Jess closed her eyes. “It didn’t protect Barry.”
“Barry chose not to fight her.” Lars laced his fingers through hers, his palm warm against her cooling skin. “It was an effective way to defend himself—give her what she wanted. Complete access to his estate.”
“Until he died.” She swallowed hard, moving closer to the warmth of his body.
He nodded. “And you wouldn’t follow orders, wouldn’t move into the compound, wouldn’t let her go on doing what she’d been doing for god only knows how long.”
He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her into his lap. Jess clung to him. “Why me?”
“You were Jack’s guardian. There should have been an audit of your husband’s estate. If there had been, whatever she’d done with his money—and I’m willing to bet she’s done a helluva lot—would have come out. Plus she wouldn’t have had any more access to his funds.”
Jess snuggled closer to him, resting her head against his chest. “But she still wouldn’t have been Jack’s guardian. Even if Dahlia had kidnapped him, taking him back to Belle View wouldn’t have gotten Lydia his money.”
“But if she had Jack, she had the leverage she needed to keep what she’d taken, and maybe to take more.”
“Leverage?”
Lars rubbed his cheek against her hair, his hand making small circles on her back. “Suppose she’d offered you a deal—Jack in exchange for your signing off on Barry’s money. Would you have taken her up on it?”
Jess chewed her lower lip, staring up at him. “Of course.”
He nodded. “That’s what I figured. And it’s probably what she figured too.”
He brushed his lips across hers, then turned his head to deepen the kiss. She flattened herself against him, winding her arms around his neck, pulling him tight, clinging to the kiss with a desperation that scared her. “Christ, Lars,” she whispered. “Jesus Christ.”
He touched his forehead to hers. “It’s okay, Jess. It’s over—she’s gone now. And she won’t be back. You’re both safe.”
After a moment, she leaned back to look at him again. “So what are we going to do with all this?”
“All what?”
“This.” She gestured toward the papers on the couch. “Jack’s estate. And Preston says I’m supposed to be getting some kind of ‘salary’ as Jack’s guardian.”
“What do you want to do?”
“We can use some of it to live, but I want to save a lot of it for Jack. And some for Daisy. And…you know…any others.” She swallowed hard. “And I’d like to give some of it away if we can. Only I don’t know how to go about doing that exactly.” She drew another shuddering breath, then stopped. The shuddering breath became a giggle, then a full-fledged guffaw.
She leaned back against Lars’s shoulder, the laughter shaking her body like tears, bubbling up to leave her gasping for breath. She wasn’t sure whether she was laughing or crying exactly. Some of each, it seemed.
“Jess?” Lars sounded more concerned now. He drew her into his arms again. “Sweetheart?” His hand rubbed slow circles in the middle of her back. “Take it easy, love.”
“I just realized. I need…” Jess paused, trying to catch her breath. “I need…a good accountant.”
Lars stared at her for a moment, then started to laugh himself, his body shaking silently against hers.
Jess wrapped her arms around him, pressing her forehead against his chest. “Isn’t it lucky I already have one?”
“You definitely have one,” Lars murmured against her ear. “I’ll do my best for you. And for Jack. I’m all yours, babe.”
Jess pulled back to look at him. Molasses eyes, hair the color of very strong coffee. Body like a redwood. The world’s sexiest accountant. Hers. All hers.
“C’mon husband,” she said, pulling him to his feet. “Let’s go see how sturdy that dryer really is.”
About the Author
Meg Benjamin writes about South Texas, although she lives in the foothills of the Colorado Rockies. Her comic romances, Venus in Blue Jeans, Wedding Bell Blues, and Be My Baby, all published by Samhain, are set in the Texas Hill Country. When she isn’t writing, Meg spends her time listening to Americana music, drinking Texas and Colorado wine, and keeping track of her far-flung family. To learn more about Meg Benjamin, please visit
www.MegBenjamin.com
. Meg loves to hear from her readers. Send her an email at
[email protected]
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Look for these titles from Meg Benjamin
Now Available:
Venus in Blue Jeans
Wedding Bell Blues
Who knew you could find the love of your life at the wedding from hell…
Wedding Bell Blues
© 2009 Meg Benjamin
Janie Dupree will do anything to make sure her best friend has the wedding of her dreams, even if it means relinquishing what every bridesmaid covets and never gets—the perfect maid-of-honor dress. Problem is, family drama as tangled as a clump of Texas prickly pear cactus threatens to send the skittish bride hopping aboard the elopement express.
