When it came time to order dessert, Cash ordered a
crème brûlée
and two spoons so they could share.
It was the best date Paige had ever been on.
Too bad it wasn’t really a date.
When they arrived home, they headed to their separate bedrooms. Paige changed into a pair of shorts that she knew made her butt look great and her
Rope Me, Cowboy
T-shirt. Forgoing shoes, she headed for the kitchen and a few hours of baking. While assembling the needed supplies, she heard Cash tromp down the stairs followed by the click of Buster’s nails. The front door slammed, so she could only assume they’d headed for the yard.
Buster was good for Cash. Gave him something to do. Someone who relied on Cash every day. A reason to get exercise multiple times a day, something his injured leg still needed. She couldn’t remember the last time Cash had tried to pawn the dog off on someone else. Looked like Buster was here to stay, and she had no problem with that. She’d grown to love the little guy…almost as much as she loved the owner.
She started with the snickerdoodles since they were quick and easy and something new for Cash. She’d just slid the second pan into the oven and was removing the first batch from their pan when the back door opened and Cash and Buster came bounding through. Well, Buster was still bounding. Cash looked as if he’d had enough.
“Hmm. Something smells good,” he said. He sat the ball-thrower and a couple of tennis balls on the floor by the door.
“Snickerdoodles.”
He snatched a couple of hot ones off the cool rack and popped one in his mouth. His eyes rolled back as he moaned. “These are wonderful.”
“Great. Now stop eating tomorrow’s cookies.”
“Okay.” He grabbed up four more and race-walked from the kitchen.
“I saw that,” she called after him, but a broad grin split her lips.
“Saw what?” he answered, but the reply was garbled by a mouth full of hot cookies.
While the snickerdoodles were baking, she started on the chocolate chip cookie dough. She had her back to rest of the kitchen, so when the crinkle of rattling plastic began, she startled. Whipping around to the sound, she furrowed her brow in confusion. Cash had a large roll of clear, thick plastic that he was stapling over the door that led to the back bedroom.
“What are you doing?”
“Aw. How sweet. You’re wearing my favorite T-shirt. And I’m covering this door with plastic.”
Paige shut her eyes and shook her head. “Yes, I can see that. I meant, why are doing that?”
“You should have asked that then.” Cash glanced over at her, a sexy grin on his face.
“Har. Har. Let’s try this again. Why are you covering that door?”
The smile on his face was playing havoc with her heart. It raced, skipped and bounced around in response. The guy had sex appeal in spades, and she’d swear he didn’t even know it.
“I’m going to be doing a lot of work in here. The bathroom is going to take a total tear out. There’s rotten wood in the floor. I want to keep the dust and dirt confined in here as much as possible and out of the kitchen. Plus, I’m adding another exit close to the storm shelter so we can get to it faster if needed.”
“Oh.” She started the mixer going and then stopped and turned back. “Storm shelter? This house has a storm shelter?”
“Found it totally by accident. Completely out of date but would work in a pinch. I’ll show it to you later, but it’s on the patio side of the house.”
“Cool. Doubt we’ll ever need it, but nice to know it’s there.”
Cash went back to stapling plastic. Paige pulled another pan of cookies from the oven and replaced it with a dough-laden one. All the while, her brain ran over various ways to draw Cash’s interest to her. Not as a roommate but as a lover. Maybe if she rolled in the cinnamon and sugar mixture from the snickerdoodles, he’d feel compelled to tongue it all off her. Maybe not exactly the right plan, but she could start there and build on it.
For the rest of the afternoon and into the early evening, she baked to the sound of wood splintering and the occasional cuss word in the adjacent bedroom. She was sliding the last pan of cookies into the oven when the plastic crinkled and a dusty, sawdust-sprinkled Cash stepped through the door.
“Wow. Pigpen has nothing on you.”
Cash smiled, his teeth appearing even whiter when surrounded by all the dirt on his face. “Nasty in there. Now you see why I put up the plastic.”
“I do and I appreciate it.”
“I’m heading for the shower. What do you want to do about dinner?”
Paige eyed the piles of cookies, minus the ones she’d eaten, and her stomach groaned. “I may have eaten too many cookies. I’m not hungry at all.”
“What? You wouldn’t let me eat them.” Cash collected six chocolate chip cookies from the cooling rack. “I’m going to take a shower. How about something easy tonight? Bacon and eggs and toast. I’ll even fix it.”
“You’re on.” Standing in the kitchen for the past few hours had Paige’s back and legs making their presence known with cramps and aching. “I’m almost done with the cookies. The coconut cream pie is the refrigerator, so hands off. I’ll get all this cleaned up and be mostly out of your way when you get back.”
