A Small-Town Reunion (14 page)

He moved his mouth toward hers, a whisper of a kiss tracing one of her dimples, a subtle move in their slow-motion dance. She retreated the merest fraction of an inch, a hesitant side step. He stilled; she parted her lips. He narrowed the slender gap between them, waiting, willing her to meet him halfway.

And then her lashes drifted down, down over her wonderful blue eyes, and her soft curves touched his body. He wrapped his arms around her, drawing her against him, at last. Their lips met once, twice in a teasing trial—so good, so right. And then they seemed to flow into each other and to fit together with their own silent click.

T
HIS WAS CRAZY
, Addie thought as Dev brushed gentle, downy kisses across her cheek and then settled his mouth over hers. This was Dev.

This was Dev’s hand fisting her shirt in the back and tugging the hem above her waist. This was Dev’s knee shoving between her legs. This was Dev’s low groan echoing through her darkening shop. And the thrill of it was more than she could trap and hold inside.

More than she could bear, she realized as she plastered herself against him and tangled her fingers in his hair. More than she could handle, she thought as his arms tightened around her and something clattered to the floor beside them. And then she stopped thinking, and he stopped holding back, and they both started taking in long-starved, greedy gulps.

Addie grasped the collar of Dev’s shirt, afraid to let go.
Dev, Dev, oh, Dev.
The words—the thought of him touching her like this, at last—pulsed through her, a chant as rhythmic and natural as her heartbeat. And the feel of him heated every part of her body that came into contact with his—fingertips, arms, breasts, thighs, lips.

His arms banded around her waist to crush her against him, and his hot breath scorched a path over her forehead. She thought he’d whispered something
in her ear before he nipped its edge, but she couldn’t hear anything above the surflike roar of her blood and that pounding chant.

Dev, Dev
.

She shouldn’t have thrown herself at him that way, opening to the hot, moist sweep of his tongue through her mouth and answering with a deep, thorough taste of her own. Shouldn’t have given him such easy access, letting her head fall back with a groan as he nibbled his way down her throat. Shouldn’t have invited more, bending her knee to slide her leg along his until he grasped her thigh, pulled her higher and ground his hips against hers.

But this was Dev, and he was the only man she’d ever really wanted. And this might be her only chance to touch him like this, to test her fantasy of what they could be like together. Oh, she wanted so desperately for it to be
good
. And oh, he made it good, so good, for her.

Dev, Dev
.

“Addie.
Addie.
” He tugged at her hair, drawing her head back, bringing their faces close. “I never knew.”

“That’s because you never—”

Just in time, sanity slipped into the cool sliver of space he’d opened between them, stopping her before she confessed to years of painful, pitiful, unrequited infatuation. “What do you mean, you never knew?” she asked.

“How good this could be.” He pressed his mouth to her chin again, teasing his way along her jaw to that spot behind her ear that made her shiver. “Mmm. Good. So good.”

“Yes. It is. It was.”
Close call.
She shoved against
his arms, shifting back a few inches. How could he never have known? How could he never have guessed? She’d thought there’d been something between them, something…“It’s also getting late,” she said.

He raised his head to stare at her, blinking as though she’d thrown a switch on a spotlight and aimed it his way.

“I think this was a mistake,” she said.

“You do?” he asked, still blinking.

“Don’t you?”

“I’m not sure.” His gaze dropped to her mouth. “Let’s try it again.”

“Dev—”

“Yes, yes,” he murmured, drawing her in again. “I’m right here.”

“Yes, you are.”

“Where else did you think I’d be?” he asked with a smile.

“Well, I—” She sighed against his mouth as he dropped another of his soft, sweet kisses on hers. Yes, he was here…for now. But he’d be gone by the end of summer. Or sooner, if he got bored. Bored with life here in the Cove. With her. “Never mind.”

He rested his forehead against hers. “Moment over?”

She blew out the breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. And then she straightened, nodded and patted his chest—his broad, warm chest—before backing out of his embrace. “Moment over.”

He slid his hands into his pockets. “At least I got my grinding done.”

She smiled weakly at the thought of the grinding that had taken place. “Yes,” she said, gesturing lamely in the direction of his project. “And it turned out really well.”

She groaned and shut her eyes. When she opened them, he was grinning at her. “You told Teddi hers was great,” he said.

“Yours is great, too.”

“You told Virgil he has a knack for it.”

“Yes,” she said, nodding. Considering. Teasing Dev with a smile. “I did.”

“Okay, then.” He pulled his car keys from his pocket and stared at them, frowning. “What comes next, anyway? After the caming and soldering?”

