Gatlinburg Getaway (Destination: Desire) (11 page)

His pupils expanded, and a flush darkened his cheeks. “Gentleman, not virgin.”

“When the lady says, ‘shut up and kiss me,’ it’s the gentlemanly thing to do it. I’m sure even a Southern belle would agree.” She took another piece of melon and held it out to him.

His fingers circled her wrist, and he bent forward to flick his tongue out and catch the drop of juice that slid down her thumb. She shivered at the feel of him tasting her skin. He nipped at her flesh, and she jolted, her heart slamming against her ribcage. Her breathing sped, and desire coiled like a tight spring inside her.

He caught the fruit between his teeth and tugged her forward. She took the hint, tilted her head, and bit down on the other half of the watermelon. Their lips touched, and the sweetness dissolved in her mouth. They chewed and swallowed, but didn’t back away from each other. His lips claimed hers, and she balled her fingers in his shirt so he couldn’t escape. A moan poured out of her, and she twined her tongue with his. The flavor of melon mingled with his far more masculine essence, and it sent an ache of longing through her.

She stroked her hand up his chest, over his shoulder and into his hair. The soft strands tickled her palm, adding another sensation to the others that swamped her. He didn’t help in the least when his fingers drifted up her midriff and curled around her breast. Her nipples went painfully tight, thrusting into his touch. She arched, wanting deeper contact. He stroked the beaded crest, twisting slowly while he kissed her with a thoroughness that made her heart trip.

Most men kissed like it was something to be dispatched as quickly as possible on the way to getting laid. Dalton kissed like he had all the time in the world to savor the experience and didn’t intend to be rushed.

It was hot.

The breeze whirled around them, like a tiny tornado that mimicked what was going on inside her. She moaned, fisting her fingers in his hair. He grunted and bit her lower lip, which sent pleasure-pain shooting through her, increasing her need. She wanted him with an intensity that should have shocked her, but all she could think was that she needed more. More of this, more of him. Right now.

As quickly as it had begun, it stopped, and he pulled away. A frustrated sob caught in her throat. “Dalton…”

“So, you have other sisters.” His chest worked like a bellow, and he clearly struggled with his restraint. “Distract me or I’m going to mount you here and now.”

Jesus Christ. Her sex clenched at the very thought, and she could feel how slick she was, how needy. “You have something against public indecency?”

“Camille!” Her name came out somewhere between a groan and a wail.

“Okay, okay.” Her hormones screeched in protest, but she took a calming breath and tried to pull herself together. She didn’t really want to chance someone stumbling across them in the buff, did she? As she’d noted on the drive up, this was clearly a well-known spot. Damn it. “We covered Anne. After her is Nora. She’s a nurse and the sweetest of us girls. She’s the caretaker and peacemaker of the family, though she’ll tell it like it is when she needs to. She’s a lot nicer about it that I could ever be, but she’s no doormat. She got married four months ago, and my mother is currently nagging her to death on making grandbabies.”

“Nice. That’s exactly what every newlywed couple likes to hear, ‘Who cares if you just got married—time to start contributing to our overpopulation issue.’ I mean, I like kids, but I’d take a minute to settle into marriage before I had some.” He raised his eyes heavenward. After rummaging through the box, he came up with containers of corn bread and what had to be the collard greens. They looked as nasty as spinach to her, but if it got her another kiss, she’d take a bite.

One bite. Hey, a girl had to have some standards.

She went for the cornbread first, and a second piece of chicken. He opted for cornbread, then forked up some of the greens and gave her a devilish look before he ate it himself. Better him than her.

“Hazel’s next.” The wind blew her hair in her face, and she shoved it back. “She’s the quiet, scholarly one. She’s finishing up a postdoc in marine biology and deciding what she wants to do with her life when it comes time to get a real job.”

“You’re the youngest.” That seemed to surprise him, though she couldn’t imagine why.

