A flush pinked her cheeks as she pursed her kiss-swollen lips. “So…that's…out of the way.”
Her hand shook when she patted him on the chest, her fingers lingering for a few seconds over his pounding heart. With a sigh, she pulled out of his embrace and trudged up to the house, never looking back.
She thought this was over? After a kiss like that? His balls couldn't be any bluer if they were made of blueberries. For a smart woman, she sure wasn't thinking straight.
“Like hell,” he growled.
Chapter Six
The cinnamon roll's gooey, sugary goodness melted on Beth's tongue and she closed her eyes to better savor the ecstasy. If this couldn't make a Monday better, she couldn't imagine what would. Margret Goodwin may be the biggest gossip in Dry Creek, but her divine baking ability made a visit to her shop a must.
“So where’d you disappear to during the party?” Claire asked.
Beth spotted the poof of Margret's frizzy platinum hair sticking up over the top of the half-full lemonade dispenser. Making eye contact with Claire, Beth shrugged a shoulder toward the counter at Margret's inept attempt at covert eavesdropping. The bell above the bakery's door jangled and Margret scurried away from her hiding spot to help the newcomer.
Humor sparkled in Claire’s brown eyes. She swiped the last bite of cinnamon roll from their shared plate and stuffed it into her mouth.
Playacting a pout, Beth stuck out her tongue.
“Ha. I grew up with three brothers, you never had a chance,” Claire said with a grin.
“True, but that means the icing is all mine.”
The fight for the last bit of a shared treat was a tradition dating back to second grade, when Beth introduced Claire to the honey-covered, fried pastry decadence known as a sopapilla. Sure, this time Claire had gotten the last of the cinnamon roll, but the frosting was a worthy consolation prize. Scooping the creamy, white goodness onto a finger and into her mouth, Beth savored its sweetness. It would all go straight to her well-padded ass, but it was worth it. Her eyes closed, she barely noticed when the air shifted around her.
“Now, where have I seen that look on your face before?” Hank plopped down into one of the pink-and-white-striped chairs at the table. He greeted Claire with a quick, “Hey, sis.”
The azure shade of his button-up shirt brought out the green hues in his hazel eyes, drawing her in and promising a future of warm spring days and everything perfect and good. With Hank’s gaze locked on her, mesmerizing her, she barely heard his chair scrape against the floor as he scooted it closer until their knees touched.
Beth froze, her finger still in her mouth, her skin vibrating until electricity spread up her tense thigh to her fast dampening panties. Shit. How did he do this to her through so many layers of clothes? Imagine her response if they were naked. Her skin flushed. Better yet, don't think of that.
“Can I borrow your spoon?” His words were innocent but the gravelly tone promised all sorts of indecent experiences.
Her nipples jutted against her lacy bra and she thanked God the padding hid proof of her desire.
Steam floated up from his paper coffee cup and he dumped three packets of sugar into the dark brew. Grabbing the spoon, he wriggled his eyebrows at her.
With all the grace of a bull in a china shop, Margret delivered a chocolate sprinkle donut to the table and ever so slowly walked to the nearby counter, where she rearranged the cups, peeking over her shoulder every few moments.
Claire crossed her arms, her head cocked to one side as she stared at her oldest brother. “Sure, we'd love to have you join us, Hank. Thanks for asking.”
“Don't mind if I do, thanks, sis.” His gaze never left Beth. “But I can only stay for a minute. I wanted to make sure there haven't been any more calls about your grandparents' place.”
She couldn't let him get involved. Look at how she reacted to him in public. In private, she'd never keep her panties on. That couldn't happen. Another jingle at the door saved her from having to answer.
One of Hank's deputies poked his head in the door. “Ready to go?”
“In a minute, Keith.” Hank made no move to get up. “So, any new incidents?”
“Nope.” Sunday had been uneventful. No more damage or threats was good, but she wished she had learned something in her online records search. Everything she'd found revealed only a tangle of information about a vague corporation with a ghost for a CEO.
“Good. I’ve made a few inquiries—”
“What do you mean? I told you to stay out of it.”
“Darlin’, you know that’s not going to happen. How's the car?”
The abrupt topic switch threw her off track. “Mike’s checking it out now, said he'd have an estimate for me in a few days.”