“Glazing.”

“Is that easier than grinding?”

“Messier. Bring Rosie with you.”

“That bad, huh?”

“No.” She headed toward her door to unlock it for him. “But it’s something she could help you with.”

“And then…we’re finished.”

“That’s right,” she said as she turned to face him.

“Class over.”

“Yep.”

“Are you going to offer any other stained-glass classes this summer?” He cocked his head to one side. “Mosaics, for instance?”

She rested one hand on the doorknob and the other on her hip. “Good night, Dev.”

“You know, I’ve been rethinking that whole friendship thing.” He sauntered toward the exit and then paused a few feet away. “I can’t figure out why we’ve never given it a shot. I’ve always liked you, you know.”

“That’s nice to hear.” His casual tone helped her nerves smooth back into normal range. “I’ve always liked you, too.”

“I figured. You were just too stubborn to admit it.”

“Maybe I was waiting for you to say it first.” She opened her door and leaned against the jamb. “Good night, Dev.”

“I don’t suppose you—”

“Good night, Dev.”

“Right.” He stepped through her doorway. “By the way, I also like the way you teach.”

Her cheeks flamed like torches, and she was certain they’d spontaneously combust at some point if she didn’t get rid of him. “Good night, Dev.”

“Yeah.” He gave her a smile that sizzled through the rest of her, too. “It is.”

D
EV STEPPED THROUGH
Tess’s office door Wednesday morning, carrying one of the syrupy, flavored coffees she drank as if they were the elixir of life. “Morning.”

His cousin glanced up from her computer monitor. “What are you doing here?”

“Bringing you this.” He set the takeout cup on the edge of her desk and dropped into her apple-red visitor’s chair.

“Is it a bribe?” She sniffed suspiciously before sipping. “Should I be searching for ulterior motives in the mocha?”

“Were you always this cynical?”

“Were you always this calculating?”

He shrugged at the possibility and swallowed some of his plain black brew. “What’s that?” he asked, gesturing with his cup toward her screen.

“The floor plan for a suite of medical offices.” She manipulated the mouse and added another line to the plan. “Dr. Samuels. Remember him?”

“Is he still alive?”

“And kicking. Just brought in young Dr. Samuels as his new partner, and this—” she nodded at the screen “—is going to be their new place.”

“Georgie Samuels? All-county quarterback Georgie Samuels?”

“One and the same.”

“Wow.”

“Scary, huh?” Tess shuddered. “Wouldn’t want young Dr. Samuels throwing a pass in my direction now.”

“Wouldn’t think he’d try.”

“He did, once.” She swiveled in her chair, a cat-got-the-canary smile on her face. “The summer before my senior year.”

“Please. Spare me the details.” Dev drained the last of his coffee and pitched the cup into Tess’s stylish waste bin. “Do you use accounting software?”

“Of course.”

She minimized the plan on her screen and tapped a few keys as he moved to stand behind her, leaning over her shoulder to view the display. “Is this research for one of your stories?” she asked.

“I don’t know yet. Depends on what I find out.” He noted the name of the software when it opened—the same he’d seen on the papers in Geneva’s files. “How long have you been using this program?”

“Less than a year. Since I opened my business.”

“So you wouldn’t know about upgrades.”

“Upgrades.” She shuddered. “Don’t say that word out loud. You’ll draw the attention of the evil nerd spirits.”

“Would you know if certain functions are stable from one version to the next?”

“There are functions I’ve never looked at. We have an understanding—I don’t poke around where I don’t belong, and this thing doesn’t wipe out my invoices.” She tapped another key and another set of columns appeared. “What is it you’re looking for?”

“The audit trail.”

Tess pointed to an item on the menu bar and selected it to show a cascade of choices on the screen. “See here? ‘Audit trail.’ Clicking this item—turning this off—is a very big no-no, my accountant tells me. One of the seven deadly bookkeeping sins, along with losing receipts and forgetting to back up your records—not that I’ve ever been guilty of either of those, you understand.”

Dev grinned. “Of course not.”

“On the other hand,” Tess said as she wiggled the cursor away from the dangerous spot, “could be a handy plot device if a mystery writer were working on a story about embezz—”

She froze and then slowly turned to face him. “You wouldn’t dare,” she whispered. “You wouldn’t dare do that to Addie. Or to her mother.”

“I’m not trying to do anything to anyone.” He leaned forward, studying the screen. “At this point, I’m simply trying to understand what happened.”

