Bad Traveler (9 page)

Recognizing resistance was futile, not to mention unwelcomed, he kissed her fingertip. She squeaked. That was all the encouragement he needed. Each delicate fingertip needed its own kiss.

She moved her legs, shifting her weight toward him, with darkened eyes and a full-lip pout that wouldn’t have looked out of place during her countertop dance. He braced for impact, eager for her hands and mouth to devour him. Instead, something cold and wet hit his pants.

“Shit! Oh— I mean shoot.” She sprung to her feet. “I’ll get this cleaned up. How bad did I get you?”

“I’m fine.” He didn’t care about the milk on his pants. They had to go to the dry cleaners anyway. The sudden distance was intolerable. His body missed hers already, and he longed to finish what their mouths had started.

She hustled about the kitchen with such efficiency he feared getting in the way. When he stood, he picked up both mugs with the intent of setting them on the counter. In a flash, she returned, dropping two rags on the floor.

“I’ll take those. I’m such a klutz.” She grabbed the cups and took them to the sink.

“It was an accident.”

Still holding a dishrag, she spun around to face him. Her eyes widened.

“Your pants are soaked! You’re going to freeze outside.” She dropped to her knees and started daubing his pants with the cloth. Her fingers brushed against his knees and thigh as she lifted the wet fabric away.

In an effort to remain still as she unwittingly teased him, every muscle tensed. His fingers reached for her silken mass of hair, pulling it back from her forehead. He looked at her through lowered lids, a moan escaped his throat. The proximity of her head to his groin put the lower brain in charge. Then, her hand slid down farther, and reason took over.

He had to tell her about his injuries before any more physical contact. She needed to know he wasn’t the man she thought he was. And she deserved better. Thinking otherwise was foolish.

“Gwen, stop. I can’t take anymore.”

She lifted her chin and stared at him with those big brown eyes of hers, seemingly unaware of what her touch did to him. For both their sakes, he needed his mind out of gutter. “Come here.” With her cooperation, he pulled her to her feet.

He took the dishrag and set it on the counter. Staring at the ugly thing was safer than meeting her gaze. If he let himself get lost in her eyes, he might forget he was damaged goods. “Maybe we should call it a night.”

“I’m so sorry. I ruined what was turning out to be an interesting evening with you.” Gwen arched her eyebrow and then stepped in closer, extending her arms around him to grab the rags off the counter. “I’ll put these away.”

He’d caused the hurt in her voice, but the pain could have been worse. He wasn’t ready to lose her.

“You didn’t ruin it.” Holding her coat was the least he could do. “Besides, I’ve got some iss—”

“You’ve got issues. I’ve got issues. Who doesn’t?” She dismissed him with a wave of her hand, locked the back door, and stomped toward his car. “If we couldn’t get over ourselves ten years ago….”

Arms crossed over her waist, she waited by the passenger door until he caught up. Visible puffs from their breath swirled into the night. She bounced on her toes, eyes narrowed with an expression somewhere between hostile and deep in thought.

A mischievous bronze spark flashed in her eyes. In an instant, he lowered his lips to hers.

His bare fingers cupped the sides of her face. He swallowed her gasp as he pressed against her luscious mouth, minty lip balm giving way to pure heat.

The tip of her tongue flicked against his lips in a silent invitation to continue. The outside world slipped away, leaving only the two of them doing what they should have done years ago. What he should have initiated long before.

Milk and cookies and something utterly alluring and unique to Gwen tantalized his taste buds. He revised his “Last Supper” list to include her kisses and let his fingers roam over her cheeks and up to her closed eyes. Something cold graced the delicate fringe of her eyelashes.
Ice
.

When he pulled away, her eyelids fluttered open, revealing pupils dilated with desire. She’d welcome him back to her addictive mouth. But even the heat surging between them couldn’t protect them against the chill in the air. Resisting his body’s efforts to pull her close again, he opened the car door. A grinning fool greeted him in the rearview mirror.