She hustled and got everything put away, the cookies stored and was washing the final baking sheet when Cash came back. The spicy scent of Cash’s soap swirled around her and she drew in a deep breath.
“Better?” Cash held his arms up and turned.
“It’d be hard to be worse.”
He laughed. “Now scoot. The kitchen’s mine. I’ll holler when dinner’s ready.”
She saluted. “Aye, aye, Captain Cowboy.”
With Cash doing the cooking today—and she did wonder if he could cook since this was the first and only time he’d volunteered—Paige had time for a quick change. If she was going to try to seduce the man, she needed to shower and something sexy to put on. And the sexy outfit had to not look like she was trying to be sexy.
She sighed. Why couldn’t she just have liked Marc? It’d have been so much easier.
Digging into her dresser, she found a pair of cut-offs that could never been worn outside the house without fear of public exposure. With those, she put on a white tank top, again eschewing shoes. She’d just finished brushing her hair when she heard his yell.
“Dinner.”
Chapter Nine
“Paige. Dinner’s ready.”
The steak lunch had been great, and usually by this time in the evening, Cash would be starving. But the volume of cookies he’d stolen while Paige’s back was turned had put a damper on his appetite.
Plus, ever since church, he couldn’t get Paige’s scent out of his nose. He’d thought tearing out a rotted, moldy floor would at least replace Paige’s floral perfume, but no such luck. It didn’t take more than a few seconds to call up the aroma from his mind.
And getting the memory of her thigh pressed to his out of his mind was proving damned near impossible. Just remembering the heat from where she’d touched him sent blood rushing south. And when a man had a hammer and pry bar in his hands ripping up old flooring, he certainly didn’t need his Johnson in the way.
“So what’s for dinner?”
Cash turned around and almost swallowed his tongue. Good Lord all mighty. Paige wore a pair of shorts that ended no more than three inches below the junction of her thighs. He wondered if the back covered as far down as the curve in her ass. The white wife-beater shirt was so thin that he could see the lace outline on her bra, but he muttered a quick, “Thank you, Jesus” that she wore a bra. As he slid his gaze down her body to the red tips of her naked toes, he knew was going straight to hell.
At least the table would hide his stiff cock. She’d never know the effect she’d had. Keeping his hands off her was the kindest thing he could do for her. For him? Not so much. But definitely better for her.
“Cash? What’s wrong?”
He swallowed or tried to. His spit backed up behind the huge ball of lust lodged in his throat, making him choke. He coughed.
“Are you all right?”
He cleared his throat. “Fine. Sorry. I was drinking something and it went down the wrong way.”
Yeah. He was drinking her in and it had sure gone down the wrong way…all the way to his dick.
“So.” She looked around. “Are we eating in the dining room? I saw plates on the table.”
“Yup.”
The dining room table was larger than the small table in the kitchen. He could sit farther away.
“Carry this,” Cash said, handing her a platter with bacon and slices of buttered toast. “I’ll be right behind you.”
When he got to the dining room with the scrambled eggs and jelly, Paige had rearranged the table, moving her plate and utensils from one end of the table to the side next to his place at the other end. There was nothing he could do but sit down beside her. Anything else would have been rude.
Once they were seated, the dining room temperature skyrocketed, or maybe it was just him. He couldn’t stop watching her eat. The way her lips wrapped over the fork. The slow way she pulled the fork from her mouth. The way she flicked her tongue out to catch a stray toast crumb or lick the dab of strawberry jelly at the edge.
Breathing became a struggle. Forget even trying to eat. He feared he’d aspirate the eggs into his lungs with his gasps every time Paige did anything remotely connected with her mouth. He had to get his mind somewhere else, but where?
Oh yeah. On why she deserved better than him.
“Let me ask you something,” he said.
She took a drink of water then nodded. “Sure.”
“Today at lunch, when the waitress asked you if you wanted something from the bar, you sort of looked my way and then said no. I noticed we don’t have beer or wine or anything alcoholic in this house. Is all that because of me? Because you think I’m an alcoholic?”
She gasped, her mouth dropped in surprise. Then she shocked him when she started laughing.
“Cash. I’m a grown woman. If I’d wanted a drink, I’d have ordered one. You had nothing to do with why I didn’t have a drink today or why I don’t have booze in the house. Let me ask you something. Friday night when you examined my tonsils with your tongue, did you taste or smell booze?”
He held her gaze, even as he wanted to dip his head. She’d given a pretty good description of their kiss two days ago.