“There’s nothing to ‘understand.’ Lena was accused of embezzlement. Geneva refused to bring charges. Case dropped. It’s a matter of record. Knowing why won’t change the facts.”

“I’m going to find out.”

“There aren’t enough mochas in the known universe to convince me to help you dredge all this up again.” She pressed a couple of keys, and her monitor screen went dark. “Leave them in peace.”

“A peace that’s left them in limbo?”

“That’s not for you to decide.”

“My father was involved in this, too.”

“He’s dead. Sorry, Dev,” Tess added, cringing, “but he can’t be hurt by this. Not anymore.”

Dev dropped his hands to her shoulders and gave her an affectionate squeeze. “It’s going to be okay.”

“You’re going to hurt her.”

“No. I won’t.”

“You can’t help it. And when you leave, she’ll be hurt again.”

“I’m not going anywhere.” He headed toward the door. “I told you—I’m sticking around until the end of summer.”

“Oh, great. That’ll make everything so much better.” Tess leaned her elbows on her desk and buried her face in her hands. “I’ve got months of anxiety to look forward to.”

“You’ll get over it.” He opened her door and turned to face her. “I’m not going to turn my back on the past or run off to the city when the going gets tough. Not anymore.”

“W
HY
, D
EV
,” A
DDIE SAID
as Rosie lifted the neck strap of one of Tess’s frilliest aprons over his head on Thursday afternoon. “I never would have guessed pink would be such a good color on you.”

The scorching glance he sent her was a potent reminder of what had happened after class two days ago.

You’ve never been kissed by me.

And when summer ended, she’d probably never be kissed like that again. Dev would be gone in a few weeks, and until that time, she intended to kiss him every chance she got. To store up memories to stash beside her fantasies. Memories of fiery, bold, primary-color kisses that put her muted pastel dreams to shame.

Hold on tight.

“Let me get that for you, Virgil.” Addie moved around the table to tie a string bow at the back of Virgil’s waist. “Looks like this apron has seen its share of barbecues.”

“When I put on an apron, I don’t mess around.” Virgil adjusted the band around his neck and stepped back, arms raised. “Good enough for the goo?”

Addie nodded. “Good enough. Is everyone ready?”

“I guess so.” Teddi stared at her container of black
glazier’s putty with obvious revulsion. “Are you sure that stuff we rubbed on our hands will keep them clean?”

Addie held up her own. “You never see any black on mine, do you?” She scooped half a handful of the putty onto a paper plate and pressed her thumb in the middle to make a shallow well. “Okay, dig in. Get your putty on your work area, and I’ll come around with the oil.”

Rosie plunged her hand into Dev’s container and scraped up the right amount of oily black goo.
“Awesome.”

“Good job.” Addie added a bit of linseed oil to Rosie’s putty. “Now knead it like a little loaf of bread.”

“What’s kneading?”

“I’ll show you.” Dev folded the putty, pressed with the heel of his hand and then flipped over another fold to press again.

Addie stared, amazed. “You bake?”

“No.” His smile was a slow, stroking tease. “I dated a baker once.”

Addie stared at his hands as they squeezed and pressed and massaged the black goo, and she imagined the feel of those hands moving over her skin as she kissed him.

“Let me do it.” Rosie took over the chore, and Addie moved around the table, checking on her students’ progress.

In another hour or two, they’d all be finished. They’d shove the putty into the came, sprinkle whiting over the mess, scrub with stiff brushes, cut the putty from the edges and vacuum it all away. By the time they’d buffed their projects with steel wool and vacuumed a second time, they’d see the beautiful results of all their hard work.

And then her first leaded-glass class would be over. She’d learned a lot from the experience—including the fact that she didn’t want to repeat it anytime soon. The extra cash was nice, but she hadn’t realized how exhausted she’d be at the end of each class day.

“I had no idea so many steps went into making a stained-glass window.” Barb shook her head. “I have new respect for the time that must have gone into all these pieces in your shop, Addie.”

“You’d get faster with practice,” Addie told her. “But it’s not the easiest craft to learn. And you’ve all done very well.”

“Even Dev,” Rosie said.

“Even Dev.” Addie shared a secret smile with him. He’d arrived when the shop opened that morning, marched to the work area behind her counter and labored diligently—and with little assistance—to apply the came to his pieces and catch up with the others.

He’d been a good sport, considering all the teasing he’d taken. And he’d been amazingly patient, considering he’d signed up for all the wrong reasons.

He nudged Rosie, nearly knocking her off her stool, and she grinned and nudged him back. He was a good sport with ten-year-old pests, too.