Janie could use a hand, but the best man’s “help” is only making things worse.
Pete Toleffson just wants to get through his brother’s wedding and get back to his county attorney job in Des Moines. He never expected to be the engineer on a wedding train that’s derailing straight toward hell. Janie’s the kind of girl he’d like to get close to—but her self-induced role as “Miss Fix-It” is as infuriating as it is adorable.
If they can just fend off meddling parents, vindictive in-laws, spiteful ex-boyfriends, and a greyhound named Olive long enough to achieve matrimonial lift-off, maybe they can admit they’re head-over-heels in love.
Enjoy the following excerpt for
Wedding Bell Blues:
Janie was trying to walk off the effects of the wine she’d had at dinner and the margarita she’d had at Allie’s. She didn’t drink much as a rule, and her head still felt a little loopy.
She turned up Spicewood, heading for home. Soft music was playing on someone’s radio—a woman singing “Making Believe”. It almost sounded as if the music was coming from the bookstore.
Janie stopped. It
was
coming from the bookstore. From the backyard behind it anyway.
She began to walk again, as quietly as she could. At the gate, she stopped and peered into the yard.
Pete Toleffson was dancing. Sort of.
Janie loved to dance. She even loved dancing in Docia’s chorus line, although she could only do it now and then, when she felt particularly raucous. She’d been known to waltz around her backyard on a summer night to the sound of her own humming, reveling in the feeling of the grass beneath her toes and the warm night air on her face.
Pete Toleffson didn’t look like he was reveling in much of anything. His upper body was impossibly rigid, as if he wore a solid steel jacket that kept him from bending at the waist. He held his arms stiffly in front of him in a parody of a waltz position. Apparently, his partner wasn’t cooperating. As he passed beneath the reflected street light, his face looked pinched and tense, like he expected something very painful to happen at any moment.
Olive sat beneath a lawn chair watching him, her head canted to one side. After a minute, she got up and trotted to his side, then jumped away quickly as his feet brushed against her. Pete ground to an immediate halt.
“Shit,” he muttered. “Sorry, girl.” He bent down and rubbed her ears.
Janie cleared her throat.
Pete stood straight, his back rigid. After a quick glance at her, he fastened his gaze on the back fence. “I suppose it’s too much to hope that you didn’t see anything.” His voice sounded oddly choked.
Janie opened the gate and stepped into the backyard. “You didn’t look as if you were enjoying yourself.”
“That, as they say, would be an understatement.” Pete sighed and finally looked her way. “I’m a total non-dancer, but you and I are supposed to dance at the reception. I’m trying to remember enough about waltzing not to cripple you for life.”
Janie grinned. “I’m pretty agile. I think I can deal with a dance.”
She wasn’t sure what was wrong with what she’d said, but judging from Pete’s expression, she’d just made the whole thing worse. “I’m hoping agility won’t be needed,” he said stiffly.
The music on the radio changed to Lyle Lovett and “If I Needed You”. Janie extended her hands. “Come on, it’s not that bad.”
“Yeah, it is.” Pete sighed, but he moved toward her, taking her hands. “This isn’t a waltz.”
“No, it’s not.” Janie smiled. “It’s just beautiful.” She swayed back and forth lightly, letting the music move into her bones.
After a moment, Pete began to move with her in a sort of tentative way.
Janie shuffled lightly to the left and back again, taking the rhythm from the music and pulling Pete gently in her wake.
He stumbled, half-catching himself, but Janie kept hold of his hands, sliding back and forth easily, humming along with Lyle. The tension began to fade in his arms.
On the radio, Emmylou Harris started singing “Cattle Call”. Pete stopped in his tracks. “What the hell?”
Janie laughed. “C’mon, it’s a waltz. Dance with me.” She extended her arms.
Pete pulled her closer, one hand at her waist, the other holding her hand out rigidly. After a moment, he began leading. Emmylou’s sweet soprano yodeling followed them around the yard. Janie found herself emphasizing each downbeat, enjoying herself immensely as Pete’s arms began to loosen slightly.