“Tonsil exam? Really?”
She shrugged and then grinned. “Not that I’m complaining, because I’m not.”
Her comment metaphorically slammed him back in his chair. She wasn’t upset by the kiss, and if the look on her face was any indication, she wouldn’t send him away if he kissed her again. Not that he would.
“To answer your question, no, I didn’t smell any booze on you.”
“Exactly. I don’t drink much, Cash. A glass of wine or champagne at weddings. A beer with pizza. But that’s about it. I don’t buy it because it’d be flat or stale or whatever between the times I wanted it.” Her face grew serious as she leaned toward him. “Were you looking for a drink?”
“So you do think I’m an alcoholic.” He tried to put both hurt and anger in his voice. This was great. He could pick a fight, go upstairs and not be faced with all her incredible sexiness.
“Doesn’t matter what I think,” she said, her voice as smooth, calm and cool as water at daybreak on a lake. “It only matters what
you
think. Do you think you have a drinking problem?”
“You sound like a shrink.”
She snorted. “I have a degree in psych, so I probably do. So do you? Have a problem, I mean?”
This time he couldn’t hold the gaze. He looked away, out the French doors at the end of the room. “No.” He knew he sounded defensive, but damn, did everybody around him think he was a drunk?
“Great.” Paige continued to eat as though he’d just told her the weather forecast.
“Okay. Maybe I did. But I don’t now.” His defensiveness continued. His plan had been to pretend to get angry and leave, but this discussion about his drinking had him actually feeling more than a little testy.
“Okay then. Issue settled. We’re a non-drinking house by choice. But if you ever want to talk about what you went through over the past seven months, I’d be glad to listen.”
He set his fork on the side of his plate. “I don’t want to talk about it. Look, I’m heading up to watch some television. Don’t let me hurry you. I’ll carry my stuff to the kitchen.” He stood and gathered his dirty dishes.
“Cash. Did I say something to upset you?” Her gaze up at him was filled with kindness and, damn it, affection.
“No. I’m sorry. It’s just that my brothers are always all over my ass about it and I guess I got a little touchy. Sorry. Finish eating. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
After putting his dishes in the sink, he headed upstairs with a wave of his hand to Paige still sitting at the table. As soon as Cash stepped on the top floor, Buster came flying up the stairs to join him. He dropped onto his couch, his left leg throbbing, which was unusual as it’d hadn’t bothered him much in the last week or so. Buster climbed on the leather sofa, fully aware this was taboo, but tonight, Cash needed the company. Between petting Buster and whatever inane program he could find to watch, he was sure he would be distracted from the pain. At least his penis had gone back into sleep mode.
From downstairs, the sounds of Paige clearing the table and running water in the kitchen floated over the railing. He laid back. What was he going to do about her? His brain said to push her away. But other parts of him wanted to do the opposite. He wanted his brain to win this battle.
The soft tap of a footfall on the lowest step had Buster jumping up and off the sofa. He raced to the top of the stairs and let out a welcoming bark.
“Hi, Buster,” Paige said. “I brought you something.”
Buster’s tail wagged briskly. When he turned away from the step, he was carrying a large rawhide bone. He disappeared into the bedroom with his prize.
“I don’t think he’s going to share,” Paige said. “So I brought you something else.”
“Oh?”
“Blueberry cobbler and ice cream. You interested?”
He laughed. It was impossible to be mad at her. Hell, he couldn’t even maintain a fake anger.
“Did you heat the cobbler?”
“You’re kidding, right? Of course.”
He sat up on the couch and she sat down beside him. “Your mom might have mentioned that you had a thing for blueberry cobbler so I thought I’d surprise you.”
He took a bite and moaned. “This is better than Mom’s. Don’t tell her I said that,” he added quickly.
“Our little secret. What are you watching?”
“I have no idea. It’s just on for noise. Why? Is there something you’d like to see?”
“Nope. I was just going to put some music on instead.”
He handed her the remote. “Have at it.” But if she put on some love-song station, he’d have to put his foot down. She didn’t. She flipped immediately to contemporary country. They ate in silence, him tapping his toe and her bouncing her leg to the music until Faith Hill’s “Like We Never Loved At All” started playing. She stood and held out her hand.
“Dance with me, Cash.”
He swallowed. This was not a good idea. This was the song that they’d danced to all those years ago. Of course he remembered. Every Faith Hill song dredged up memories of what a shit-heel he’d been. But then she smiled and wiggled her fingers. What else could he do?
