The Sweetest Thing (14 page)

None of your business
, she told herself.
None.
She blew out a breath, opened her cell phone, and called him.

“Hey,” he said in his usual sex-on-a-stick voice. “Miss me?”

She ignored both that and the floaty feeling the sound of his voice put in her stomach. “I’m returning your pan,” she said.
“I’m on your porch.” She paused, hoping he’d tell her where he was.

“Let yourself in,” he said and gave her the code to unlock the door.

“Where should I leave it, in your kitchen?”

“Or on my bed,” he said.

“You want the Le Creuset on your bed,” she repeated, heavy on the disbelief.

“No, I want
you
on my bed. What are you wearing?”

She pulled the cell away from her ear and stared at it. “You did not just ask me that.”

“Never mind,” he said. “I’ll just picture you how I want you.”

“And how would that be?” The words popped out of her before she could stop them, fascinated in spite of herself.

“Hmm,” he mused silkily. “Maybe a French maid outfit.”

“That’s…” She struggled a minute with why the thought turned her on. “Outdated and anti-feminist,” she finally said, a little
weakly. “Not to mention subservient.”

“I like the subservient part,” Ford mused. “A few ‘yes sirs’ would be nice.”

“You are one seriously warped man.”

“No doubt.” His voice was low and sexy, and it made her forget herself, made her forget that all he wanted was her body. Especially
since at the moment, she wanted his.

“I can be there in twenty minutes,” he said, a smile in his voice.

“No. Don’t even think about it.” Tara ignored the flutter in her belly. She couldn’t help it. Even when he was being a Neanderthal,
he still turned her on. Sure, she’d just been fantasizing about catching him in the shower, but that had been just a fantasy.
She needed to live firmly in reality. “We’re done with that.”

“Bet I can change your mind.”

“I have no doubt,” Tara said. God, she needed help. “But you’re a nice guy, so you won’t.”

“I’m not that nice a guy.”

Great. Just great. “You’ve been an absent guy.”

He was quiet a moment. “Didn’t see a need to complicate anything for you.”

Like a reunion with Logan. Tara drew in a deep breath. “You ever think that sometimes complications are worth the trouble?”

“No.”

Quick and easy and brutally honest. It was Ford’s way. She’d have to think about that later. Right now, she punched in his
front door code and listened to the lock click open. “Are you sure you don’t want me to just leave the pan on the step?” she
asked. “It’d be safe.” In Lucky Harbor, just about everything was safe.

Except her heart, she was discovering.

“Are you afraid to step inside my lair?” Ford teased.

“Ha. And no. I’ll leave it on your table.”

“Ten-four.” He paused. “Are you going to snoop around while you’re in there?”

“No.” Maybe. “What would I snoop around in?”

“I don’t know. My underwear drawer?”

The last time she’d touched his underwear, he’d been wearing them. But just the thought of him in his BVDs brought a rush.
“No,” she said quickly.

Too
quickly, because he laughed softly. “You can if you want to,” he said, lowering his voice. “You can do whatever you want,
Tara. Flip through my porn, eat the enchiladas I made last night from Carlos’s abuelo’s recipe…”

“Wait.” She promptly forgot about underwear, porn,
and
jumping his bones. “Carlos gave you his abuelo’s recipe? I’ve been asking him for it forever.”

“Yes, but do you take him out on the water every week and teach him to sail? Or teach him how to pick up girls so as to achieve
maximum basage?”

“Basage?”

“You know, first base, second base—”

“Ohmigod,” she said. “You are such a
guy
!”

He was laughing now. “Guilty as charged.”

Tara sighed. “So it’s a boy’s club; is that what you’re saying?”

“Uh huh. And I’m glad to say that you do
not
have the right equipment to join.”

“I want that recipe, Ford.”

“Only men are allowed to have it. It’s been handed down that way for generations.”

“You’re making that up.”

He didn’t say anything, but she could practically
hear
him smiling. “
Please
?” she asked.

“Oh, how I like the sound of that word coming from your mouth.”

“
Ford
.”

“Right here, Tara.” He was still using his bedroom voice. Which, as she had good reason to know, made her one hundred percent
stupid
.

“What would you do to get the recipe?” he wanted to know.

She shook her head. “I’m hanging up now.”