The music slowed and shifted to another slow one. Without thinking, Janie moved closer, letting Pete slide his feet alongside hers. She could feel the hard muscles of his shoulders beneath her fingers, flexing slightly as he moved her in careful circles. She let him push her along, keeping her spine straight but moving steadily closer until their bodies finally touched.
She hadn’t meant it to happen, really. Pete came to an abrupt halt, his shoulders stiff again. Janie started to move, but his hand at the small of her back held her in place. Then he began to dance again, more slowly this time. Another waltz began to play. Apparently, the DJ was psychic.
Janie could feel the smooth plane of his body pressing against her breasts. An ache had started low in her body that had nothing to do with exhaustion and everything to do with Pete Toleffson. She closed her eyes and let her cheek rest against his chest for a moment, feeling warm skin and smelling faint hints of sweat and aftershave, letting herself relax against the hard muscles of his chest and thighs.
One muscle was very hard indeed.
What the hell was she doing?
Janie’s head popped up abruptly. Pete Toleffson was staring down at her, his eyes obscured in the dim light. “Something wrong, Ms. Dupree?” he murmured.
Janie shook her head, feeling a weird bubble of panic rise in her chest. This was just a dance, after all. She danced all the time.
Pete’s fingers spread against the small of her back, nudging her closer as their bodies moved slowly back and forth. Her hips brushed against him, and she was aware again of the hard shape of his erection.
Okay, she wasn’t imagining it—something was definitely going on beyond a quick turn around the backyard.
The music faded and changed to a muted commercial. Pete stopped moving.
Janie felt as if she were standing on the edge of a precipice, looking down. She could step back. Or she could leap over the edge and fly.
Pete’s hand moved from the small of her back to cup her cheek, and Janie stood very still, looking up at him. His eyes were dark in the dim light of the backyard, but she could see the fire behind them as he moved closer. Then his lips touched hers.
For a moment, she tasted traces of beer and salt before heat blossomed in her belly, burning away the ache of the dance. His tongue moved across the seam of her lips, touching, teasing. She opened for him, winding her arms around his neck so that she could feel the heat of his chest against hers.
His tongue touched her lightly, rubbing against her teeth, her mouth, her own tongue. Janie rose against him, her legs opening against the warm heat of his arousal, trying to find the right spot as her head swam.
Trying to find the right spot?
She was losing it—she needed to pull away, right now. But she didn’t.
She moved closer, slipping up onto her toes until the V of her crotch fit across his groin. Pete groaned, his arm fastening tight around her waist, pulling her flat against him.
And then he raised his head to stare down at her. “Janie Dupree,” he said softly, “you are lightning in a bottle.”
The world whirled around her for another moment, and then the genes of several generations of Texas ladies yanked her back to reality. “Oh my,” she gasped. “Oh my goodness.” She stepped back from him, staring wide-eyed.
One corner of Pete’s mouth curved up in a dry smile. “I take that to mean the dance lesson is over for the night.”
“I…yes, I guess I’d better get on home. I mean, I was on my way when…” Janie stuttered to a halt, swallowing hard.
“I’ll walk with you,” Pete said, swinging the gate open.
Janie shook her head. “It’s just one block over. You don’t need to.”
“Yes.” Pete’s voice was firm. “I do.”
They started up the darkened street, a warm night breeze shivering through the live oaks in the yard next door. Janie hadn’t the faintest idea what to say to him. At least she managed to keep quiet rather than babbling.
Pete walked beside her with easy grace. Why couldn’t he dance like that?
“Why don’t you like dancing?” Janie blurted.
She saw his grin in the streetlight. “Because I’m a lummox. Lummoxes don’t dance.”
What to say to that? Janie saw the porch light her mother had left burning ahead to her right. She turned in front of Pete and extended her hands.
After a moment, he took them. Janie looked up into his warm brown eyes, feeling the soft night air envelop her. “You’re not a lummox, Pete Toleffson. Your inner dancer is longing to get out, believe me. Just give him a chance.”
Without pausing to think, Janie reached up and brushed her lips lightly across his. “Thank you for dancing with me. We’ll do it again some time.” She turned and started toward the front porch.
“Have I ever told you what a knock-out you are, Janie Dupree?” Janie glanced back at him. He was grinning. “Night, ma’am.”
Janie smiled, then slipped through her front door.