He stood, took her hand and pulled her into his arms. They swayed to the music, moving in slow steps around and around. She sighed, her warm breath sliding across his neck like silk.
He tightened his arms to pull her closer and…wham! Excruciating pain shot through his injured leg. His left thigh muscle contracted into an unrelenting spasm.
“Shit.” Cash dropped his arms from around Paige and began rubbing his thigh and walking. Every couple of steps, he’d stomp his foot.
“What is it, Cash? What’s wrong?”
“Damn leg. Hasn’t done this in a while, but when the sonofabitch gets a cramp like this, it takes forever to get it to relax.”
“Pull your jeans down and let me rub it.”
He eyed her. Let her rub it? Was she serious?
“Don’t look at me like that. Pull your pants off and sit down.”
When he didn’t immediately do what she ordered, she marched into his bedroom. In a minute, she was back with the top sheet of the bed. “Here.” She tossed the sheet on the leather sofa. “If you’re that bashful, cover up. Although I’ve seen a penis or two in my life.”
She marched away again, but this time to his bathroom and came back with a bottle of hand lotion.
If anything, the muscle spasm was getting worse, not better. Thank goodness, he’d toed off his boots when he’d first sat down to watch television. That left no obstruction to dropping his jeans to the floor. Afterwards, he practically fell back on the sofa.
“Put your leg up on the cushions,” she ordered.
Lowering herself to her knees beside the sofa, she prepared to go to work. She squirted lotion into her hands, rubbed them together and then dug her fingers into the bulging muscle making itself known. Along the edges of the spasm, she worked her thumbs in deep circles, demanding that the cramp give up its control.
The scent of vanilla from the lotion filled the air. He drew in a deep breath and tried to relax.
He studied her, her lower lip sucked between her teeth, her eyes focused on the area giving him so much pain. This was not a Paige Ryan he knew. This was not Doc Ryan’s jail bait. This was a take-charge adult female who knew what she was doing when she worked her fingers into the knotted muscle in his leg.
He groaned. Yes, working out the muscle contraction hurt, but there was also something about having Paige on her knees in front of him. His cock liked that idea too. It began to grow hard and move, as though waving for attention too.
“Sorry,” Paige said. “I know this hurts, but I think I can get it to let go.”
He didn’t bother to correct her misinterpretation of his groan. Instead, he grabbed the sheet she’d thrown on the back of the couch and covered himself. If she noticed, she gave no indication. She appeared to be focused on the pain in the leg and nothing else. Should he be pleased that she was so professional and clinical with her touch, or pissed that she hadn’t noticed the affect she was having on him?
Since he knew beyond doubt that she deserved better than he-who-had-no-future, he decided to be relieved.
It was then that pain in his leg lessened. The cramp eased up. Paige must have felt the change because she lifted his leg, slid under and took a seat on the sofa between his calves. After resting his leg across her lap, she retackled the area with a renewed sense of purpose, digging deep with her long fingers, forcing the muscle to do what she wanted.
He couldn’t help but be impressed by this strong, forceful woman. She didn’t take no from him or his leg spasm.
And then the leg cramp was gone. He blew out a long breath he didn’t realize he was holding and settled back against the arm of the couch, his breath coming in short, choppy rasps, his eyes shut in relief. It’d been a bad muscle seizure this time, one of the worst ever. The house renovation was giving him quite a workout, more than he’d had since his run-in with Bad Bob.
“Thanks. That’s better. I think you’ve shown that cramp who’s boss,” he said with a light chuckle.
“Hmm. Looks like you have another congested area that needs a little attention.”
Before her words could register in his brain, she glided her long, soft fingers the rest of the way up his thigh to his throbbing cock. She grasped his length through his briefs.
“Paige. That’s probably not a good idea.”
Probably?
Hell, definitely.
She ignored his protest, as feeble as it was. She stroked him, running the length of his dick with her fingers before passing her thumb over the head. His arousal fluid soaked the front of his cotton briefs.
Paige shifted until his foot slipped to the floor, leaving his legs spread. She climbed onto her knees and turned to face him. With a wink and a grin, she snatched the sheet off his groin and tossed it over the back of the sofa. Grasping the elastic waistband of his underwear, she tugged.
“Paige.” He leaned up on his elbows, intending to give her a stern look.
She ignored his warning and pulled harder. “Lift your hips.” She didn’t ask. She demanded.
This most definitely wasn’t the timid girl he remembered. As if his hips had separate reasoning, he pushed them up and she yanked his briefs down. His cock sprang out like a bull released from a chute. When she licked her lips, he almost lost it right then.