“Okay, but if you change your mind and want to play with my underwear, text me and I’ll be right there. You can play with
the ones I’m wearing.”

She felt herself go damp and hurriedly disconnected. She wouldn’t be texting him. She wouldn’t let herself go there.
Way
too big a risk when it came to him, because he wouldn’t risk anything. Been there, done that.

She stepped into his big, masculine house, her heels clicking on his hardwood floor. He had a big couch and an even bigger
flat screen. One wall was all windows looking out over the water. And, she realized, the marina.

Lucky Harbor Inn’s marina.

She wondered if he ever stood right here and looked for her. Reminding herself that she was on a mission to drop the pan off
and get out, she refused to let herself look at anything else as she headed toward his kitchen.

Except her eyes strayed to the mantel in the living room on the way and at the pictures there. There was one of Jax, Sawyer,
and Ford on Ford’s boat. Three hard-bodied
gorgeous men, tanned and wet and mugging for the camera. She wondered who had taken the picture, and if the bikini top hanging
from the mast behind them belonged to the photographer.

There was another picture of Ford with a group of guys all standing shoulder to shoulder, wearing USA track suits and holding
their medals. The Olympic sailing team.

The last picture showed an older woman with two younger women, all of whom shared Ford’s wide, open, mischievous smile and
bright green eyes.

His grandmother and sisters.

Tara walked through an archway, past the laundry room, and into a kitchen that gave her some serious appliance envy. And Corian
countertop envy. And, oh Lord,
look at his Japanese cutlery
. Just standing here was going to give her an orgasm. She set the pan on the table, forced herself to turn around, and headed
back under the archway. There was a basket of clean clothes on the dryer. Drawn in by the fresh scent, she stood in the center
of the laundry room and inhaled deeply.

She was pathetic.

On the top of the basket of clothes lay a T-shirt. It said
LUCKY HARBOR SAILING CHAMP
across the front. At one time, it’d been gray, but years of washing had softened it to nearly white. She knew this because
he’d been given two of them. Ford had gotten them that long-ago summer during his first sailing race when he’d been nothing
but the dock boy on a local team.

She had the other shirt. He’d given it to her all those years ago, and she’d worn it to sleep in. She’d kept it as one
of her few true treasures. Unfortunately, she’d been wearing it the night of the inn fire six months ago, and it’d been destroyed.
Unable to stop herself, she ran her fingers over the shirt and whoops, look at that, picked it up. Well, hey, he’d invited
her to play with his underwear, and a T-shirt could be classified as underwear. She pressed her face to the soft, faded cotton
and felt her knees go a little weak even though it smelled like detergent and not the man.

She wanted the shirt.

Don’t do it…

But she did. She totally stole his shirt.

She drove back to the inn with it in her purse and walked straight to the marina, and then to the end of the dock.

She needed a minute.

She inhaled the wet, salty air. Sitting was a challenge in her pencil skirt and she had to kick off her heels, but once she
managed, having the water lap at her feet and the sun on her face made it worth it. It meant unwanted freckles and almost
dropping a Jimmy Choo knock-off into the water, but there was something about listening to the water slap up against the wood
and watching the boats bob up and down on the swells that really did it for her.

It was better than dark chocolate for releasing endorphins and helping her relax.

Better than orgasms.

Okay, no. Nothing was better than orgasms, but this would have to be a close second.

She’d stolen his shirt. Good Lord, she was losing it.

Two battered cross trainers appeared in her peripheral
vision. Long legs, dark blue board shorts, and a white T-shirt came next.

And then the heart-stopping smile.

“So you didn’t climb into my bed,” Ford said, sitting next to her.

“How do you know I didn’t just get tired of waiting for you to show up?” she asked.

His brow shot up so far it vanished into the lock of hair falling over his forehead. “Are you telling me I missed my shot?”

“Sugar, you never even had a shot.”

Ford grinned and slung an arm over her shoulder, pulling her into him. He smelled delicious. Like salty air and the ocean
and something woodsy too.

And male.

Very male.

“Liar,” he said affectionately.

This was true. “You’re in my space,” Tara noted.

“That’s not what you said when we—
Oomph
,” he let out when she elbowed him in the gut. Unperturbed, he grinned. “Aw, don’t be embarrassed that you attacked me in
your kitchen.”

