Chapter 5

Heather knew she should be working on her paper instead of sitting on a porch swing and enjoying the peaceful sounds of the spring evening at her brother’s house. She cast a guilty glance at her laptop on the wicker table by the rocking chairs, but she took another sip of her tea and pushed off with her foot to swing a little more. There’d be plenty of time to work on her paper later; right now, she needed to decompress.

After the week she’d had, maybe she should be doing something to blow off steam on Saturday night, like going out dancing with her friends, but she promised Jeff she would sit with Sam so he could take Magda out for a nice dinner. She had a lot of schoolwork to do, so normally she wouldn’t mind. Plus she got to hang out with her niece, which was always a bonus in her book. However, tonight she wouldn’t have minded putting a little distance between herself and the Retreat.

Any hopes of going her own way at work and not having to interact too much with Mick had been squashed by her brother’s constant interference. She’d tried to keep busy and dodge Mick as much as possible, and things had gone according to her plan until Wednesday when she’d overheard—okay, eavesdropped on—Mick’s phone call with the jerk from New York. It stood her opinion of him on its head. She’d softened toward him, ever so slightly, and her buttinsky brother picked up on it, and in his attempt to keep everyone at the Retreat one big happy family, he’d thrust Mick and her together at every opportunity.

She gritted her teeth and swung a little faster. Why did she have to use the word ‘thrust’ and Mick in the same sentence? Now all she could think about was Mick thrusting.

Into her.

Above her.

Beneath her.

Gah! Think of something else, anything else. Okay, she would count to twenty in Latin.

Unum. Duo. Tres.

The silence of the night was broken by a voice. Mick’s voice. It sounded deep, velvety, and surprised. Man, she so couldn’t catch a break. What was the world coming to when a woman couldn’t count to twenty in Latin in peace on a Saturday night?

“Heather? Is that you?”

Illuminated as she was by the porch light, Heather thought it was pretty obvious who was here. The night beyond the warm glow of the porch was pitch black and she couldn’t see Mick, so she responded in the direction from which his voice had come. “Yes, Mick, it’s me. If you’re here to see Jeff, he’s out on a date with Maggie, so there’s no need to stick around.”

“Sorry to disappoint the hopeful tone in your voice, but I’m not here to see Jeff. I’m not going anywhere.”

He stepped into the circle of light around the porch as he spoke, and now he climbed up the steps to the porch.

God, the man was beautiful! Why did he have to be so handsome—with his sharp, high cheekbones, perfectly formed lips, and eyes as intoxicating as the bourbon their color resembled? It would make the fight against her attraction to him so much easier if he was a troll. She sighed. Hell, who was she kidding, certainly not herself. She’d always felt this pull to Mick, and his good looks were just a part of the reason.

The light glinted off his brown hair. He looked positively edible in an ancient, worn-out Portland Pintos sweatshirt , and worn denim jeans that lovingly caressed the parts of him Heather would most like to lovingly caress herself

He walked until he was directly across from her; then leaned his very fine backside against the porch railing, with his arms crossed. “I wanted to get some paperwork done. I keep getting interrupted during the day, and I thought I’d be the only one here tonight.”

He looked pointedly from the laptop to Heather, and asked with a raised brow, “Are you working on a Saturday night too? I’d have figured you’d be dancing the night away in some club in D.C. with that bartender.”

Heather furrowed her brow. “Bartender? What bartender?”

“The kid from the party last weekend.”

She shook her head. “Kyle? I told you, he’s just a school friend.”

He jerked his head to her sweatshirt, which she’d thrown on over her T-shirt and leggings, when she’d made the now fateful decision to come and sit on the porch. “George Mason University. Is that where you’re going to school?”

“Yep. I’ve been commuting there for years, but I’m finally going to graduate this spring—if I can concentrate enough to finish my paper.”

“The Heather I knew wouldn’t have been doing a paper on Saturday night.”

She felt a flash of anger at his words. “The Heather you knew was seventeen years old, for God’s sake! You’ve changed since then, why do you seem to think it’s so impossible I have too?” She ignored the little voice in her head reminding her she had just been wishing she were out burning up a dance floor tonight.

Heat flashed in his eyes, and it didn’t have anything to do with anger. A smile curled up his beautifully formed lips. “Believe me, Heather, I have been noticing all week how you’ve grown up. I didn’t mean it as an insult. I always liked how full of life you are.” A smile played at the corner of his lips. “You might not have noticed, but I tend to be a little on the serious side, and you brought a lot of fun into my life back then.”