He blasted the heater. The noise drowned out any possibly of conversation until the vehicle warmed up. She shivered, but the cold couldn’t penetrate her skin. His kiss had warmed her body to the core. He’d been gentle, yet the kiss hinted at a simmering passion underneath, one ready to ignite with the proper spark.

There were a thousand reasons to play it safe: her fledgling business, Chloe, their exes, her financial dependence, fear of losing him forever, a history of poor decisions, and epic failures in matters of the heart. She’d taken risks before, always on a whim, but the stakes loomed larger this time.

At the next stop sign, he turned down the fan.

“Do you have plans for tomorrow night?” He glanced at her a brief moment.

New Year’s Eve. She used to love finding a random party to celebrate the promise of a new start. That changed. Last year, she’d hauled her pregnant and tired body to Cody’s family bar. He’d gotten drunk as a skunk, bragging about having a built-in designated driver for nine months. Those around her imbibed and danced, but she spent the night twisting the week-old engagement ring on her finger and nursing a glass of sparkling grape juice. She should have been more excited to be engaged, pregnant, and in the midst of a stable career. All night, one question lingered in her mind. If she could do it all over again, would she?

At the next stop sign, he touched her arm again, but in a way she couldn’t ignore. “What are your plans for tomorrow night, Gwen?” His seductive growl made her wish for different plans.

“Logan told me about that party you’re going to. Sounds fun, but I’ve got a hot date with Ryan Seacrest and my couch while Chloe sleeps upstairs.”

“Maybe your parents could watch her and I could take you out?”

She shook her head, wishing she could accept. “They have plans already and so does my sister. I can’t ask them to change their plans. They have already been so generous watching her while I’m at work.”

Visible even in the dim dashboard light, he glanced down. His lips pressed into a line.

“Maybe you could keep me company. It won’t be festive, no music or party food or silly hats.”

“Sounds perfect. I hate big parties, anyway. Is eight okay? I’ll bring the champagne.” He pulled in her driveway.

She hadn’t realized how disappointed she was by her dull plans until he suggested an alternative. “Nine would be better. My parents do a progressive dinner party every year. They’re hosting the soup course at eight. If you come later, I’ll have a chance to clean up and you won’t risk seeing at least one of former professors inebriated. I hide whenever they come over for this, or else I end up on the spittle-soaked end of a lecture about some obscure research project that makes little sense to me.”

“You make it sound so appealing.”

She reached for the door handle.

“Gwen, I’m looking forward to tomorrow.”

He leaned over and kissed her on the forehead. She lifted her chin, hoping for more, but he righted himself before anything more could happen.

Confused, she climbed out of the car. “See you tomorrow.”

***

In the fifteen minutes between her parents’ departure and Kyle’s arrival, nervous energy fueled her cleaning and preparation frenzy. The fruit-and-cheese tray needed to be prepared, and she retrieved the brownies hidden from progressive partiers. A couple of throw blankets draped on the back of the couch in case the room grew drafty. The seasoned cherry wood from the fire her parents had started earlier in the evening gave the room a pleasing smell. Remembering all the time they wasted playing cards, she found a deck and set it next to several board games on the coffee table.

After that kiss last night, putting him at ease seemed important. Being with him distracted her in the best possible way. When apart, speculative thinking occupied her brain. Who was he with? What were they doing? Did he think of her? Each morning at work, she’d tried to guess what flavor muffin or scone he would like best. If he fed Chloe dinner, would Kyle make airplane noises and funny faces while offering the dreaded peas?

After Chloe went to bed at seven thirty, she took a few minutes to try and look glamorous, but not fussy, with a careful smudge of brown eyeliner, mascara, and a shiny-red lip gloss. Because Chloe slept in the bedroom, the bathroom served as a makeshift closet for trying on outfits between sips of coffee. A long black knit skirt and pale blue twinset with slippers to keep her feet warm was the best option she found. High heels seemed a little too formal to wear for kicking around the house.

A soft knock on the front door interrupted her effort to remove nonexistent spots from the champagne flutes. She couldn’t stop smiling as she ran to the door and opened it to see Kyle framed in the light of the entry porch. Snow fell gently around him.
He’s really here
. She tugged the sleeve of his coat.