Addie made one more circuit of the table, checking the consistency of everyone’s putty, and then demonstrated how to apply it to the edges of the came. “Be sure and stick it against every bit of lead. Don’t worry about working it in—we’ll do that next. Just get a good amount of it stuck along those edges.”

Because Dev and Rosie worked as a team, they finished long before the others. “May I wash my hands now?” Dev asked.

“Go ahead. I’m sure Rosie can handle the messy parts from here on out.”

“All right.” Rosie grinned. “This is definitely the best part.”

“I thought you’d enjoy it.”

Addie crossed to the grinder bench and reached beneath it to haul her shop vacuum from its storage spot.

“Let me get that for you,” Dev said, placing a hand on her back and leaning over her. “You smell like linseed oil,” he murmured in her ear.

She froze, hoping that none of the other students would notice the way he’d moved in close, trapping her beneath him. “It’s cheaper than perfume,” she whispered.

“And every bit as sexy.”

She grabbed the hose and tugged it loose, hitting Dev in the stomach with the nozzle. He backed out of her way and into the path of the fat canister. One of its wheels bumped over the toe of his scruffy sports shoe.

“Is that the kind of things friends notice?” she asked.

“Certain kinds of friends,” he answered with a smug grin, rubbing his midsection. He looped the hose back over the top of the machine and dragged it to the worktable.

The bell over her front door jangled, and she moved into her shop area to help a customer choose mosaic tiles. She glanced over her shoulder to see Dev browsing through the cutter selection.

“What are you doing out here?” she asked after her customer had left.

“Am I going to get detention?”

“You’re supposed to be supervising Rosie.”

“She promised she wouldn’t eat the steel wool or drown herself in the bathroom.” Dev shrugged. “I figured she’d be okay on her own for a couple of minutes.”

“Do you trust her with Barb?”

He craned his neck to peer past the display shelves. “She hasn’t drowned Barb in the bathroom, either.”

“What do you want?”

“To treat you to dinner tonight. As a thank you. For letting me come in early and take up your entire day.”

“It wasn’t any trouble.”

“Then let me treat you just because. How about takeout?” he added when she hesitated. “We could eat here, if you’d like.”

He’d always had a talent for making it impossible to say no.
And she’d waited so long to be able to say yes.

Yes, Dev.
Yes.

“Yes,” she told him, her fingers spread over the flutters in her stomach. “I’d love to.”

A
DDIE WAVED GOODBYE
to Virgil as he pulled his truck from the curb outside her shop. Teddi and Barb had left earlier, with proud smiles on their faces and beautiful stained-glass pictures in their hands. Shortly after they’d gone, Dev had walked Rosie around the corner to Tess’s office, promising to return with dinner.

Addie flipped her shop sign to Closed. She turned off the lights and stood alone in the welcome silence, soaking up the peace. She supposed she’d miss the chatter and activity in her work area during the coming weeks, but it would be nice to have the space back to herself.

She had a major repair job to finish.

A knock on her door interrupted her thoughts. Outside, a mustached gentleman dressed in a waiter’s formal black-and-white suit stood holding an armful of snowy white linens.

She opened her door. “Yes?”

“Takeout dinner delivery for Signorina Sutton. From Amalfi.”

Amalfi—the most expensive Italian restaurant in town. Stunned, she stepped aside as he entered her shop. He was quickly followed by two other men, one of them in a chef’s double-breasted white jacket and toque.

“Where may we set your table,
signorina?
” asked Mr. Mustache.

“Back here.” She led the way through the shop, past the counter and into the work area. Opening her apartment door, she gestured toward the small, round table in the center of her living space. “I hope this will do.”

“Perfectly.
Grazie
.” Mr. Mustache lifted the centerpiece of drooping roses from the table and handed it to her with a fussy little bow, and then he flapped one of the linens into the air like a sail, settling it theatrically over her table. Candles, flowers, crystal, a silver bucket of ice and sparkling place settings quickly followed.

This couldn’t be happening. Things like this—beautiful, extravagant, romantic things—didn’t happen to her.

“Hi.”

Addie turned to find Dev slouched in her apartment doorway, one shoulder against the jamb and his hands in his pockets. “Pizza okay?” he asked.

She nodded, speechless.

Mr. Mustache lit the candles. The chef whisked silver domes from trays of artistically presented antipasto, chocolate-drizzled cannoli and two small pizzas. The sommelier showed Dev two bottles of wine for his approval and then they all trooped out. Dev followed, and Addie heard the click of her shop door lock.

“What is all this?” she asked when he returned.

“A takeout dinner.”

