glared at him. “You’ve been hogging my spot on purpose.”
“And you’ve been avoiding me on purpose, that or trying to piss me off.”
She managed a laugh but could hardly feel mirthful since, even though a few feet separated them, the scent of him reached her. The enticing aroma of leather and male and that unnameable something that made her think of satin sheets and champagne and…Forget it. Forget him. Forget the kiss. Forget.
She tried for a steadying breath. “Look, I realize you’re very popular, but unlike the other members of your fan club,” she motioned to the group of women clustered outside the courtroom, their gazes hooked on Jimmy. “I’m too busy to spend my valuable time thinking about ways to piss you off.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
“You know what I think?”
“I couldn’t care less.”
“I think,” he said, stepping toward her, “you’ve been pushing me away on purpose, hoping I’d back off because you’re scared.”
“Scared? Of what? You? The day I’m scared of you, buster, is the day Myrna Jenkins—” known to the entire town as queen of the coiffure “—goes to the Piggly Wiggly with her hair in rollers.”
“Not me, Slick.” He took another step, closing the distance between them. “Us.” The word trembled in the air between them.
She craned her neck and stared up at him. “There is no us.”
“We were good together.”
“For about five seconds.”
“It was more like ten.” His gaze narrowed. “But a kiss is just a kiss, right? A little fun?”
He’d obviously read her article, just as she’d intended. She’d written the piece right after she’d finished up at the carnival and gone home to an empty house, disappointed and frustrated because Mr. Kiss-of-the-Century had turned out to be Mr. Jimmy Mission. Inspiration’s most eligible husband prospect was completely off-limits to a woman like Deb who’d sworn off marriage and family when she’d left Dallas. So she’d written one of her most powerful editorials, entitled Girls Just Wanna Have Fun, which had led to her weekly and ever-popular Daring Deb’s Fun Girl Fact.
“Not every woman’s out to find herself a husband,” she told him.
“And not every man’s out to find himself a wife.”
“But you are.”
“Says who?”
“Everyone in this desperately small town.” She eyed him. “So what’s the scoop? Are you or are you not looking for a wife?”
“Not at this moment.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“That, yes, I’m keeping my eye out for the future Lady Mission. I’m thirty-two and it’s time to settle down, but until I find her—and your column hasn’t made things any easier by turning half the women around here into pushy—”
“Assertive,” she cut in. “Fun women are assertive.”
“And convinced that being a good wife means rubbing herself down with pineapple-flavored body glaze and doubling as a Christmas ham.”
Despite the heat and the tension, a grin tugged at her lips. “Actually, a very good wife rubs herself down with pineapple glaze and doubles as a Christmas ham.”
“That’s where you’re wrong, honey. A very good wife doesn’t waste her time on foolishness. She steers a tractor, rides fence and pitches hay right alongside her husband. But that’s neither here nor there. I’m talking about something a lot more basic. If a girl can have her fun, so can a guy.”
She peeked around him and eyed the women still gathered in the hallway. “I say take your pick and go for it.”
He grabbed her arm and hauled her toward the alcove behind a nearby stairwell.
“What are you doing—” she started, the words drowning in the lump in her throat as he whirled her around and cornered her.
“I pick you.”
She stared up at him, wishing he wasn’t so tall, so handsome, so…close. “I’m not ripe for picking.”
His eyes darkened and she realized she’d said the wrong things…or the right thing depending on the part of her doing the thinking. From the heat pooling between her thighs she’d lay down money it wasn’t her head.
“I’d say you’re definitely ripe, honey.” His thumb grazed the nipple pressing against her blouse and heat speared her. “Damn near ready to burst.”
“That’s not what I meant.” She summoned her most nonchalant voice. “You should really save your energy for a nice girl who’s into the tractor thing.”
“The whole point is to expend a little energy.”
“So do it with the future Mrs. Jimmy Mission.”
“I would, but I haven’t found her yet.”
“Then expend energy with one of your fans out in the hallway.”
“I’ve known each one of them nearly all my life, and while they’re having a good time reading your articles and playing at being savvy singles, they’re really only after one thing—a husband. The morning after, I’m sure to find an anxious father waiting on my doorstep with a loaded shotgun, and Preacher Marley standing next to him. I’ll end up hitched whether I’ve found the right woman or not.”
“What makes you think the same won’t happen with me?”
“You got an anxious father waiting at home?”
Once upon a time…She shook away the thought and fought back a wave of guilt. “No.”
“You know Preacher Marley?”
“He’s an In Touch subscriber.”
“How likely is he to step in and defend your honor?”
She stiffened and met his stare. “For your information, I can defend my own honor.”
“There was never a doubt in my mind.” He touched her then, skin to skin, the tip of one finger at her collarbone, and heat bolted through her from the contact. “You’re something when you get all stirred up.” He traced a path lower, until his fingertip came to rest atop the tattoo peeking from the vee of her blouse. “This drove me crazy all morning.”
Before she could form a reply, he dipped his head and the tip of his tongue flicked over the sensitive area. A moan caught in her throat and she closed her eyes, the pleasure sweet, intense, overwhelming.
“You’ve been driving me crazy all year,” he went on. Sexy green eyes caught and held hers. “You’ve been haunting my dreams. You and your red lips and that damned kiss and this heat between us.”
Amen. While Deb had heard about chemistry and animal attraction and how, sometimes, things just sparked between two people, she’d never felt it. Sure, she’d been attracted to men, but the pull had never felt so…desperate. Like if she didn’t have him, she’d die. Right here. Right now.
“Don’t you think it’s about time we stopped all this nonsense?” he asked.
Boy, did she ever. She caught the words before they could pass her lips and drew her mouth into a tight line. “You want to talk about nonsense? That judgment. My insurance will cover the damages, but anything above and beyond is ridiculous.”
“And still your responsibility.”
“But you weren’t anywhere near that Bronco when I tapped you. Why should I pay you pain and suffering?”