Jennifer set the pot down on the counter and turned off the water, the thundering of her heart exploding in her ears. Another knock and she steeled herself to answer the door. She pulled the sash to her robe into place and tied it a bit more firmly than necessary. As if a cotton tie would somehow protect her from what—correction, who—was waiting for her on the other side of that door. She could do this. She could face Bobby and be strong. She was strong. She was happy. Bobby showing up didn’t change anything.
And because she was a smart girl, who’d lived alone her entire adult life, she did the smart thing, not to mention the thing that gave her a chance to stall, but that was beside the point—she called out rather than opened the door. “Who is it?”
“Man bearing gifts,” came the all-too-familiar voice, all-too-richly buttered with memories and heat. The kind of heat only one man had ever conjured in her. That he still got to her, that he stroked her into arousal so effortlessly, with a simple spoken word filled with memories, agitated her almost as much as the idea of a gift. Did he really think a present would erase seven years of silence?
“Go away, Bobby,” she said, her voice irritatingly raspy with uncontained emotion. “Whatever it is, I don’t want it.”
“You want this,” he assured her. “I guarantee it.”
“I don’t,” she said sternly. But I want you, she added silently, hating him for having power over her after all this time. She firmed her voice. “Go away, Bobby.”
A beat of tension-laden silence followed before he replied, “Venti White Mocha, no foam, no whip, extrahot.”
Her eyes went wide, jaw slack. The nerve of him to bring her favorite drink, to use the past against her. This was manipulation, and it was wrong.
Jennifer forgot the robe, the hair sticking up, the lack of makeup. Forgot the hidden fear of facing Bobby again and somehow shattering into the emotional wreck she’d promised herself she was not. She yanked open the door, fully intending a verbal attack and falling flat on her proverbial face the moment she brought Bobby into focus.
He stood there, a mere few feet away, dangerously sexy. Denim clad—God, how the man made denim look delicious—light blond stubble shading his jaw, crystal-blue eyes twinkling with awareness and mischief, holding a Venti Starbucks, a box of her favorite donuts and, damn it, her heart. He still had her heart. And she knew, in that moment, he’d had it for far too long. He didn’t deserve it. Not after the way he’d left her.
His coming home for the wedding was a good thing. Good because now she could face him and get over him. Now, she could take back her heart, once and for all.
3
HOT ON THE SPOT. That was Bobby when Jennifer opened her door in her skimpy robe, displaying miles of leg and sexy, slender curves. In fact, he was so hot, the Texas sun might as well have been at high noon—because he sure was. Hot. Hard. Aching with need well beyond the physical. With memories of Jennifer waking up in his arms, in his life.
“Peace offering,” he explained, indicating the coffee and the box of chocolate-covered Krispy Kremes she so adored. “For showing up unexpectedly last night. I have jelly-filled in the car for Marcie. She’s pretty upset at me for getting her in trouble with you and she’s still letting me stay at her place. She didn’t know I was coming into town early, Jen.”
She bit her lip, the full bottom one he’d like to bite himself. Oh, yeah. He remembered nipping that lip, then softly licking it. His gaze lingered on her mouth, then on the slow rise and fall of her chest.
“This isn’t going to work,” she said flatly.
His gaze lifted to the stubborn set of her jaw, the one telling him how desperately she was clinging to resolve to keep him at a distance. Translation. This was working.
He offered her a gentle smile and a verbal nudge. “Oh, come on, Jen,” he urged. “Let me in.”
She gave him a dubious look, and finally said, “Letting you in my door means I want the coffee and donuts. Nothing more.”
Yes. That was yes. “Understood,” he agreed, stepping forward before she could change her mind, with every intention of making this morning about far more than coffee and donuts.
Crowding the doorway, he forced her to either accept his nearness or back away. As predicted, she backed away, but not before his nostrils flared with her soft, floral scent, laced with jasmine. A scent he’d imagined a million times over the past seven years.
Once he was in the hallway, Bobby resisted the urge to turn to her. She was close, so close. But even if his hands weren’t full, reaching for her now, no matter how tempting, would be premature, a mistake sure to backfire. The time for that would come—sooner rather than later.
For now, he charged forward, down a short hallway, determined to reach deeper into her life, starting with the intimacy of being inside the place she called home. He wanted to know what her life had become, what she had become. Besides being more beautiful than ever, even at this early hour.
“Bobby!” she objected from behind him, a moment before the door slammed shut. “You can’t just barge in like this,” Jennifer said, sounding a bit breathless and a lot sexy, as she caught up to him. “We can eat the donuts at the kitchen bar.”
Bobby sauntered down a short flight of stairs to a sunken living room with Pergo floors. His chest tightened as the cozy little room drew him in, surrounding him with rich navy blues. Jennifer loved blue. Navy mostly, but all shades. Her dorm room had been a navy blue she’d insisted was “velvet blue.”
His lips twitched as he remembered kissing her and telling her that her lips were velvet soft, and then making love to her on the “velvet blue” comforter.
Bobby sat down on the overstuffed couch, placing the donuts and coffee on the table before him, and then ran his hand over the cushion. “Is this navy blue or velvet blue?”
Her eyes went wide and a pink flush touched her pale perfect skin, telling him she remembered that day on her velvet bedspread as much as he did. “Come sit with me,” he urged, rescuing her from a reply.
She crossed her arms in front of her, staring at the couch, his hand and the coffee. “Why are you back, Bobby?”
Why was he back? That was a loaded question. He could say for Marcie’s wedding—which was partially true—but overall, a copout, and they’d both know it. He’d never lied to Jennifer, and he wasn’t going to start now. Besides, there wasn’t an easy answer anyway. Aside from—he had to come. He had to see her. Still, too much too soon, he decided.
Instead, he simply replied, “What’s wrong with old friends sharing coffee and donuts?” And then added in a soft plea, “It’s getting cold.”
“Old friends,” she said softly. “Is that what we are?”
Their eyes locked and held, tension, both sexual and emotional, stretching between them. “Aren’t we?” he challenged. Friends and so much more.
Indecision flashed across her face. “I should go put on some clothes,” she said, clearly avoiding his question.
“I won’t complain if you stay in your robe,” he teased gently.
The pink in her cheeks flushed redder, as if he hadn’t seen her naked a million times over. “Bobby,” she chided.
“Sorry,” he said, meaning it. He didn’t want to make her uncomfortable. But he did want her. “I couldn’t resist. I promise not to look.” She gave him a disbelieving gape. He lifted a defeated hand. “Okay, I won’t look—much. Or I’ll try not to. Really.” Not really. He scrubbed his jaw in further defeat. “How about I promise not to stay long?”
She tilted her head, studied him. “I don’t know if I should grab something and throw it at you or just drink the coffee and eat the donuts.”
“While