“Yep.” She finished her cornbread and drumstick. Both were delicious. She might have to send a thank you note to his aunt. The food warranted the courtesy. “They’ve always called me the ambitious one.”

He snorted. “Because your sisters seem like such slackers.”

“We put the fun in dysfunctional.” She saluted him with her demolished chicken leg and then tossed it into a trash bag he held out.

He chuckled. “Still, getting a successful business off the ground is tough.”

“Yes, it is.” No argument there. It had been years of grueling work that might never have paid off. Thankfully, it had. She and her partners were some of the lucky ones. There were plenty of new tech firms that crashed and burned.

“Congrats.”

“Thank you.” She licked her lips. “I like my congratulations in the form of kisses.”

That he shuddered and wild desperation flashed in his gaze made her feel sexy and incredibly powerful. There was an intoxicating mix of emotion that no woman would complain about experiencing. Over and over again.

Just as she was sure he’d lean in for another kiss, a gust of wind slapped her with a faceful of pollen. A squeaky scream was cut off when she started coughing. The pollen was everywhere. It was up her nose, in her mouth, under her contacts. Her eyes burned. They fucking burned like hellfire.

“Oh my G—” That was as far as she got. A huge sneeze racked her body. Tears began pouring from her eyes and running down her cheeks.

“Shit.”

Through the blur her vision had become, she saw Dalton dive for the box of supplies and come up with a bottle of water and a handful of napkins. He shoved the napkins into her hand and curved his arm around her. “Bend forward and tilt your head to one side.”

She did as he bid and he slowly poured water into each eye, flushing out both the pollen and her contacts. Her chest jerked as she tried to hold in sneezes while he worked, but as soon as he finished, she jerked away from him. “Achoo! Achoo! Achoo!”

Her eyes ached and would barely open, and the snot was never-ending. Every time she blew her nose, she sneezed again. And again.

And there went her sexy, powerful feelings. Swollen-faced snot beasts were not sexy.

“Come on, let’s get you back to town.” He pushed her purse into her hands.

She heard him quickly packing up their picnic, and then he led her to the Jeep and eased her gently into the passenger seat. He reached in and fastened her seatbelt for her.

Opening her purse and groping blindly through the contents, she came up with the bottle of eyedrops he’d given her for the contacts. Tipping her head back, she held her eyes open and dripped some cool liquid into them.

God, that burned like a bitch, but it still felt better than the weird grittiness in the backs of her eyes.

Dear God, she’d forgotten just how much she loathed contact lenses and how shit could get caught under them. She hadn’t tried wearing them since high school, and she wholeheartedly agreed with her teen self: those things blew.

Dalton fired up the Jeep, and they bumped down the road much faster than they’d come up. As he sped along the highway, she continued to cough and wheeze as her body fought to clear the crap out of her system. Though the sneezing had mostly stopped, she was still leaking mucus like it was going out of style. Gross. She hadn’t blown her nose this often since the last time she got the flu. Her nose was already feeling tender and raw.

He made a turn and slowed to a stop. She glanced up to see they were parked in his driveway.

“Come on.” He hopped out, hurried to the passenger side, and took her arm to guide her up the porch steps into his living room. He pressed her onto the couch and handed her a box of tissues. “I’ll be right back.”

Well, at least the tissues were softer on her skin than the napkins, but that was about the only improvement she saw here.

“Lie down.” Dalton returned and urged her backward until she was stretched out on the cushions. He sat beside her, his hip pressed to hers. He settled a cold, wet washcloth on her eyes, and she almost cried, it felt so good. “Just stay like that for a while and let your eyes calm down.”

“Okay.” Not that she was ever the type to just be idle, but staying completely still seemed to make her head ache less.

He stroked her hair back for a few minutes. “If you think you’re all right being left alone for a few minutes, I can make a run to the office and get you a new pair of contacts. You’ll need them tomorrow.”

