Great—he must’ve overheard what the tag would be on her auction offering.
She grabbed his hand and tried to pull it away from her sweater. “That basket’s not for you.”
She realized her mistake right away, because beneath her palm and fingers, his skin was well worked, manly, strong. The feel of it fired a need through her that she hadn’t realized was there, and it made her go even wetter for him.
“So you’re saving yourself for another man,” he said, twining his fingers through hers.
Oh, God, even such a simple connection sent the adrenaline racing through her, awakening her completely.
“Margot,” he said softly. “You’re being real difficult about this when it should be so easy.”
But it wasn’t. Not even close. Giving in to Clint Barrows was unthinkable at a reunion where everyone was just waiting for him to finally nail the one girl who’d slipped through his fingers.
Still, when he slid his other hand to her hip, massaging it with his thumb, she almost gave in.
She’d had too much to drink, she told herself. And she’d been lonely for the first time in her life because she was facing things she’d never faced before. All of that added up to a vulnerable Margot, and when he moved his hand to her backside, cupping her derriere, she sucked in a harsh breath.
“Just hear me out,” he said.
Yes. It was on the tip of her tongue. It was screaming in her head, pulling her toward him even as she tried to stay away.
But it wasn’t going to happen, because she still had a little something called pride.
“I’ve listened enough,” she said.
She stepped away and grabbed her suitcase handle again, the wheels reverberating over the blacktop just as loudly as an unexpected, almost overwhelming hunger rumbled through her.
* * *
BY THE NEXT morning, Margot hadn’t heard from Brad, and she told herself that it was still early—they had plenty of time before the auction.
And it wasn’t as if she was depending on him for the best good time ever, anyway. She’d had pretty decent fun last night after she’d unpacked her suitcase, then met Leigh and Dani again in the café, where they’d caught up with other sisters who had offered solace about the video. That hadn’t surprised Margot, because everyone but the biggest prudes had backed her up years ago when the first one had gone public.
Naturally, Margot had done her best to avoid the questions about future books and how well her sales were doing, all the while wondering if the concierge had gotten ahold of Brad yet with the “this is what my basket looks like” note and its less-than-subtle invitation to bid on it.
But there’d been some moments last night—a lot of them, actually—when she’d found her mind on someone else.
The cowboy with the cocky grin.
The man who’d used his sexy voice in the parking lot as if he were fully confident she was going to succumb to his supposedly irresistible charm.
Right.
She rolled out of bed, the digital clock on the nightstand blazing 9:00 a.m. in the dim room, darkened by the pulled heavy curtains. And when she glanced at the phone, the message light was dark, too, staring back at her blankly.
No calls.
But dammit all if she was going to bug the concierge by asking him if he’d even delivered the note to Brad.
Jeez, now she was wondering if it’d been such a good idea in the first place....
At least Leigh had told her last night that her note was a perfect prologue to her basket. Very old-school. And, hey, what guy wouldn’t be interested in that kind of message?
Margot cracked the curtains, squinting at the sunlight. She smiled when she saw the wide tomato fields and the pine trees lining the nearby open road.
Unfortunately, her gaze then went to the parking lot, where she saw Clint Barrows’s faded blue Dodge truck lounging next to her little Prius.
Why did it seem as if even his pickup was ready to devour her car?
Rubbing her arms, she wandered to the bathroom, turning on the shower, stripping off her long nightshirt. The second the heated mist whispered over her skin, she tightened with goose bumps, imagining that she heard a voice, soft and low, whispering quiet apologies to her.
Clint Barrows’s apologies.
Just hear me out, he’d said last night in the parking lot, when she’d known he meant so much more.
She stepped into the shower, hoping the water would wash her into a sane place. But as it sluiced over her, she imagined his hand on her hip, just like last night when he’d been bold enough to touch her.
Yet, now, there were no clothes between them, and as she closed her eyes, the uninterrupted flutter of water against her became his fingers, and she felt them ease to her belly, a fleeting butterfly touch.
You’re being real difficult about this when it should be so easy....
She leaned forward, bracing her hands against the tile wall. The water gently ran down her body, slipping over her thighs, in between her legs.
Wantonly, she opened them a little, loving the sensation as it skimmed over her clit.
The water became his fingers again, finding just the right spot, her breath quickening right along with her heartbeat.
You used to be a risk taker, she heard him tell her, as if they were talking again. The butterfly wings on her body traveled inward, beating in her belly, electric and tickling, making her bite her lip.
So why’re you set on safe, boring Brad?
Why not go for this new direction?
She took her hand from the wall, trailed it between her breasts, down her stomach to her pulsing center. Sliding her fingers through her cleft, she massaged herself, thinking of Clint.
At least, with Brad, they’d had a summer together. And when they’d returned to college, after the bloom had faded off their little affair, they had floated away from each other, going different ways.
It’d all been perfectly safe with Brad, just as it could be this weekend. No deception, no videos.
But, as she touched herself, the water caressing her, the mere thought of that unpredictability sent a jolt through her, making her breath catch.
Wet. Excited. And every time she circled her clit with her thumb, imagining that it was Clint touching her, her temperature rose. The heat pushed her up, up, tighter and tighter, until a tiny series of impending explosions quivered in her.
She fought the first one, pressing herself forward against the wall....
Then the second, as it rolled through her, shake by contained shake....
But the third—
She started to give in to it for the first time in months, slipping down the wall as blasts of sensation seized her, making her gasp just before she let go with one long, hard inhale...then...
As the water ran over her—just water now—she groaned, aching.
Still aching.
And hardly knowing just what it was anymore that she really wanted.
4
AFTER THE PREGAME party and the homecoming football match itself, the reunion moved to Main Street, to the back room of Dani’s favorite hangout in Avila Grande.
Desperado’s was one of those country joints that was marked by the smell of hops and fried food every time you walked through its swinging doors and hit the planked floor.