“This isn’t takeout.” Her words spilled out in a high-pitched, panicky rasp, and she swallowed to clear her throat. “Well, I suppose it is, technically, but—”

“Addie.” He walked slowly toward her, lifted one of her hands to his mouth and brushed a kiss across her knuckles. His hot, dark gaze kicked her pulse into overdrive.

“What was that?” she asked as she tried to tug her hand free. He couldn’t be doing this, not to her.

“A thank-you kiss.” He drew her toward the tiny galley kitchen arranged along one of the side walls. “We should wash our hands before dinner.”

He twisted the old porcelain tap, and she moved in to hold a palm beneath the water that flowed into the deep farmhouse sink, checking the temperature. He shifted behind her, crowding her against the counter, encircling her within his arms as he reached for the soap.

His body pressed along her length, one of his knees rubbing the back of one of hers, and his breath puffed warmly against the side of her neck. He took her hands in his and began to soap them. Slowly, slickly, he laced his fingers with hers and squeezed. “I love the way your soap smells,” he murmured against her hair.

She was grateful for the support of the counter. She wasn’t sure she could remain standing on her rubbery knees. “It’s lemon.”

“When I smell citrus, it makes me think of you.” He nuzzled a sensitive spot at the base of her shoulder, and his end-of-the-day whiskers tickled the side of her neck. “Where’s your towel?”

“What?”

“Your towel.” He nipped at her earlobe, sending shivers in a cascade down her spine.

“Here.” With trembling, clumsy fingers she pulled the checkerboard-print cloth from its hook near her plate rack and quickly scrubbed it over her hands before handing it to him.

He moved to the table and lifted one of the bottles. “Would you like a glass of wine?”

She pressed a hand against her stomach, wondering if a drink would calm her jitters. And wondering if she’d be too relaxed to deal with him. “Yes, thank you,” she answered. “Thank you.”

He poured red wine into two goblets and handed one to her. “Here’s to the end of my first—and most likely my last—stained-glass class. And to my beautiful teacher.” He touched his glass to hers with a quiet clink and stared at her with that same unnerving intensity as he sipped.

She tasted the wine, its rich, fruity flavor blooming in a potent, delicious, glorious bouquet. This was nothing like other red wines she’d sampled, and she suspected the vintage Dev had chosen was more expensive than those she’d tried in the past.

He strolled toward her cramped sitting area, stepping onto the threadbare area rug that defined the
space. “Do you mind giving me a short tour?” he asked. He leaned over her sagging love seat to study the wine-country print hanging on the brick wall above it. “I have to admit, I’ve been curious about what was behind these curtains.”

She did a quick mental inventory of the state of the area behind the screen. Dirty clothes in their basket instead of draped over the chair, underwear in the drawers instead of dripping from the line in the bath. Dilly had probably dived beneath the unmade bed when the staff from Amalfi had walked in, but she couldn’t trust her naughty cat to stay undercover for long if there was food to tempt him out of hiding.

“It’ll have to be a short tour,” she said as she recovered the food, “since it’s really just one room. Well, sort of.”

She took a larger, fortifying sip and joined him in front of the sofa. “Tess gave me this print years ago, after her mother opened the gallery in the city. It’s one of my favorites. One of her father’s paintings. Your uncle’s.” Odd that she hadn’t made the connection until that moment.

“Yes, I know.” He stared at it for another few seconds. “The original is hanging in my apartment in San Francisco.”

“It is?”

“Tess doesn’t know. No one in the family knows, I’m sure. Unless the gallery assistant who sold it to me told Aunt Jacqueline.” He sipped his wine. “It’s always been one of my favorites, too.”

Addie was beginning to realize she didn’t know Dev as well as she’d always thought. How many other
secrets did he have? “And this,” she said, “completes the tour of the living room, dining room and kitchen.”

“I like it.” He grinned and skimmed a finger from her shoulder to her wrist in a tingling path. And then he wrapped his hand around hers—a warm, solid weight at the end of her arm—and gave it a soft squeeze.

The simple, affectionate gesture moved her more than any of his seductive touches or smoky glances, and an elemental cadence began to throb deep inside her.
Dev, Dev
. It was happening again—the same impossible yearning, the same overwhelming temptation. He wanted her, tonight. He was making it clear in hundreds of ways. And she wanted him, too. In hundreds of ways. She wouldn’t be able to resist him, not tonight.

She’d probably be sorry in the morning. But there was a chance she’d be sorrier still if she never shared this night with him. If this was all she could have—these few days, these few weeks with him—then she should take as much as she could get.