to cast his vote and cover the event for
The Trinity Falls Monitor
. Doreen had cast her vote already as well. Actually, she’d been the first in line.

Darius nodded at Lei Chang, one of the
Monitor
’s photojournalists, as she strode past him toward the parking lot. His coworker had arrived at the polls early to take the money shot of Doreen casting her ballot. Lei had taken several pictures of Doreen. She’d also photographed Jackson, Nessa, and other prominent Trinity Falls residents as they stood in line at the polls.

“I don’t know why I’m so anxious. I’m running unopposed.” Doreen’s voice bounced with nervous energy. She folded her dark green winter coat over her left forearm. “Can you imagine how tense I’d be if someone was actually challenging me?”

“This is a big day. Your anxiety is understandable.” Darius waited for a better quote.

Doreen’s brown eyes widened. She slapped her hand to her mouth, then let it drop to her side. “I probably shouldn’t have said that. I’m going to have to learn to be more careful of what I say around you.”

“Only when I’m on the job.” Darius gave her a reassuring smile. “What are your thoughts on the election?”

This time, Doreen took a moment to consider his question. “Right now, I can’t think beyond how excited I am to get started. Ramona worked hard to get the town out of tremendous debt after years of mismanagement. I’d like to build on her successes and secure an even greater surplus.”

“I look forward to hearing more about your ideas to do that.”

The sound of the entrance door opening interrupted their conversation. A cold blast of air flew down the corridor. Darius looked down the hall—and lost his breath. The heels of Peyton’s black pumps snapped against the silver flooring. Her burgundy wool coat complemented the pink flush of her cheeks.

“Good morning, Professor.” Darius inclined his head toward her. His body hardened with the memory of their kiss.

“Good morning, Darius.” Peyton’s soft greeting triggered a reaction in his gut. Her shaky smile brightened as she stopped beside Doreen. “I imagine you had trouble sleeping last night.”

“Your imagination is right.” Doreen laughed self-consciously.

“I’m excited to cast my vote for you.”

“Thank you.” Doreen’s nervous expression relaxed.

Peyton nodded toward Darius before crossing into the gym.

“I’m also anxious to implement Ramona’s suggestion of a community center fund-raiser.” Doreen’s comment brought Darius back to his interview. “Have you given any more thought to cochairing that committee?”

Darius stilled. “Was it your idea for me to be cochair?”