Chapter 17

“Definitely making progress,” Chris told his sister as he took the sweet and sour chicken out of the bag, followed by the moo shoo pork and the lemon chicken and the won ton soup and the broccoli beef and the vegetable fried rice and the garlic shrimp.

“Do you think you got enough?”

“Sara was hungry.” He figured they’d have left-over dinner for at least a couple nights and she wouldn’t have to cook.

“Liar,” Shelly accused. “So, tell me about this progress you’re making before Sara finishes showering.”

Chris took a beer from the refrigerator and sat down at the kitchen table that only had three chairs. One of these days he would buy his sister a decent table and chair set. He set his beer down beside his chipped plate. And a new set of dishes. Maybe for Christmas. She couldn’t very well refuse a Christmas gift.

“I told her the truth.”

“Which truth would that be?”

“That I know her pattern with men, that I know she dumps them before leaving on tour, and that’s why I’m keeping my distance. Sara’s advice.”

“Sara knows?”

“What do you think? She’s seen me looking at Anne.”

“She is a very observant child. Quite brilliant actually.”

“Just like her mom?” Chris teased. “She was the one who convinced me that honesty is the best policy.”

Shelly laughed. “Don’t you just love it when kids throw your words back in your face?”

“Love it,” Chris agreed. But this time it seemed to have paid off. At least he didn’t have to play games anymore. Now he only had to put up with the torture that the truth had created—Anne determined to seduce him.

“So, how’s it working for you?”

Chris took a long pull of his beer. “It’s painful. You’d have to know Anne to understand. Mischief is her middle name. She’s out to get me.”

“To marry her?”

“Ha! I wish. To sleep with her.”

Shelly set the serving spoons on the table and sat down beside her brother. “I have got to meet this woman.”

“You’ll like her.”

“I hope so, considering that my big brother is in love with her.”

Chris’s sigh was deep and long. He wasn’t going to deny that, especially since with every day that passed, he fell a little deeper.

“What are they like, the McCulloughs?”

“You’ve heard of them?”

“Hard not to, living here in Winslow. They’re synonymous with Canden Valley. I’ve been out there enough times to notice their name on the general store and don’t they own the pub? And the B&B? Isn’t it named the Thistle and Ivy for one of them? Ivy McCullough?”

“Skye’s mother, yes,” Chris confirmed. “And to answer your other question, they’re as opposite of our family as you can get.”

“In other words, kind, genuine, down to earth, not pretentious?” She laughed but Chris could hear the sadness behind it. “How many of them have you met?”

“Not that many. I met Anne’s father, Grant, when he came to the studio to pick up Sara. And her Cousin Sean at the general store. And Skye, of course, local bartender.”

“And since you spend so much time at the pub?”

“More than you’d expect. Skye and her fiancé Nick have been giving me advice on how to win over Anne.”

“She’s that much of a challenge?”

“Oh, yeah. And I met her brother Alex today and his fiancée Cassie. And their grandparents, Eleanor and Evan.”

Her brother wasn’t only smitten with Anne. Clearly he was taken with the entire family. She didn’t blame him. Not one bit. Not after being born into a family of narcissists.

“I talked to Father today,” he told her, taking another swallow of his beer.”

“Really?”

“He tried to talk me into coming home for the holidays.”

“Did he succeed?”

“He might have had a chance if he’d even made an effort to convince me that it’s because he misses me, cares about me, wants to see me.”

“But?”

“He needs me at numerous functions to make the family look good. He did his usual guilt trip on me.”

“I’m sorry.” Shelly reached over and patted his arm.

“Don’t be. It was my own damned fault for talking to him in the first place. It’s not as if I didn’t know what to expect. Are you sure you want to go up there for Christmas? Subject yourself and Sara to all that bullshit?” He cringed, remembering his conversation with Sara and her need to feel like part of a big family.