“Come in.”

With the champagne on the entry table, he took off his coat. When she reached to hang up the coat, he pulled her in for a quick hug and a kiss on her forehead. There would be other chances, later. But restraint needed to guide his every move. Last night, she gave him a taste of how good they could be. To deserve more of the affection he craved, they needed to talk about his injuries.

“You look amazing.” His gaze adored her from head to toe and back.

“Thank you.” She bit her lip in that endearing way of hers. Her soft blue sweater reminded him of a luxurious blanket, perfect for snuggling and removing. He liked the way her skirt clung to her curves. Other than her scruffy bunny slippers, she looked too glamorous for a night at home. He should have dressed nicer than jeans and a button-up shirt.

“Are you hungry?”

Not for food
. “Yes.”

“Right this way.” She led him to the dining room table, set for two, and gestured for him to sit. “It’s nothing fancy. Just tomato soup.”

She disappeared through a set of swinging doors and returned with a tray.

A spicy-sweet aroma rose from the steamy soup as she set it in front of him. “It smells great. Are those croutons?”

“Yes. Everyone dresses up tomato soup differently. I could get you something else if you’d like, but this is my favorite—homemade cheddar-beer-bread croutons.”

He scooped up one of the squares in his first bite. It burst into cheesy crumbs in his mouth.

“These are even better than they sounded. You sure know how to make a man happy.” He wasn’t sure that sounded quite right. But he wasn’t ready to share some of the specific ways he’d thought of her making him happy. “In the kitchen, I mean.”

A flash of annoyance crossed her face as she harrumphed. He’d made the wrong decision, again.

“Can I get you anything else?” Her tone was cooler.

Naked on the table
. Reason prevailed. After his last comment fell flat, he’d have to work harder to make that happen.

“No, thank you. This is great.”

Last night, kissing her had been so easy. They’d fallen together into an amazing kiss. Tonight, his eagerness threatened to embarrass him and override his rational mind. He feared she would find him pathetic and too needy, wanting to see her again so soon. She valued independence. Plus, there was that conversation he dreaded….

A shrill cry broke the silence and his tortured thoughts.

“That’s Chloe. You’ll have to excuse me. She still nurses at least once in the night.” He rose, too, reaching for the empty bowls, but she stopped him. “Don’t worry about the dishes. Just make yourself comfortable in the living room. You could turn on the TV, pick a game. I don’t know who is playing tonight, but somebody is.”

“I’ll wait.” He was good at waiting.

She pointed to the couch before turning upstairs. “I’ll be about fifteen minutes or so.”

He added a couple unnecessary logs to the fire.
Now for mood music
. A CD tower stood near the corner. Sixties folk acts dominated. Her parents’ music collection revealed nothing about what music she enjoyed for a relaxing evening. TV would be an easy way to avoid exploring their fledgling attraction. The way she’d responded to him last night told him the feeling was mutual. But how long would it last?

Sorting through stacks of board games, he found a geography trivia game. Maybe they could swap travel stories. He loved listening to her voice, whether she was cooing to Chloe or talking about her business or even rambling about everything and nothing. The sound made him happy, and there was always the chance she would interrupt her words with that rich laugh of hers.

Gwen’s footfalls on the stairs made his heart leap. He patted his arm on the back of the couch. Disheveled hair highlighted her natural beauty.

“She’s done for the night. Ooh, I love that game!”

“Uh-oh. Will this be damaging to my ego?”

“Probably not. I’m sure you traveled around during your military career, plus you have all of those road games.” Her voice trembled. Was it possible she was intimidated?

He scooted to the edge of the couch as she sat on the floor beside the coffee table. “If the questions are about nondescript hotel rooms in exotic places like Cincinnati and Milwaukee, all I can say is that I hope you won’t cry when you go down in defeat.”

“So competitive. I hope you have better material when you give your players a pep talk.”

He chuckled and returned her smirk.

They played several rounds, asking each other questions about different parts of the world. Neither of them missed.

She leaned back, making her breasts more prominent, the hint of cleavage drawing his attention. “I’ve missed this.”