Flummoxed by his words, and the honesty in his eyes, she was speechless—a rare occurrence for her. She took a sip of her tea and tore her searching gaze from his face.

Perhaps realizing he wasn’t going to get any kind of response from her, Mick said, “Think that swing will hold up if I get on too?”

“Sure, Jeff sits on here all the time and you’re about the same size as him.” She wanted to smack her forehead as he eased onto the seat beside her. Why didn’t she tell him no? His mighty weight would surely pull the swing down. But, no, her innate honesty did her in again, and now Mick was pressed against her in the cozy confines of a swing built with romantic trysts in mind. He felt good beside her too—all hard, masculine heat.

They rocked for a little while; the only sound was the creaking of the swing.

Mick was the first to break the silence. “Why are you studying here? You don’t live here do you?”

“No. I live in an apartment over my sister Deidre’s café, you know, the Nosh Pit?”

“I didn’t know your sister owned it. I had lunch there this week.”

“With Gloria Peterson. I know.”

He frowned. “I forgot how fast news travels in a small town.”

Heather wanted to warn Mick about Gloria, the woman was a gold-digging man-eater, but she didn’t want to appear jealous. Instead, she answered his earlier question. “I’m babysitting Sam tonight. She’s up in her room on the phone, probably talking to Gloria’s kid, they’re BFFs. I thought I’d come out here to work on my paper, but it was so peaceful I decided to just have a cup of tea and enjoy the quiet.”

“And then I showed up.”

“And then you showed up.” Heather took the final sip of her tea and stopped the swing with her foot to put the mug on the porch. Before she could get up, Mick pushed off, and with the squeak of his giant sneaker on the wood porch they were swinging again.

“It’s been good working with you this week, Heather. You’re really great at your job. Jeff wasn’t kidding when he said you’re the person who keeps the Retreat rolling.”

She turned her head to him and blinked in surprise. If her brother felt like her work was so crucial to the Retreat, why was Mick the one being offered the chance to become a partner? She knew she should be angrier with her brother and Cisco—and they did get a fair share of the blame—but the man in front of her was the one taking what she’d earned, and she was surprised he was complimenting her. Was her playing her in some way? Her voice was equal parts shocked and cold when she said, “Thanks.”

He turned too, and their faces were just a breath apart. Heather’s heart stuttered in her chest.

“You don’t have to sound so surprised I paid you a compliment.”

She turned away to face forward and stared into the night. “I don’t know what to think about you, Mick. I thought maybe you were being sarcastic.”

“No. I’m serious; you’re really great at your job.”

She was close enough to see the muscles in his jaw working overtime.

“While I’m being serious, Heather, I wanted to apologize to you.”

Ha! He knew she deserved the partnership more than he did, and felt guilty about it, if the haunted look in his eyes, and the tight lines bracketing his mouth were any guideline. Heather frowned as she realized he looked too anguished to be talking just about work. Maybe he was talking about something else.

“Apologize for what?” Heather asked.

“For what went down between us eleven years ago.”

She took a deep breath. “You mean the way you shunned me like we were Amish, and you’d caught me using a light bulb?”

“Yeah, I’m sorry about that.”

Huh. It wasn’t about work after all. She frowned, unsure she wanted to discuss the more emotional issues of their past, rather than their current situation, of which he appeared to be as oblivious as her brother and Cisco. Men! They could be so frustrating in their cluelessness.

She peered at him through narrowed eyes. It looked like he was clenching his jaw again, which made his cheekbones look even sharper than usual. Damn the man for looking so sincere. And handsome. But it was the sincerity making her say, “Okay, thanks.”

He rolled his neck, and she heard an audible crack. “I’ve always been really ashamed of my behavior.”

“You should be. If you didn’t want to see me anymore, why couldn’t you have told me in person? Why the shunning?”

He paused before speaking, and when he did, his voice was rough. “I didn’t trust myself to be alone with you and not keep my hands off you.”

“Not generally a concern when you’re dumping someone, so why were you drop-kicking me, if you still felt so attracted to me you couldn’t even be alone with me long enough to break up with me?”

“It was because I still felt attracted to you.” He gripped the arm of the swing so hard his knuckles were white and Heather feared he’d snap it off. “Jesus, Heather, why didn’t you tell me you were only seventeen fucking years old?”

Her jaw dropped as she gaped at him. “You knew I was seventeen. I didn’t feel the need to tell you.”

“See, that’s the thing. I didn’t know.”

