When she could breathe again, he rested his forehead on hers. “I want you.”
She licked her lips, her expression befuddled. “You’ve been desperately ill. Maybe your heart’s not healthy enough for sex.” She dared to tease him.
“My heart’s fine,” he groused, not amused by her joking allusion to a television commercial. “And I don’t appreciate the reference. I have the flu, not ED.”
She curled her arms around his neck, smiling drowsily. “You’re gorgeous even when you’re sick. It’s not fair. And PS, I’ve never done it with a cowboy.”
“You still haven’t done it,” he pointed out, his disgruntlement tempered only by the fact that he felt like hell.
“They say anticipation is half the pleasure.”
“I’d like a chance to find out.”
“The first day you’re well, I swear. We’ll drink that champagne and go for it.”
“Cheap advice from a woman who just—”
She clapped her hand over his mouth. “Don’t be grouchy. Your time will come. In fact, if you think you’re up to it, I’m right here. Carpe diem and all that.”
He thought about it. Seriously. For about ten seconds. But a quick assessment of his head-to-toe misery settled the argument. “No,” he sighed. “I want to impress you with my carnal prowess.”
“Is that really a thing?”
“You’ll have to wait and see, now, won’t you?”
She frowned, examining his face, no doubt spotting the damp forehead and the sudden lack of color. “You need to be in bed,” she said firmly. “Alone.”
He wanted to argue. He really wanted to argue. But damn it, Mellie was right. “I don’t want you to leave,” he said. “You keep me occupied.”
“That’s one word for it.” She sat up, forcing him to, as well. When they were hip to hip, she took his hand. “I think it’s best if I put cleaning your house on hold...give you a week to recover without anyone underfoot. If you’re better by the end of the week, we’ll talk about resuming our original schedule.”
“I have to be better by the weekend,” he said.
“Why?”
“The club is throwing a big party Saturday night to honor me as the new president.”
“Ah.”
“That’s all you have to say...ah?”
She cocked her head. “What do you want me to say?”
“You could at least act interested.”
“I don’t follow.”
“Oh, for God’s sake, Mellie. You know I want you to go with me.”
She stood abruptly. “I most certainly do not. We’re barely acquaintances.”
“Aren’t you forgetting what just happened? When I rocked your world?” He smiled to let her know he was kidding about the world-rocking thing.
Mellie actually winced. “Aside from your Texas-sized ego, what you and I have been dancing around is the possibility of a fling, not any kind of official status. That’s crazy.”
“Why won’t you go with me? It’s a single social occasion, not a relationship.”
Her reluctance dinged his pride. It wasn’t boasting to say that any one of a large number of women in Royal would be pleased to attend the upcoming party as his guest. Mellie looked as if he had offered to take her to a funeral.
“I like my life just fine, Case. Other than the occasional run-in with my dad, I’m pretty happy with the way things have turned out for me. I own a business I love... I have a lot of interesting friends. I’m not interested in finding a man to take care of me.”
His temper started a slow boil. “We’re talking about a party, Ms. Winslow. It’s hardly a basis for what you’re thinking about.”
“True. But if we end up in bed together, I’d rather no one else know about it. That way when we’re done, there won’t be any messy explanations to deal with.”
When we’re done... Maybe if he hadn’t felt so rotten, he might have been able to understand why her blithe prediction about their future bothered him so much.
“Fine,” he said, his jaw clenched. “I won’t ask again. If you want me, you’ll have to say so. I’m done here.”
If you want me, you’ll have to say so. Mellie replayed those words in her head a thousand times over the next four days. Her departure from Case’s house Sunday evening was not her finest hour. He had stormed out of the room, and she had left without saying goodbye.
She was ashamed of her behavior. Her only excuse was that, even sick, Case Baxter made her jittery and uncertain about things she had always seen as rock solid in her life. For one, her assumption that having an intimate relationship with a man was something she didn’t have time for.
Honestly, she worked so hard and kept so busy, she rarely thought about what she was missing. She dated now and then, but with only a couple of exceptions over the years, she’d never felt an inescapable urge to have sex just for the sake of having sex.
She thought about it. Alone at night. In the privacy of her bedroom. But her fantasy lovers were compliant and undemanding...exactly the opposite of Case Baxter.
What did he want with her?
By the time she closed the office for a late lunch on Thursday afternoon, she had brought her books up to date, signed contracts with three new clients and worked herself into a mental frenzy of uncertainty. Instead of heading home, she pointed her car in the direction of the diner.
She had to talk to someone, or she’d explode. Amanda was the logical choice.
Fortunately, the sheriff’s wife was in her usual spot, smiling and swapping jokes with her regular customers. Mellie had purposely waited until almost two o’clock, hoping that the noon rush would be over and Amanda would have time for a chat. Because of the subject matter, Mellie snagged the booth in the far back corner, hoping to talk quietly without being overheard.
When the other woman headed her way, Mellie waved a hand at the opposite side of the booth. “Do you have time to take a break? I need some advice.”
Amanda said a word to her second in command and slid onto the bench seat with a sigh. “Success is killing me,” she said. But the smug pride on her face told a different story.
“You love it,” Mellie said.
“True. What’s up, girlfriend? It’s not like you to drop by in the middle of the day.”
Mellie played with the saltshaker, feeling the tops of her ears warm. This was embarrassing. “I may have done something stupid.”
Amanda leaned in, her elbows on the table, hands clasped under her chin. “Do tell. Are we talking five-hundred-dollar-shoes stupid or forgot-to-thaw-the-chicken-for-dinner stupid?”
“It’s more of a personal matter.”
“Oh. My. Gosh. You’ve had sex.”
“No. Well, sort of. But not really. You’re missing the point.”
Amanda raised an eyebrow. “Do I need to give you a lesson about the birds and the bees? Was there nudity involved? Skin-to-skin contact? At your age, I’d think you’d be pretty clear about the definition.”
Mellie