Shelly shook her head. She wasn’t sure at all. But they were the only family she had. If only Max’s family had stuck around and stayed in California. She’d have preferred taking Sara to spend time with them, but they weren’t here, and flying to the Midwest right now was out of the question. They’d promised to come out in the early spring. That would give them something to look forward to. But until then, she wanted Sara to know she had a family, one that consisted of more than a mother and an uncle.

“Sorry.” Chris recognized the distress on his sister’s face. “I do understand. You want her to feel that she’s part of a family. I just wish it were a different family.”

“Yeah, me too,” Shelly admitted. “But who knows, maybe this time will be better.”

“Yeah, maybe Mother will be sober, and Father and the rest of the Newell men will have given up their extracurricular women-chasing activities, and maybe—” Chris bit his tongue. He’d already said too much. This wasn’t helping. But he knew it wouldn’t be any better. It never was. She’d get her hopes up only to be disappointed once more. She’d come home depressed and sad and swearing she’d never set foot in their house again. Until the next time. Time did that. For better or worse, it made you forget.

Chris parked his SUV in the driveway beneath the stairs and went to get his bicycle out of the back. He debated whether to chain it to the railing or to take it upstairs with him. It wasn’t cheap. He had indulged himself when he’d bought it. It had been living in the storage compartment in front of Shelly’s carport for too long. He needed it with him. He needed exercise. He needed something to help diffuse the torment Anne was determined to subject him to. Cycling was definitely better than cold showers.

“Upstairs,” he said aloud as he closed the rear door of the Highlander. He lifted it onto the third step and pushed it up the stairs.

When he reached the top, he dug inside his pocket for his keys, then remembered he hadn’t locked the door. He never locked the door. This was Canden Valley. It had taken him a week to get out of the habit of locking everything up tight, but now that he was out of it, he liked it.

He turned the knob and opened the door, pushing his bike ahead of him. When the scent of lilac assaulted his senses, he knew he wasn’t alone. He rested the bike against the wall and shut the door behind him.

“You got a key from your uncle after all? You’re not even the slightest bit worried about a lawsuit?”

Enough moonlight shone through the window for him to see her smile. And to make him realize that she wasn’t perched on the window seat waiting for him. She was in his bed.

“Didn’t need to,” she said softly. “You left the door unlocked.”

“Never again,” he murmured, knowing it was a lie. There was nothing he could imagine that could compare to coming home to find her in his bed.

“Come here,” she whispered.

“No way.” He shrugged out of his corduroy jacket and went to hang it in his closet, not because he was particularly neat but because he needed something to do with his hands.

“You have to leave.” He heard his own voice but it was so quiet he doubted that she heard him.

If she did, she ignored him, pulling back the covers and patting the bed for him to join her.

Instead he edged closer to the window, seeking refuge. “I can’t.”

“Sure you can.” Her voice was soft and seductive. “You know you want to.”

“I told you—”

“I know what you told me. And I also know what I want and what you want.”

“I don’t think you do know.”

“You want me.”

“I want you, but not just in my bed.”

“Don’t you think this is a good place to start?”

He sat down on the window seat finding sanctuary in the hard, cool wood of the bench. He reached across the desk beside him and flicked on the light, glancing down at his desk, grateful that he’d spent the day before filing the photographs he’d taken of her. Only a few had been left sitting out and those had been taken since they’d met.

While he found relief there, he found anything but relief when he looked across the room at her lying in his bed, her long brown hair spread across his pillow, her deep blue eyes as blue as the ocean, smoldering with desire. Damn. She was wearing another one of those teddy things only this one was a soft blue. She edged the covers further off of her, exposing her legs now, those long gorgeous legs that he had imagined wrapped around him way too many times.

“You really have to leave, Anne. If you don’t, I won’t be responsible for what happens.”

“Sounds good to me.”

“Vixen.”

“What if I promise I won’t try to seduce you?”

He laughed and shook his head. “I think we’re way beyond that.”

“What if I told you I just want to know what it feels like to lie in your arms, to curl up in your bed beside you, to be held by you?”