“
What
? That night was all your fault,” she told him. “You were standing there putting away spices and making me fried chicken,
looking all—” Sexy. Sexy as hell. “I mean you practically force-fed me the cuteness.”

“Cuteness,” he repeated, testing the word out like it was a bad seed. “I’m not cute.”

“Okay, true. You’re far too potent for
cute
.”

He cocked his head. “And you really think that us having sex was all on me?”

Her cheeks were getting hot, along with other parts of her. “I’m saying you seduced me with all the—”

“Say ‘
cuteness
’ again,” Ford warned, “and I’m going to strip you naked right here and show you exactly how
not
cute I can be. I’m going to show it to you until you scream my name.”

“Okay, wait. Does anyone really scream during orgasm? I mean, you read about it all the time in books, but—”

He laughed. “Okay, so you don’t scream.” He leaned in close. “But your breath gets all uneven and catchy—which I love, by
the way—and then you let out this sexy little purr, and—”

She elbowed him again.

“Told you I wasn’t cute,” he said, rubbing his ribs.

She squelched the urge to say “cute” one more time just to see if he’d follow through on his threat. She took a look around
them to see if they were alone, just in case—

He laughed again, then put his lips next to her ear. “Sticking with your story, Tara?”

She shivered. “That you seduced me? Yes.”

“We’re even, you know.” He nipped her earlobe with his teeth, making her shiver. “Since you’ve been seducing me since I first
met you.” He kissed her just below her jaw then, and along her temple, while she worked on not melting.

“W—what are you doing?”

“Seeing how far you’re going to let me go.”

Get a grip
, she ordered herself as he got to the very corner of her mouth, and she took a big grip herself. A
two-fisted one. Of
him
. She was holding him so tight that he couldn’t have pulled away even if he wanted to, and given the rough sound that escaped
him, he didn’t want to. “We’re not doing this again,” she said. “You know we’re not.”

He sucked her bottom lip between his teeth and gave it a light tug. “I do know. I just can’t remember why.”

She sank her fingers into his hair. It was thick and silky and wavy, and she loved it. “Because—”

He kissed her long and hard, his hand sliding low onto her back, pulling her in closer to him.

“Ford. Ford, wait.”

He smiled against her lips. “Let me guess.” His mouth ghosted over hers with each word. “You have something else to say.”

“Yes! You’re…” She couldn’t think. “Trouble. You know that? You’re bad-for-me
trouble
.”

“Maybe. But I’m only trouble some of the time,” he said in that husky, coaxing voice that made her want to give him whatever
he asked for.

“And what are you when you’re not trouble?” she managed. “A Boy Scout?”

“ ’Fraid not. But sometimes my intentions are honorable.”

“Like now?”

“No.” His deep-green eyes met hers. “Right now, my intentions are definitely
not
honorable.” And then he kissed her again. He kissed her until she was gripping him like she was drowning and he was her lifeline.

“Oh! Um, excuse me…”

They both turned to the young woman standing on the
dock in a cute short skirt and cotton top, shielding her eyes from the glare of the sun with her hands, her long, sun-streaked,
brown hair flowing out behind her. “Hi, sorry. I’m Mia Hutchinson.”

One of the Seattle high school students that had called about the ad and had an interview with Tara this morning. “Mia, hi!”
Knees still knocking, Tara stood up. It was too much to hope that her little make-out session with Ford hadn’t been seen,
but her plan was to ignore it.
Denial, meet your queen
. “You’re right on time.”

Ford was on his feet as well. “I thought we set that up for this afternoon,” he said to the girl.

Tara looked at him. “No, she’s interviewing with me for a position at the inn.”

“Actually,” Ford said. “She called to interview me for an article she’s writing on sailing.”

“Um, yeah,” Mia said with a little wince. “Actually, I contacted
both
of you. I brought my résumé.” She pulled an envelope from her purse. “I didn’t really have any previous work experience that
applied, so I just used the résumé I made up in economics class last semester. And before you ask, no, I didn’t really work
for Facebook or Bill Gates. And I wasn’t a personal assistant to the Mariners’ manager either.” She hesitated, looking younger
than seventeen. “The references are real, though.” She turned to Ford, apology in her gaze. “I need a job, but I made up the
article thing.”