“You knew I’d just graduated from high school. How old did you think I was?”

“Eighteen—about to turn nineteen.”

She shrugged. “I was seventeen about to turn eighteen, what’s the big difference?”

He laughed once, but without a trace of humor. “About twenty years.”

She frowned. “What do you mean?”

“You were underage. If we had done the wild thing, I could’ve been arrested. Not to mention what it would’ve meant for my career.”

She shook her head sadly. “Wow. All those years of wondering why, what I might have done wrong, and it was something so stupid?”

“Stupid?”

She punched his arm, and the wall of muscle she found there made it feel as if she’d hit a stone wall. “Yes, stupid. We weren’t having sex. There’s no law against a twenty-two year old and a seventeen year old hanging out with each other.”

“You know it’s where we were headed. Our attraction was like a runaway train; there was no stopping it.”

“When did you realize I was seventeen?”

“I was at practice; you’d brought Sam by to see Jeff.”

“I remember,” she whispered. Hearing him describe the day when he’d broken her teenaged heart, tore at her guts, but she didn’t stop him. She’d waited a long time to hear why he acted like such an ass, and as much as reliving one of the worst moments of her life hurt, she prompted, “What happened on that particular day? Everything was fine up until then.”

“I know. I was so psyched to see you there I was staring at you like the lovestruck horn dog I was, and the guys starting busting my balls about it—saying Jeff was going to kick my ass, and the ever popular ‘once a hillbilly, always a hillbilly’ taunt, because I was hot for such a young girl. Then one of them said ‘seventeen will get you twenty,’ meaning twenty years in jail.”

“But why didn’t you talk to me about it? I turned eighteen less than two months later; we could have cooled things down until then if you were worried. Why the silent treatment?”

“That’s the part I’m ashamed of, and what I’m apologizing for. I was young, too, and stupid. I would handle you differently now.”

She turned and his face was close enough she could smell his minty breath. “Oh yeah? How would you handle me now?”

“Like this,” he said, before closing the distance between them and pressing his lips to hers.

The heat that had been simmering between them all week erupted into a full-blown inferno, and at her soft moan, Mick groaned and pushed his tongue into her mouth to claim it. He pulled her onto his lap and the thin, black fabric of her leggings provided no barrier to the hardness she felt beneath her bottom. Feeling his reaction to her drove her wild with eleven years of pent-up desire for this man.

She felt said hardness jerk as it grew impossibly harder, and she twined her arms around his neck. She slid her hands up to tangle in his silky hair. And when she felt one of his big, strong hands slip under her sweatshirt to cup her breast over her lace bra, she thought she might explode in a fireball of hot, wet lust.

“Aunt Heather? Where’d you go?” Sam’s voice called from inside the house.

She pulled her kiss-swollen lips away from his and touched her fingertips to them in wonder. She cleared her throat before she answered, “I’m on the front porch, Sam.”

She slid off Mick’s lap and picked up her teacup with an unsteady hand.

“Okay! I’ll be right down,” her niece shouted.

Mick looked pointedly at the bulge in his jeans. “Mind if I borrow your laptop to hide this from your impressionable young niece?”

Heather laughed, but it even sounded shaky to her own ears. “Feel free.”

He picked up her wafer-thin computer and put it on his lap, just before Sam flew out the front door. The screen door slammed shut behind her.

“Hey, Mr. Evans…um…I mean, Mick. I didn’t know you were here.”

“I just came by to get some work done.”

“Oh, okay. Aunt Heather, I’m off the phone, so can we make popcorn and watch the movie now?”

“You bet. Why don’t you go get us a couple of sodas, and I’ll be right in to pop the corn.”

“’Kay!” Sam ran back into the house.

Heather took a deep breath. If Sam hadn’t interrupted them, Mick and she would be seriously rocking this swing right now. What was she thinking? Mick Evans was the only man she’d ever let close enough to touch her heart—to break her heart, and it happened without the two of them having sex. If they were ever to cross that line, she’d be way too vulnerable to the man who’d hurt her so badly in the past. Not to mention all the issues in their present—he was her boss for Pete’s sake.

She smoothed her hair. “I’ve got to go in. Now that the coast is clear, may I have my laptop?” She balanced the mug in one hand, and reached for her computer with the other.

He handed it to her reluctantly. “Heather…”

His deep voice sent tingles to places in her body she didn’t want tingling any more tonight. “Good night, Mick,” she interrupted with finality, before going into the house and using her hip to shut the door firmly between them.