“That’s a good idea.” Even though she didn’t even want to contemplate shoving those things into her eyes ever again, she didn’t have a choice if she wanted to see clearly. She really, really missed her glasses.

His lips brushed over her forehead. “I’m so sorry about this, Camille. I hoped this evening would go a lot differently.”

“You and me both.” Moving her hand to where she could feel his leg pressed to hers, she patted his thigh.

Well, he was a nice man, even if she had turned into a snot beast on him. So much for getting her sexy on tonight. Those dreams had gone up in a puff of pollen, hadn’t they? Yes, this was just a temporary problem, but holy shit, she was nursing a bottle of Visine like an alcoholic with a fifth of whiskey.

Nothing good was going to come of this night.

* * * * *

When Dalton got back, he came through the door to see her still curled up on his couch. He liked having her there, but he was unsure which of them felt worse. His attempt at a romantic picnic was a gigantic bust, wasn’t it? An hour later and his date’s face was still mottled and puffy.

Yeah, he was a fucking romance ninja.

After tugging the washcloth away, she rolled her head against the arm of the couch to look at him, her eyes red-rimmed and bloodshot. “Hey.”

He held up the bag in his hand. “Got your refill, though I wouldn’t recommend wearing them until morning.”

“I think I can manage that.” A little smile curved her lips. “Those things are the devil.”

“Agreed.” He came to sit on the coffee table in front of the sofa. “Do you need more drops? Another cold cloth?”

“No, I think I just need to quit messing with my eyes.” She tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “They’re feeling better, though I’m betting I look like hell.”

There was no way he was commenting on that. She looked all kinds of disheveled and rumpled, and while he kind of liked her tousled, there was nothing to enjoy about her being miserable.

As much as he doubted there was a way to salvage the evening, he wasn’t quite ready to call it quits. “As I see it, we have two options here.”

“Death by pollen or death by humiliation?” Her gaze dropped and she plucked at the hem of her shirt.

He winced. “I really am sorry, sugar.”

She waved that away. “The wind is hardly your fault. This just seems to be my trip for unhappy accidents.”

He just hoped meeting him didn’t qualify for that category. There was no way he was going to ask. Some questions were best left unanswered. “Option one: I take you back to the hotel and we pretend this evening never happened.” He ticked the selections off on his fingers. “Option two: I break open a very nice bottle of red wine and we pretend the whole pollen issue never happened.”

Tilting her head to the side, she glanced at him. “Merlot?”

“Syrah.” Though if she really wanted a merlot, he’d make a run to the store.

“Sounds tasty.”

His eyebrows arched, and he couldn’t keep the shock from coloring his tone. “Seriously?”

“Oh. You were hoping for option one.” She sat up, a flush racing up her cheeks. “That’s awkward. I’m so sorry. I—”

“No, no.” He held up his hands, stopping her flood of stilted words. “I was hoping for option two. I expected option one.”

“Really?” Voice dubious, she gestured to her face. “I wouldn’t blame you if—”

Time to cut off any line of thought where he’d have to take her back now. He ducked forward and brushed his lips over hers. “I wouldn’t blame you if you left, but I want you to stay.”

Her smile was crooked and she looked impossibly vulnerable. “Okay.”

“I’ll get the wine.” He stroked a thumb along her jaw, feeling like he’d been given a reprieve from the gallows. It was a rather intense reaction, but so was every reaction he’d had to her so far. He liked her, wanted her, wanted to be near her on a deep instinctive level that he didn’t question. Maybe he should question it, but…not tonight.

He went to the kitchen and opened the cupboard above the stove where he kept all the wine and liquor. After taking down the bottle he wanted, he fetched a corkscrew out of a drawer and pulled the cork. The smell was rich and fruity, which was just as it should be.

“You have a lovely house. What I can see of it, anyway. It has a nice feel to it.”

He jolted, surprised she’d followed him. “Thanks. I like it. Craftsman style has always been one of my favorite eras of architecture, followed by mid-century modern.”