The woman knew how to get to him. “I wouldn’t believe you.”

“What if I promise?”

“I wouldn’t trust you.”

“Well, maybe it’s time you did.”

“Well maybe it’s time you proved you’re trustworthy.”

She smiled, and he could see her struggling not to look seductive but it wasn’t easy for her. “How about giving me a test?”

“What kind of test?”

“Come here and find out.”

“I don’t trust you, remember?”

“Just give me five minutes and see for yourself that I can be responsible, dependable, and honorable, a genuine girl scout.” She raised herself up to rest on one elbow and smirked at him. “I can control myself. You’re not all that, you know.”

Chris chuckled and walked over to the bed. “Move over.”

“Aren’t you going to take off your—?”

“My clothes stay on.”

“Your boots.”

“Good idea.” He yanked them off and tossed them across the room. Then he lay down beside her, fully clothed. “No touching.”

“Just a hug?” She wriggled into his arms, and he couldn’t resist wrapping them around her.

“You do realize this is bound to be incredibly frustrating and possibly embarrassing for me.”

“I don’t mind.”

“Imp.”

“First devil woman, then temptress, then vixen and now imp. All this name calling. Can I kiss you?”

“No.”

“Please?”

“No.”

“I knew your willpower was a flaw.”

“Your opinion. For me it’s my savior.”

“Just a little kiss? No tongue?”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

He leaned closer to find her lips and knew instantly that it was a mistake. She didn’t need her tongue to turn him on. Hell, she didn’t even need to touch him.

Her lips were soft and pliant and welcoming as they pressed into his. No, she definitely didn’t need her tongue. He felt as if they were making love with just the touch of their lips. But then everything about her oozed sensuality. She tasted of peppermint tea and honey and smelled of lilac, and he felt overwhelmed, overpowered. He wanted to inhale her and devour her. And love her.

It was his tongue that slipped between her lips as if it had a will of its own. She pulled back and pressed her hands against his chest. “Are you testing me?”

He considered lying but didn’t. “I forgot.”

“Sure you did.”

“Sure I did,” he said, his voice raspy.

When she stared into his chocolate brown eyes, she realized that he was telling the truth. He was not a person who lied easily.

She snuggled even closer to him, feeling his erection hard and bold against her. She wanted him so much, to touch him, to stroke him, to feel him inside of her. She borrowed some of his willpower and stopped her hands from roaming where they wanted to go. But she pressed her body hard against him and allowed her mouth to do the same. He didn’t protest. He indulged himself, allowing his hands to envelop her hips and pull her even more tightly against him.

When he moaned, she knew he was as lost as she was. And he wanted her as desperately as she wanted him. Once his hands had loosened their grip, she eased away from him, sitting up and swinging her leg across him to straddle his center. She eased back and forth gently, stroking him with her body. He might not allow himself to take her completely, but maybe he could indulge them both this much.

Before Chris knew what was happening, she had reached for his hands and had placed one on each of her breasts. “What are you doing?” came out in a raspy voice that he hardly recognized.

“I want to feel your hands on me.” She moved his hands from her breasts, easing them up and down her body, her head lolling backwards as she savored the sensation of his touch, all the while rubbing against him, driving him crazy.

He was lost in the feel of her, the touch of her, and the knowledge of how much she wanted him. But miraculously sanity prevailed and he eased himself into a sitting position, lifting her away from him.

He swung his legs off the bed and struggled to regain consciousness.

“Where are you going?” she whispered, her voice reflecting the pout he was certain was on her lips.

“To take a cold shower.”

“Do you do that often?” He heard the mocking tone in her voice.

“Oh, yeah.” Just about any time he was around her. “And no, you can’t join me, and yes, there is a lock on the bathroom door.” Or was there? He didn’t remember seeing one. Maybe he was safer here. Shit, he wasn’t safe anywhere, not only because he didn’t seem to have the strength or wit to get her out of his bed, but because he wasn’t able to get her out of his head . . . and definitely not his heart.