Country Roads(41)

“Um, are we going to your place or mine?” She tried to decide which she would prefer.

“Mine.” He glanced sideways and shook his head. “No, yours would be better. That way you can kick me out anytime you want to. There’s a back stairway we can use so no one knows I’m there.”

At first she was disappointed and a little hurt. She wanted to be invited into his home. But then she followed his logic: if things didn’t go well or she changed her mind, she was in control. She didn’t have to depend on him for a ride back to the hotel. His gallantry made her reach out to touch the back of his hand on the steering wheel. “Lawyers make good dates.”

“Well, now that’s a unique perspective. My profession is generally considered a negative when it comes to relationships,” he said, downshifting as he turned the ’Vette into a side street. “We’ll park back here where no one will see the car. I don’t want you caught in the gossip mill, since it’s already grinding.”

“I guess Mrs. Bostic’s sister would notice if it sat in the parking lot all night,” Julia said.

“I keep meaning to get a minivan for my trysts,” he said, killing the engine and swinging out of the driver’s seat.

After helping her up out of the car, he bent down for a quick kiss that lingered when she wrapped her hand around his neck. Nervousness was starting to intertwine with her excitement, so she beat it back by plastering her body against his to savor the feel of hard muscle and the scent of starched cotton and warm male.

“This way,” he said, breaking the kiss and grabbing her hand. He led her around the inn’s rose beds to a side door.

“Do mayors really get the keys to the city?” she whispered.

“No one ever locks anything in Sanctuary.” The knob turned in his hand, and he ushered her into a dimly lit entrance hall leading to a narrow staircase. “This comes out in the linen closet upstairs. It’s a highlight of the inn’s ghost tour,” he said, following her up the steps.

She swallowed the laughter bubbling up in her throat as he cracked open the closet door and checked the upper hallway for guests or staff. It was partly tension and partly delight at the silliness of sneaking around.

When he turned and nodded that it was safe, she said softly, “This is so much fun.”

He looked startled, and then the brilliant smile she had noticed the first time they met flashed across his face. “I guess it is.”

He was still smiling as they slipped through her door. He threw the deadbolt and turned around. The smile was gone. There was nothing in his face but intention and it was all focused on her.

Nervousness nearly swamped her. He wasn’t a college boy or a mildly attractive fellow artist, her only two experiences with sex. Paul was a grown man with an intensity and physical presence that both thrilled and scared her. She felt gauche and inexperienced when he looked at her like this.

He moved back, giving her space. None of the hunger left his face, but it was tempered by a tightly held control. “Having second thoughts?”

She looked into those silvery eyes, let her gaze trail down over his wide shoulders to the muscle-roped forearms exposed by his rolled-up sleeves, and finally to the long fingers drumming against his thigh, the only sign he gave of his pent-up impatience. She shook her head.

He approached her slowly, almost as though she were a skittish horse. “I’m not going to run away if you make a sudden movement,” she said.

“I’m not so sure. Wood sprites are notoriously shy,” he said, running his hands down her arms to twine his fingers with hers.

“Wood sprites?” She liked that.

He tugged her up against him. “It popped into my head on the shoulder of the interstate, and I can’t seem to get rid of it.”

“It fits right in, because I thought of you as one of those half-god, half-humans who were always running around in the forests of ancient Greece, chasing nymphs.”

Now the desire in his eyes was joined by amusement as he stood there, looking down at her, their bodies barely brushing each other. “A demigod? That’s a hell of a lot better than the king of foos.”

“I don’t think so. You earned the crown. The demigod thing is just genetics.” She was starting to relax under the influence of his banter. She swayed into him.

That was all the cue he needed. He bent and snaked one arm behind her knees while the other slipped around her shoulders. Scooping her up, he headed for the bedroom. “This is what demigods do when they catch a wood sprite.”

She looped her arms around his neck and held on tight as he turned sideways to get through the door. Her weight seemed to offer no challenge. “They generally get in trouble for it, though,” she pointed out.